april catch - all

[mehanizovati]

Who: viktor and others, open to all with some closed prompts
What: some late march/early april logs, including some tdm stuff. i'm happy to attach something else on if anyone's interest in doing something specific
When: late march through april
Where: various

content warning; terminal illness, arcane season 1 spoilers, likely game typical beast gore/body horror, potentially ableism mentioned, claustrophobic imagery



open prompts.

fishers of dreams - the lighthouse, early april (tdm)

a. while awake

[if you've been roped into this lighthouse business too you may enter to find a man already there. he seems vaguely disgruntled by the business, offers vague greetings but otherwise sticks to scribbling in his notebook. it looks like schematics and formulae, but anyone with an eye for either might notice they tend to trail off and start in odd bursts.

viktor will offer to cook when evening falls (or whatever seems to be the right mealtime in this place) so maybe that is a better time to strike up conversation. the smell coming from the kitchen is heavy on whatever spices the place stocks, promising pain to anyone who doesn't have the stomach for that sort of thing. worse if he finds the rotgut liquor tucked away, which he will pull out and offer despite smelling more like turpentine than anything edible.

these tricks of the eye though, flashes of people vaguely recognizable, he chalks it up more hallucinations. last month was mushrooms, so this? irritating, far more distracting, but it followed the pattern.

it isn't until later in all this he'll track whoever is with him down.] Did you see someone else come through? There, just up the stairs.



b. nightmare

[trying to reach the odd lighthouses is fruitless, the shadows converge and when the dark clears the area seems more closed in than before. it shouldn't be, he was just outside on the shore, yet now the dark sky seems to hang too low, lower still, suffocating.]

What now? This is another illusion of sorts, is it not? One this place is so fond of. [viktor sounds more irritated than anything, maybe defensive since the grip his has on his crutch is white-knuckle tight. in the distance seems to be a lighthouse, though the light is far and the area is so stifling, promising a tunnel that will close and snuff out the light entirely.

it's ridiculous of course, the walls are not that close, certainly not enough for this suffocating grip on the lungs and throat. there's no real explanation, less so when a few steps forward and the ground begins to dot with great metal cables, the distinct, sickly sweet smell of chemicals in the air. there are pools between them where the ocean should have been, this time shallow spills of what could be gasoline or something similar, slick rainbow puddles, oily and difficult to walk through without slipping or sinking.]

(ooc; for this one please, feel free to add your own character's nightmare in any flavor at any point!)


odds and ends - willful machine, early april

[viktor can be found around the vendors often enough, especially those specializing in scrap metal, tools or small machinery. for the most part he doesn't stick out, except for the fact often his massive omen often accompanies him, some sort of huge pink salamander/axolotl that he'll lean against or ask rather politely to help carry larger purchases.

he doesn't seem to notice or care about any attention, though the creature will blink curiously around. feel free to approach or find him haggling rather intently for such a stick of a man, accent thickening when it gets heated enough. maybe you want the same scrap? or are looking for something and he's standing nearby enough to notice a lost look and offers assistance?]



[one might also find him about by the sound of a nasty coughing fit. he stands with his back curled, a rag to his mouth as a makeshift handkerchief. it's a wet cough that shakes his entire frame, and when it's over his sniffs and clears his throat, straightening.

the cloth is stained in a pale color that catches the perpetual moonlight of april. paleblood, that he regards for a moment before folding the cloth in on itself with a small frown.]




closed prompts.


jinx - willful machine, late march

[viktor doesn't stay by the lamp exactly. he would usually but he hardly sees the point when this person he's meeting knows him by sight as far as he can tell. it leaves him feeling comfortable to wander within eyeshot mostly of the lantern, strolling down the canal docks to find a place to stand and watch the boats cut slowly through the water.

he likes it here, he thinks, in this district. the noise and foot traffic, the winding canals and dirty water, the boats bobbing to and fro - it wouldn't be a bad place to set up. a lab that will double as his home because he doesn't see the point in separating the two any longer, even if he can practically hear heimendinger's tutting about his work-life balance in his ear. it will be closer to the vendors, less of a hike to acquire what he'll need to start fresh. first a new brace for his leg and back, then some basic experiments into lunar energy to get a feel for it.

his lungs flare and burn, minor enough he manages to swallow it down without reaching for the rag in his pocket. he makes a note of the severity and timing, adds it to his growing mental list that seems to indicate his illness does indeed remain but is diminished. promising, if he's being optimistic, but at the moment he feels only a sense of irritation that now he doesn't know the timeline of his own life. one he might be shortening drastically with this ridiculous stunt.

a sigh and viktor goes back to watching the boats, trying to clear his head. he considers trying to message vi and ask her opinion of this but... no, he doubts he'll get anything. he's not sure if he disgusts her as a class traitor or amuses her in truth. better to just see for himself what he's gotten himself into like a fool.]



allen - willful machine, early april

[the 'grand tour' doesn't amount to much yet, the lab area just a large, empty space dotted with a few tables and a couple of desks, not even a chalkboard he's been keeping an eye out for or something that could do the same. one of the desks at least is littered with junk, at the moment tools and the starts of a knee brace, a table nearby with all the scrap he's managed to grab that could be useful in the future. one corner has a cot, maybe he'll clear out whatever other small rooms the place has later for a bedroom proper. maybe not.

viktor seems satisfied with it as he gestures around, and rio has commandeered one of the tables for her own to lie across.] A solid start, I think. I like this area, this eh... Willful Machine, that is.

[he'll never admit part of it is the boats. everyone's allowed a sort of childish interest, right? they're soothing, even if they lack the motors that fascinated him.] Have a seat, if you'd like. How have you been since the tombs?



wildcard.

[as i said, feel free to ask for anything else, including other tdm prompts, i am more interested in seeing the worlds built by others for the archway prompts so i didn't include any here. my plurk is dichotomy or you can dm me here!]

Comments

[likethelight]

[ To be honest, Allen was very pleasantly surprised when Viktor told him he'd found a place in Willful Machine. It isn't too far from Mr. Johanson's inn, although whether or not that's a good thing is hard to tell. The man can be a little terrifying. But it's nice it isn't far from where he's staying, it makes it easy for Allen to drop by.

Oooh, it's bigger than he was expecting though. Although that does make sense? Still, he wanders around a little as Viktor explains, taking it in with Timcanpy who stays out and hovers by his shoulder. ]

Ehh? You found a place like this so quickly? [ He says it in admiration. True, it's very empty, but coming by much of anything nice in the Trench is a feat. Also he's a teenage urchin who doesn't understand much when it comes to setting up a lab, so color him naively impressed. It's way bigger than his room at the inn that's for sure.

—Rio distracts him though, and he stops to greet her by riffling her head crests with both hands like one might squish a dog's jowls and smooshing his cheek against the her broad flat forehead. _{Is she bigger?? You look bigger!} But he gives a thoughtful hum at the question, looking around the space before answering. Cheek still smooshed against Rio though. ]

It's been good. [ For Trench. And he says it conversationally, reflexively. And he'll sit down in a moment only if Viktor is -- and after he's finished saying hi properly to Rio. ]

As much as I don't understand as much as I'd like about everything that happened there or why, it isn't something that out of the ordinary here. [ alas ]

Have you been well otherwise, Viktor?

[mehanizovati]

[viktor shrugs a shoulder, a touch amused when he says] Where I grew up you learned to make do in this way quickly, I suppose that made it easier to settle. [a short pause and he admits] ... and making repairs for the local vendors in exchange for information helped. I think this used to be a storage area.

[the undercity really did make this process a lot easier, he doesn't envy people used to a much more orderly way of existing. ah well.

rio's tail thumps when allen comes close, tongues scenting the air and accepting the pats with a happy trill. viktor does take a seat as he watches them, still a little awed to see rio at all, regardless of how much of rio existed in his omen. he tends to have her out simply for the comfort of it, though he'd never admit as much freely.]

Oh, yes I have. I was kidnapped by pirates? Which was irritating. I had to make a new crutch. [is his vaguely annoyed answer- at the pirates, in this case. his crutch is new and much more makeshift, but it probably matches the trench aesthetic better at least.] I'm starting to see the formula of this place at least. Each month feels... new, in how it settles.

A

[hearuthinking]

[Jason recognizes Viktor from their conversation over the network and, since the other looks busy, he simply nods in greeting and does a bit of scouting. No matter how calm this place looks, he's been around Trench long enough to expect some kind of bullshit to pop up.

He looks over at the question and nods]

Yeah, I see 'em. Gettin' real tired of this place creating images of my friends just to fuck with me.

[He pauses to yawn. Damn, he's feeling tired]

Whatever you're cookin' there. Is it any good at keeping people awake?

[mehanizovati]

[viktor was incredibly relieved it's someone he at least vaguely knew, given he's still trying to figure out why the hell he went along with this. mental coercion or boredom, he's assuming.

at least if he's hallucinating again it's still not just him.] They're people you recognize too? I've seen people who are not here.

[a sigh and he turns back to the pot on the stove.] Personalized hallucinations this time, that's delightful. I prefer the mushrooms, I think- and unfortunately no, unless you can't handle spicy food. Then maybe it will be a- a 'kick in the rear.'

i'm so sorry for all this text wall for her to just say one damn thing to him

[hijinxer]

[ ask jinx what she wants out of this meeting and she couldn't give a straight answer. her thoughts start, derail with commentary from the ever present peanut gallery in her head, and then she's left growling shut up to herself as she jams a few choice items into a bag: a pistol, a few chompers, and then... her eyes linger on the electric blue hexgem serving as a paperweight on her table.

is it risky to bring that along with her where it could potentially out her identity if she isn't careful? yes. but somehow it seems an even greater risk to leave it anywhere that vi could access it without her knowledge. teeth grit, jinx gives the chair a frustrated kick before shoving the damn thing into the bag. another beat, then she grabs the knife she took off the unfortunate trenchie who tried to mug her earlier in the month.

this weapon, she wears more visibly. willful machine's an area that's got a bunch of idiots walking around with sticky fingers and with her half-way sincere assurances to keep unnecessary bloodshed to a minimum in a city made more corrupt by careless spillage, it's easiest to wear a visible deterrent.

otherwise? all people tend to see in her is a tiny teenage girl -- an easy target, in other words. it's an adjustment she hasn't quite gotten used to, truth be told. in zaun, she had a reputation. her name carried weight. made people get the fuck out of her way. but it also came with the downside of everyone in the lanes knowing her baggage from seven years ago. it didn't bother her so much. folks in the lanes were either too high on shimmer to be thinking much of anything or.....

...or they were like ekko and his stupid gang.

trench is.... none of that. even when it insists on spitting out all kinds of people from home from the sea. whatever this viktor person is like, jinx is determined to find out.

all that to say, she keeps viktor waiting. not because she's actually late, but because once she gets to the lamp location, she spends a couple of minutes simply observing the area and the people by the canals. the focus of the video had been viktor's notes rather than viktor himself and she isn't certain what the other half of team blue ball looks like. the crowd here is fast moving, everyone seemingly eager to get to some destination or other -- except for the guy with the crutch by the water.

she frowns, pulling the hood of her cloak lower down her face, and sticks closer to the shadow of a nearby business. from her omni, she sends a message. ]

behind you.

no the dramatic flare is perfect

[mehanizovati]

[when his omni alerts him to a message he pulls it out, still a little startled by the contraption. wonderful technology, so far beyond his scope it makes him giddy if he's honest. how long has it been since a piece of work really stumped him that wasn't the damned hexcore?

those vague ramblings fly from his head the second he reads the message, an appropriate chill running down his spine and a very inappropriate chuckle caught in his throat. he swallows it swiftly, turns to see- well, at least not a knife or gun. he takes a step forward, crutch thumping loudly against the old wood of the dock.

a look to his omni and he pockets it again, sure that the messenger is nearby and biding their time. not unlike vi when they met, clever and careful the way he should be and yet.]

Very dramatic. [he informs, probably gets an odd look from someone tying up their boat that he ignores.]

odds and ends

[bolstafir]

[Qrow Branwen cannot, under most circumstances, be considered a lucky man. Often the opposite, in fact, and quite literally -- but in this particular happenstance it turns out that Qrow was at a nearby stall, having just purchased some kind of lemonade-ish beverage when Viktor was struck by his coughing fit, and so it is that Viktor will find himself casually approached by a tall, lanky man with a folded-up sword on his back offering out said drink to him. Not quite as helpful as plain water might've been, but it's better than nothing, perhaps.]

Here. You okay?

[mehanizovati]

[viktor blinks once when the cup comes into view, and after a brief moment of consideration he does take it. even with the citrus sting it helps, an interesting flavor he's never had before.

his glance to the young man is grateful if not a little sheepish, quick to offer] Thank you- allow me to get you new cup of this. [giving the cup back is sort of out of the question, there's a small smudge of that odd blood on the lid or straw.]

And yes, it... it is a condition from before my time here. Unfortunately all this waking as a sleeper business is not a cure-all.

odds and ends

[swellter]

[ Todoroki is out looking for tools to maintain his equipment. Problem is, he's not an engineer nor is he a haggler. In an area where people know what they're after and what they're willing to pay for it, he stands out and is easy pickings for a clever salesman. Case in point, the vendor who sells him the moon on a standard toolset that's more than he was looking for but he needs tools to maintain his support items and the toolset seems... comprehensive? So, yes. He is that sucker, completely overpaying, not even attempting to haggle once.

While he waits for his toolset to be readied - 'Only the best are put together on the spot!' - he continues perusing finding something of note near one of the other customers. ]

Do you know what that's used for?

[ He asks, curious of the tool. ]

[mehanizovati]

[viktor's very much in the market for tools lately himself, particularly in welding though that's been a bit of a crap shoot all things considered. he's thinking of rigging a lot up himself at this point, which will take longer than he'd like but beggars can't exactly be choosers, as they say.

at least the markets are familiar to what he's used to, at least from the undercity. it does mean when he swears he hears a customer nearby buy without haggling he winces to himself - definitely overpaying and basically welcoming the vendor to try and tack on as much as they can manage. even living in piltover so long he still can't imagine the mindset so many people seem to have about haggling being rude or unseemly. different cultures and experiences, what can you do?

he thinks it might even be the same man who points out a tool but he can't be certain. he taps the tool in question, glancing over and leaning on his crutch as he sets himself in place. an odd little piece of metal almost triangle shaped, and he answers in a slavic sounding accent,] Ah, these? They are magnetic and used to hold metals firmly in place when they are being worked on, particularly for welding or cutting.

Useful, though rather out of place I think. They have an odd selection here.

for chizuru, april

[mehanizovati]

[like home there are good days and bad days, though unlike home the good days out number the bad significantly. this would be an excellent change, if not for how hard it made the bad days hit.

today is a bad day, one that has viktor crumpled against the wall of some ruined building on his way back from the far shores where he was looking for scrap. his lungs itch, his head swimming from too little oxygen despite his deep breaths. he at least as the time to hastily pull out a stick of incense and light it, sticking it in the ground and hoping it will be enough to keep any beasts away from the scent of his blood. because the scent of his blood was certainly coming.

the first few hacking coughs has the rag in his hand covered in that odd paleblood, the smell not unlike milk in the perpetual night encasing the city. it's pretty in an odd way and disturbing in every other, though he doesn't have much time to consider it before he's hacking again, coughing like his lungs were rebelling against him and attempting escape.

so there he'll be, breathing heavily between coughing fits, cursing himself for not recognizing the signs of a bad day before heading out on such a trip. rio emerges to curl around and offer something a little softer to lean against, getting a shaky pat on the head for her trouble.]

[tealeafs]

[ Chizuru is a lot more careful on the streets, now it's so dark out the entire time. It doesn't seem like the darkness has brought any extra threats with it, but on the other hand.. it's so hard to tell whether there are more or less dangerous things to look out for when everything is so dark in the first place.

So she has told herself to just be straightforward about these errands. Go pick up some food, then go back home right away, in a straight line. Don't get distracted, in case there might be something dangerous. Chizuru can't have anyone worry about her.

.. but.

As good as her intentions were, as much as she was determined to stick to her plan.. the moment she hears some coughing in the distance that seems to persist, she immediately deviates from her plan. Maybe it's some sort of trap, but then it's one she's falling for easily, because there's no way Chizuru of all people could ignore that sound. The sheer amount of coughing makes her think of Okita when he had a fit, after all. Not that she thinks he's suddenly here necessarily, but she's still concerned enough to go look what's going on.

Once she's close enough, she sees exactly that. Or rather, she spots the man's omen first, but she recognizes Rio from the way Viktor had shown her on the network before. It makes her immediately realise who is there coughing his lungs out before she's even close enough to see.

It's why she already lets out a gasp of: ]

Mister Viktor..!

[ -- even as she's still moving in his direction. Even more hurriedly now, basically sprinting the last distance before ending up next to him. ]

Are you alright?! [ Despite the fact that they only spoke once before, and not even in person, the concern on Chizuru's face is so obvious that it's even visible in the low light. ]

closed for v, wonderkind

[mehanizovati]

[the meteors are remarkable, in truth so much of this month toes the line between wondrous and ruinous. viktor wishes he was in better shape to explore the odd portals he's seen pop up, even more for a glimpse at the different places and fascinating technologies they bring.

unfortunately he is not a fighter, cannot easily flee and his lungs occasionally let their dying throes known through bloody coughing that attracts beasts. life simply isn't kind enough to indulge his curiosity, is it?

it doesn't stop him from going out into the night to get those orbs though, or find scrap, areas of general interest. when a meteor happens to fall nearby enough he does cautiously make his way over, looking around a corner to a portal that's leading into a city that looks... not familiar but similar, at least a general feeling it shares with the undercity. it almost makes him nostalgic and he can't help but get closer to this glimpse of Night City.

it's where he can be found, head cocked as catalogues what he can see in fascination glad that (so far) nothing has come crawling out.]

[disrupts]

[ Fate; it's a weird thing to think about, and V's still not sure which side of the fence he sits on - does it exist, or do people have the freedom to forge their own path? It's complex, and in ways he's pretty sure he should have made his mind up he's also just undecided. Nothing's ever that black and white.

So, this mercenary nomad - whose stint in Night City was relatively short but packed full of life-changing events - doesn't know if it's fate or coincidence that he happens by around the same time a portal opens up. If he thought about it properly he'd likely summarize it's got something to do with him, but he's not thinking properly.

Between the whiplash of this new world he's found himself in and the world he was in last, and the fact he's here alone... the whole thing with the butterflies. Corruption, whatever the true depth of that is. It's a lot, worthy of affording himself the smallest amount of slack.

Maybe he'd admit it's probably at the very least fortuitous that he's approaching that very same portal opening when a familiar shape sails through. Small but mighty; its own ability to be life-changing or life-ending all in reaction time. Or lack of it. ]

'EY.

[ Unsure if the figure up at the portal is even aware of what just fell through, V's optical implants scan the grenade - frag grenade, messy - as he's sprinting towards the person. ]

'NADE. GET DOWN.

for ammy, april

[mehanizovati]

[at first viktor ignores it.

it's spooky, sure, this faceless him limping after him as he makes his way through the day, but he's already aware strange psychological attacks are part and parcel for this world. if it has some deeper meaning then it can wait, he has work he needs to do and very little patience for mind games. he also has a lifetime of putting his own problems, physical or not, to the backburner so he can get done what needs getting done. this is no different.

except when it begins to be. it starts with being unable to completely ignore the thing, glancing at it from the corner of his eye as he tries to work. it looks so grotesque, like a grim and faceless scarecrow, mocking all the ways his body continues to betray him. the weight he couldn't keep on as his lungs got worse, the curve of his spine as the conditions he was born with worsened with the illness. the steady decay of the flesh, relentless even here, where blood is power.

he doesn't notice the silver starting to seep along his jaw, or how his tether is getting closer. he does give up his work in frustration and decide to take a walk. at the very least those stray orbs are good ways to help with a spiraling mood, as loathe as he is to waste them when they make such fascinating subjects of research.

so he'll trudge through the canals, shadowed by a faceless shape hovering a little too close. not exactly a welcoming sight, and he tries to ignore any looks. maybe he'll get some hot drink from a stall, fight the chill of the lengthy night air. that's where he can be found, making a stall owner uncomfortable as he orders some hot, spiced cup of tea, his tether mimicking his movements.]

[brushy]

[ a wolf was made for walking, trotting, and loping across long distances. amaterasu would stop to rest only when she deemed it fitting to, but otherwise— there was much scouting to be done, gardens to visit, young boys and girls to lick, and hope to be shared. she couldn’t be everywhere at once, to her dismay, and neither could she salvage all of those who needed her light in one mortal body. oh, but she tried. she tried plenty and beyond.

the way the white coated wolf walks the streets was as if she owned it— much like a street dog who meandered down roads with purpose despite not truly having a place in mind as a destination. ammy walks the same way, her padding in a medium paced trot that throws her scruff about with natural elegance. golden eyes look around, this way and that, just to regard those here and there.

she smells viktor before she sees him. she sees him and briefly matches his gaze, drifts it over to his doppelgänger just as brief— she doesn’t stop walking. she keeps moving. she lifts her lip at the thing that stank of despair and the depths of darkness. the wolf, as kind as she was, shows little kindness. her haunches bristle and she growls, short and threatening, her eyes more on the copy, then shortly at viktor with a wide mouth open to pant, and continues on her way.

that thing has her boy in its clutches. her instinct had been to lash at it, but that thing— it is no demon she could brawl with where the mortal eyes were blind. she didn’t know what it was.

viktor receives a message on his omni, from the username AMMAKO, and separated from the rest, it is handwritten, what appears on his screen: ]

Hello, Viktor.
I have been told you are a man of good chats. Would you chat with me?

for palamedes, april

[mehanizovati]

[when viktor gets the message from pal he's a little surprised that he's excited. it's not really shocking he's eager but he's simply not the sort of person who went out to see a friend. jayce usually had to coax him when they would, and even then he preferred simply bringing food back to the lab or going to the academy cafeteria. the general atmosphere and mindset of piltover made hermiting the logical choice. they had no interest in seeing him and he felt much the same.

even when he first came here he realized quickly how little he had in terms of people he left behind. jayce, heimendinger, sky- that was it. a little humbling, and he thinks maybe here he could at least try to make a better effort at socializing. so far it's been surprisingly rewarding.

he does go to gaze on occasion but doesn't know it as well as the willful machine. it's easier with rio to lean against, keeping an eye out as he makes his way around. he squints at the message pal sent again, looks up to try and figure out the landmark in question to find this... bunker? clever really, given the state of the world. he'd probably do to have a more secure area for his lab, but he rather liked the decrepit old storage building.]

I believe I am here?

[that's what he sends when he finds the landmark, holding up his omni to take a picture and show as much to pal.]

[megatheorem]

[On some level, Palamedes realizes his, ah, fun little home is not the ideal place to have guests. He and Camilla chose it for its out-of-the-way quality (that Sixth cageyness) and its delightful lack of direct sunlight (when applicable), not because they ever intended to have anyone else come and visit. Even the Ninth nearby haven't ventured inside — so hopefully his oddball directions and descriptions of landmarks will help Viktor find the place.

Palamedes has decided to Make Snacks, which here means he remembers a dessert the Fifth had served the lot of them that was mostly, mm, cream and sugar and fruit, and he supposes that's both easy enough to replicate and sweet enough to seem very fun and unique compared to his other idea, which was plain biscuits. It also means he has, in the past day or so, acquired more sugar than he will ever need, but whatever; snacks. The whole of it is putting the ingredients into a bowl, but Palamedes doesn't cook?

He feels kind of jack-of-all-trades about it, privately. The fruit is pomegranate seeds. It's fancy.

All this to say: he is not bleeding everywhere while doing this snack thing and waiting for Viktor to arrive, and so when he hauls the heavy bunker door aside to stick his head out and squint around for him, he does it with clean hands. Small mercies. First:]

Nailed it. I'll meet you, stay put.

[Which is only polite, given he lives underground and it's already dark. The bunker entrance is not far from the landmark - Viktor probably could have heard him open the door, honestly - but Palamedes trots out to wave once he's seen him.]

There you are — and on the first try, too. [haha] Come on, d'you like fruit? There is fruit in the snack.

[Please come and see his bunker, which is lit by naked lightbulbs strung up around the ceiling that illuminate the place just enough for it to still be a little dim. It's clear that the furnishings here were very much picked for two people and two people only, down to an earnest bunkbed pushed all the way into the back and the tiny couch opposite what passes for a miniature kitchen. The small "kitchen" table is covered in books and papers save for a space cleared out to eat, and like he said: he's been wallpapering with his own notes. It's yet to dominate the whole space, but it's a solid chunk.]

for palamedes 2, april heists and then a bar

[mehanizovati]

[the school of mutter is familiar enough to viktor now, a place he frequented and still finds time to sit in on to absorb whatever new information he can get his hands on. the absolutely freedom of knowledge is a little staggering to him, what with how selective the academy was and how difficult education in the undercity was to get.

in that way he thinks the trench is far, far above his own world. he might even feel bad for taking a chalkboard or two but they have so many and viktor wasn't kidding when he said he searched thoroughly for one of his own. they may be free with the knowledge but apparently they hogged the chalkboards. really, they were left with little choice.

presumably they made their way from the bunker to the school, the perpetual night making it impossible to tell what the hell time it was without the clock tower before them. late in the evening, late enough there would be few people about but early enough it wouldn't be immediately obvious they were up to no good. viktor's having a good day for his health so far too, promising no random coughing fits. hopefully.

and if they do get caught? well, he imagines it's not so heinous a crime they can't pay their way out of it one way or another. it's probably fine, and it's a blessed distraction from a lot of other decidedly less fine things.

he glances to pal, brow raised.] So... game plan, yes? I stand watch while you break into the lecture hall?

[megatheorem]

[There's a nonzero chance that, with the right incentive, they could just ask for an extra chalkboard or two and wheel them out of here without issue. There is that chance. But Palamedes has committed to the bit, now, and his supply of tantalizing valuable bloodstones is not only limited - but they need the chalkboards to make notes on those very same stones.

It's just fate, really, that they have to steal these things. It's just the way it has shaken out in the fabric of the universe(s).

So here they are, amped and ready for petty theft. Palamedes has a scalpel in his bag, but it's only for slicing his own fingers again, if and when he happens to need a quick float from the darkblood.

He nods to Viktor, then considers the nearby entrance. It's a school, it's not... guarded. But as they themselves prove, academics keep absurd hours, and so relying on everyone heading home at a reasonable time is impossible.]

Right. The strategy is this: I'm going to walk in there like I'm supposed to be there and I'm in a hurry.

[This method has worked for him before at least several times.]

If you see anyone... [trip them. no.] What's our "get out" phrase?

for vi, april

[mehanizovati]

[the portals were a mixed bag, if he's being honest. on one hand they're fascinating, and he's gotten a few interesting things from them he can use in the lab. on the other he's already sick to death of the nonsense that spews from them and often tries to kill him or others.

it's most annoying when they open near his lab, and that's exactly what just happened. just down the alley, in fact. he keeps a distance to squint at it, mostly because some odd creature had crawled out and was sniffing around the place. it looked... he wouldn't say harmless but not immediately a threat.

maybe he'd just ignore them. surely they don't spew a mist that can kill you in seconds.]

[fattyhands]

[ word is you can find just about anything you’re looking for in the willful machine. what happens when you’re not looking for anything in particular though? well, you wind up expending a great deal of time browsing and wandering aimlessly. not a big deal for vi, honestly. other than keeping powder company and renovating their abandoned house, she’s yet to obligate herself to any concrete routine. and truly, making small talk with booth-keepers is preferable to her to-do-list of cleaning the gutters.

she’ll get to it, promise. more likely when the sun comes back. ( if it comes back? )

trench isn’t known for its predictability. and so, vi isn’t all that surprised when she breezes by an opening between buildings and catches sight of a portal in her periphery. ah yes – those. she slows because of course she does and turns because of course she does, only to find a funny little creature.

and a funny little man. ah. playing observer again? ]

Where’s your notebook? [ she picks up a casual air about her: arms crossed, body pitching to lean her shoulder into the nearby building. she’s aware of that ugly creature though; as long as it stays over there, a good distance away from them both, then she’s good to let her guard drop some. ]

Run outta pages already?

for palamedes, end of april

[mehanizovati]

[viktor gives himself time to think, more so time away from the tether's influence and fallout to try and assess what is no doubt a budding crush.

the thing really is he doesn't do crushes. viktor doesn't 'crush.' he's rarely honest about the reasoning because it's a morose and depressing state that borders too close to pathetic for his liking. here he has to address it- he doesn't crush because being vulnerable is dangerous. he doesn't fall in love because the sickly kid who couldn't climb the buildings or run from enforcers already painted too much of a target. he doesn't open up because he took that risk on a man who smiled and said they'd be loners together only to prove the world turns on violence for people like them, who lived under it all.

even jayce and all his earnestness and sentimentality, it took a long time for viktor to let him in. even jayce and his 'our hextech dream' is tempered with knowing jayce's star will always be on the rise and viktor couldn't follow even if he wanted, because he isn't wanted there himself. there's such an endless, churning bitterness under everything he's swallowed and endured for the sake of survival, then progress, then survival again. no room for delicate things like crushes and hands brushing and how pal looks at him like he simply need to be in order to make the man happy.

first he tries to understand what changed, why now. is it this place? is it pal? if they met in piltover would he still break through viktor's guards so easily? without the weight of the tether he still sees the lines of it, he can too perfectly picture how pal grinned in the low light of the earworm or how he moves like he can't help himself when they sit at home.

he can see it in the weight around pal's words when they let themselves dissect the sharper bits of their lives, how he opened himself up when viktor was already silver and vulnerable. his stubborn push to eat a jam sandwich and viktor can say he doesn't remember the last time anyone made him food. jayce made them coffee sometimes, sky would share things she bought, but a stupid jam sandwich is the first time in ages someone made the effort, as small as it was.

stupid thing to be so caught up on, he knows. everything in him knows nothing has really changed here except maybe viktor himself, trying to live in a better way that doesn't leave him seething in bitterness rotting somewhere deep down. and maybe that's enough.

he has always been a risk taker at heart anyway.

so he sets to making something not unlike fish and chips, a bit difficult given he only has a pan to fry but pal doesn't seem to know much about comfort food and even zaun couldn't make simple fried fish and starch too disgusting. (it could, actually, but he likes to pretend.) he even gets beer for pal to try himself, pretty sure pal's going to hate it if he's never had it before but the experience would be interesting.

it's a lot more effort than what he usually does, slow cook meals thrown in the pot and forgotten most of the day. it's... an attempt, and he messages pal, realizing a bit belatedly he should have made sure the man was actually free before doing all this.

ugh. well, fingers crossed.]

Come by the lab if you can, I made something I want you to try.

one day it will even be the end of april irl

[megatheorem]

[Unwittingly, Palamedes has an easier time of it. Credit his uncanny ability to compartmentalize, perhaps - he can look at the shape of his life in Trench and the growing feelings he has for Viktor and put them where they need to be. Not aside, it would be disingenuous to simply pretend he doesn't feel what he feels, but neatly in their own space, where he needn't make anything, hm, awkward. Uncomfortable, perhaps. They do live together.

The problem is this: the box isn't big enough. Metaphorically speaking, that is, the box he puts feelings for Viktor into is too small, or it keeps letting those feelings sneak out into other boxes, or any other thing that could describe the situation: he can't extricate the whole of Viktor from everything else. The same as how he couldn't possibly pick out all the traces of Camilla from his life and expect the walls of it to still stand (although he's never dedicated many long minutes to thinking about Camilla's cheekbones or her fingers, in total fairness); Palamedes has always put the whole of himself into any given friendship, but—

Well, he isn't a fool, he knows where the line is between dedicated friendship and romantic inclinations, he's been here before. Few people can make him vulnerable and even fewer are welcomed like Viktor is; it's as if one moves and the other follows, fitting into the spaces beside each other because they want to be there. Because they hinge together in all of the correct places; Palamedes drawn in by Viktor's mind and held there by his compassion and smitten by the rest, cooking on bunsen burners and twirling his hair.

Palamedes Gets It. He knows himself, and the "thinking about fingers" stage is pretty telling, besides all the rest. Pin his having an easier go of it on that almost-experience, maybe, it could very well be that.

Either way: he is fairly content. Trench has spent the month putting everyone through it, as usual, including the pair of them, but! He would rather stomp around in the dark looking for orbs and hiding from beasts and come home to Viktor than no one at all. Content. Even if— well.

He'll be content, is the idea.

He's content to get Viktor's message, then, and doesn't fight the pleasantly domestic feeling it gives off of just - spending time together doing ordinary things, without the gloom of Trench breathing down their necks. The past month feels in some ways longer and shorter than the reality, at once; longer, for the easy comfort of their routine, and shorter, for the frequent delight of - things like this message.

First:]

For work, or for cooking class? I hope the latter wasn't made on a bunsen burner; we talked about this.

[zing... haha.]

I'm nearby. I'll be there soon.

[Here, "nearby" means "trading some butterfly orbs for More Notebooks," don't perceive him, he's on his way. The walk from the shops to the lab is quick, now that he knows the way and pretends he knows where the butterflies are going to be hanging around. One day the sun will rise again and he'll have to relearn all the sights, sigh—

But he's arrived, letting himself into the lab and casually putting down his big bag of more notebooks like it's not excessive at all. It smells like food, so ah, not a taser to try, cool.]

Hi. Am I late?

for palamedes, but may this time

[mehanizovati]

[so far viktor preferred the no sun april to this may, with it's irritating fascination with bugs. admittedly the first time he genuinely thought there might be bugs under his skin was horrible and alarming but now, knowing it's another hallucination, it mostly just annoys him. the perks of being in some form of discomfort or pain since he was born, a very high skill level at ignoring his body when it's being uppity.

still he's pissed about it. being a paleblood sucks.

another thing that sucks is having the sun back does in fact make him feel a little more tired, a little weaker all around. not terribly so but he can't help but miss the vitality he felt in april, where most days were good days physically and it was easier to make the trek between the lab and home.

complaining aside home is lovely, which makes things like bugs and aches a little more bearable. today he's particularly excited for it, coming down the stairs into the bunker with a brightness to his eyes and a bag under his arm.]

I have a gift for you. [he informs pal- or just the bunker in general calling it out as he places the bag onto the table and gestures to it. it contains two books, one a rather lovely encyclopedia of insects of all kinds, detailed drawings of each, lots of science jargon and fancy names.

the other is also an encyclopedia. sort of. it's of marine life but is clearly made for kids, more 'fun facts' and brightly colored (but accurate!) pictures. one page has a bookmark of a folded piece of scrap paper, and that is the page all about squids. plenty of pictures. viktor looks weirdly proud of himself for these finds.]

[megatheorem]

[Palamedes equally prefers the no sun April to terrible Bugs May, if only because the sun still does make him a little uncomfortable. He'd rather spend as little time out and about in the Weather as possible, even if that means being cooped up with - of all things - big moths? He's not sure what keeps making moths pop up other than it's him somehow, so - well.

Moths. When Viktor comes home, Palamedes is sitting on the floor up close to the big moon orb (tm), where today's two big moths have decided to land and are just hanging out, while he watches them in idle fascination. The moths were a concern at first, before he realized they weren't smaller versions of the hypnotic butterflies— now? They're kind of cute, but only a little.

But ah, the siren song of books placed on a table, oho? That perks him up in an instant, and he unfolds himself from his pretzel seating on the floor to come and see this exciting gift.]

More books? I'm starting to feel predictable. [ha ha, never stop getting him books. they'll need more shelves, though. as he picks up the first book, about the bugs,] Oh— finally, the great mystery of what kind of moths they are will be resolved.

[He says with a hand over his heart, like ah, such a considerate gift. This has been tormenting him (a little). Then, this - colorful children's volume? He raises an eyebrow at Viktor as he sets the bugpedia aside to pick up this, flipping it open to...

It takes him a second to absorb the large, colorful picture, and then the exciting 3D text that says SQUIDS! in the top corner. Oh-]

They're hideous. [he loves this squidbook. earnest delight.] I don't know what I expected. I think the- arms?- are longer than our seaworthy counterparts'. What do you think?

[Come look at this Squid Pic!!]

for chizuru, early may

[mehanizovati]

[sometime in the first few days of may viktor sends chizuru a message, asking her if she'd like to come cook dinner with him as planned. he informs he has plenty of ingredients to work with but if there's something in particular she'd like to make then she's welcome to bring what they need for that at well.

in truth it's still an odd hobby to him, not really one he ever had a particular interest in before the trench. cooking back home was largely a waste of time he could be spent doing other things, especially when he learned very early on in life not to be picky about food. meals were quickly made or bought, eaten in distraction and then quickly dimissed.

here? it would be the same, but he finds cooking for the sake of others is a more fulfilling matter than he originally assumed. likely allen's doing, the exorcist was so pleased by the simple act of it and the result that viktor began examining the activity in a new light.

even if he didn't he has a bit of an agenda here, namely to find proof chizuru is a better cook than she admitted to him and perhaps encourage her to utilize that skill if need be. he thinks this is the sort of thing a friend should do, though it's certainly been a learning process.

the bunker he lives in is in gaze, a staircase down into the earth that houses the set up. it's comfortable, or so he thinks, a bunk bed though the top is covered in books like it's used for storage, a rolling chalkboard with god knows what work related nonsense scribbled all over it, schematics littering one half of the table. palamedes' drawing of a squid attached to the fridge in all it's glory. the kitchen is a little cramped but hey, no bunsen burner? a win for food everywhere.

viktor has rio sit by the entrance to the bunker so chizuru can actually find it, the door already opened so she doesn't have to deal with numberpad lock. rio's tail will thump happily when she's in sight, standing and heading down to where viktor is looking recipes in his omni with a comically solemn expression given the subject matter.]

[tealeafs]

[ This is a day of many firsts for Chizuru, apparently. After all - she's never been inside of a bunker. Those sorts of things simply didn't exist, back where she came from, so the concept of just.. going down into the earth when entering his house is a lot. Nothing too startling, but it certainly means that Chizuru's eyes are wide with wonder as she descends the stairs and then sees Viktor's place, looking very much like a tourist in a big city.

Even if, in this case, she is just a young woman inside of a bunker home.

And then there's all the.. the scientific stuff. That also is something she hasn't seen much, given the kind of circumstances she came from. She's seen her father's papers as a doctor, but the scribblings on the chalkboard and even just the chalkboard itself are an entirely new marvel to her. It kind of feels like she set foot inside of an amusement park.

(If Chizuru knew what that was, anyway.)

Viktor might not be able to see all of her wonder, though Rio will as her companion into the house - and of course Rio deserves a headpat for being so sweet as to wait for her outside, especially now she's growing more and more familiar with the omen.

When she spots Viktor inside, she calls out: ]

Mis-- [ She pauses, seeming to realise something, then shakes her head to correct herself: ] V-Viktor!

[ Chizuru looks as if she just conquered a mountain, rather than just simply dropped formalities around someone who has officially called her a friend. Sometimes it's about the baby steps, especially for such an overly polite girl. ]

Thank you so much for letting me come over..! Your home is.. it's so special!

[ Yes, she's probably saying that with way more enthusiasm than it probably should be, given the state of Viktor's place. But Chizuru seems thoroughly impressed, carrying a bag of rice in her arms.

He did say she didn't have to bring anything, but she was a little worried he might not have any... ]

for v, early may

[mehanizovati]

[so viktor's lab is in willful machine, an abandoned warehouse he decided to claim for the purpose. it's an amusingly spooky building, worn brick and an old mural from whatever company used to own the storage space, faded down until the only really visible aspect is a blurred figure and a large eye. viktor personally finds the aesthetic entertaining, given the trench. also he has no interest in wasting time or paint fixing it up, so spooky it shall be.

inside are various metal tables, each with projects- the lasers, what is clearly going to end up a taser, some mass of gears that is difficult to figure out what the hell he's doing with, a table full of things like clocks and toasters that he's either repairing or stripping for parts. all in all a pretty typical sort of lab on a trench budget, in his humble opinion. he does have a lighting system rigged to a lunar orb he's pretty proud of.

anyway v gets invited over with a message of:]

Now that we are free of grenades and other such dramas would you like to come to my lab? I have a project I think you might find entertaining.

[directions are added, along with a timeframe of when he can be found there. he can be found sitting over one of the tables, tinkering with the taser project, little sparks of electricity occasionally lighting up his face and goggles.]

[disrupts]

[ Funny how the darkness of April lifting makes V feel brand new all over again. Seeing Trench in daylight is a trip, and it's kept him busy trying to alter his internal memory map of what he'd learned in the dark. Getting accustomed to somewhere new has been a part of his life since he was very small, and he follows the same process here and now.

The message from Viktor makes him smile, the username V flashing up a welcome sight, and the invitation warming him from the inside. ]

@ nomad
Would love to
Be there soon :-)

[ The growl of V's motorbike cuts out as he parks up outside and though he loves riding his bike wherever he's got to go, there's a slight ulterior motive to have brought it with him. That's for a later conversation and, poking his head into the lab a few moments later, he forgets all about how he'd like to borrow some space to upgrade that bike.

This place is preem. ]

Wow, wasn't expectin' this. No idea what to look at first.

[ Is how he greets the man at the table clearly absorbed in his work. V's got a habit of being tactile without thinking about the appropriateness of what he's doing, so the friendly hand that lands on Viktor's shoulder hasn't really been thought through as to whether that's an okay thing to do or not. Sorry, choom. ]

Thanks for askin' me over here.

for pal, a most unfortunate au in may

[mehanizovati]

[it is a normal evening may, maybe odd if only for the fact he and pal are both tired at the same time and actually, really going to bed rather than one scribbling in a notebook and acting as a bony pillow for the other who probably pushed himself to exhaustion. typical nerd stuff. viktor throws an arm over pal's waist and finds it easy to fall asleep in the low glow of the lunar orb, the only sound the fluttering of moths and pal's breathing so close.

it was a normal day when viktor walked in to find rio twitching and crying on the lab floor. he crawled into the cavern like usual, found the box he kept at the entrance and went to go make sure there was enough fumewort for rio, stuffing the glowing mushrooms into the box as he went. it was one of the ways he could help, the doctor told him, along with a extensive list of the properties of the mushrooms, how rio's digestive system worked, fact upon fact that viktor earnestly carved into his memory in order to make sure he would be the most effective he could be in helping rio and the doctor. in truth it was the first time in his life he felt a true sense of purpose, and that alone was addictive, even disregarding the companionship.

because rio was his friend, his first friend, really. the doctor too, in a way. loners together.

on this normal day he drops the box of fumewort and stumbles to rio's side, frantic to offer some comfort against the horrible way she writhed on the floor, her eyes clouded and blinded with chemicals and leaking. when he touches her scales peel off and stick to his fingertips, and viktor can't tell if he's hurting her more by trying to wrap around her. he doesn't know what to do, what to think, everything in his head is moving too fast to keep up with anything but the basic why why why.

'you did this?' he asks the doctor.

'the mutation must survive,' the doctor says so calmly, as easily as he listed the properties of fumewort or corrected viktor's formulas.

this is the point where he should run. it's the point where he looks to where his cane fell, heart beating hard at the prey animal fear of turning his back to something with teeth. the point where he does so anyway and hopes the doctor won't try to stop him.

it's also the point he looks to rio, who presses into his arms despite her pain. it's where the doctor kneels to make sure the terrible metal piping fused into rio's skin weren't skewed, because the mutation didn't need to survive in comfort or dignity. it's the point where rio's leaking eyes look blindly into his and he foolishly, so foolishly, thinks 'maybe i can help.' a mirror of their first meeting, only now he can't stop his eyes from leaking and he doesn't grimace at the slimy feeling of rio's drug ravaged body under his hands.

'she's in pain,' he manages to say. 'i want- i want to help.'

and the doctor looks to him, puts the same hand he did on viktor's shoulder once more. viktor ever foolishly thinks if he can just manage to at least put her out of her pain, then he can turn his back on this horrible place. if he can just help.


in the trench he's never been sure if he died to get here or was merely taken in the middle of his operation.

he never did turn his back to the lab and the doctor, not when they put rio in her coma, not when he helped have her placed in the vat that became the centerpiece of both the lab and shimmer production. he's not foolish enough anymore to believe the doctor's intentions are kind with the drug, though he at least believes they are pure, in a way. singed isn't a sadist, not even power hungry, he simply moves unerringly forward regardless of who is trampled under foot. viktor can even believe the man once had good intentions for his relentless pursuit of progress, though he'll never again make the mistake of trust in that regard. if anything the man helps him learn that apathy is a powerful tool in survival, both the projection of it and the actual use.

a shame he's always been damnably emotional, sentimental. that was what the operation was supposed to finally wipe out, but alas.

another thing he'll give singed is the brilliance of shimmer. in the right hands it could be a medicine without equal, it could fuel chemtech prosthetics and augmentations in such flawless ways it'd revolutionize the entire field. of course it could also be warped into something between a biological weapon and a drug, as it currently is in silco's questionable hands. another man with a vision who tramples over all in his way, including making a path on the desperate people he's supposedly trying to lift up into independence.

the nauseous flare of bitterness viktor always feels when he thinks of that, of any of it, gets neatly pressed back into its box.

the drug was also in viktor's hands though, a version he himself helped further refine for the purpose of augmentation. a side project as the academy continued to turn it's back on him, no friendly dean stumbling upon him to offer him a place, just lips thinned at the sight of his threadbare clothing and entrance exams he knows he aces yet never receives word of the result of. the bitterness gets harder and harder to choke down. the offers to work for silco get harder to turn down as his resources dwindle and silco puts the pressure on.

he caves, he buries the shame of what his work is used for, he focuses on chemtech and shimmer and trying to make some level of difference. at the very least he can offer prosthetics and needed augments to people who cannot pay for it, sometimes. he can pretend these people aren't the type who will end up dead in a gutter and stripped for the same parts he gave them. he can try to bury all that deep too.

funnily it's his own lungs failing that make the pressure building in him snap. it's just such a festering, putrid pit of anger now, of all the wasted time, of everything he's done boiled down to furthering the agendas of chembarons feeding on the same people he always wanted to help. it's cutting off one of his hands up to the elbow and replacing it with a shimmer fueled prosthetic that will not tremble when he cuts open his own fucking chest and fixes his lungs himself because he will not die like this. he will not put it in a box, he will not tighten his jaw and play at apathy like when the academy proctors eyed him disdainfully, he won't be a footnote in silco's doomed rebellion.

all he needs now is to kill the animal part of him that fears digging into his own chest. not just the fear but all of it, everything, wiped clean and made gloriously efficient rather than the messy boxes of the failed human machine.

he makes a machine for the operation. he makes a special shimmer for the operation. he does everything he can do short of involving someone else in cutting his head open and inserting a chip and system that will destroy that part of him. it infuriates him to no end he has no idea if he failed and died or if the ocean here has a morbid humor and sense of timing.

it doesn't matter, viktor reminds himself. he can do the same here eventually, and with new tools as well. his arm's shimmer supply has already been replaced with his own blood fueling it in new and fascinating ways. paleblood covers the realm of the mind and emotions, which seems a sick joke but he can use that to his advantage.


it's a normal day for the lab in the willful machine, the same place, the same faded mural on the wall with one eye overlooking the alley. the tables are covered in projects as they always are, though here viktor focuses almost all his attention on his project with pal. the mixing of blood and technology, the chemtech of zaun run on a different fuel.

he's considered using blood gems in passing, ultimately dismissing it as inefficient. it's easier to get blood anyway.

there's vials of said blood, both dark and pale, lining the table he's currently working on. he's tinkering with a prototype for paleblood, something that can make any being docile within it's area of effect. even very powerful beasts, even very powerful sleepers.

when he hears the door open he doesn't bother looking up from his work.] You're late.

me closing my eyes and refusing to wordcount this, cws for murder and allusions to cancer

[megatheorem]

[The sun has risen; the mirrors have not tampered with him again; the massive butterflies and the tethers are long gone. Palamedes allows himself to slip into a sort of calm, to not live slightly on edge, to relax enough to go to bed with Viktor without being too wired to sleep or too exhausted to think. After all, if the most irritating thing happening to either of them in the past few days is Viktor's itching, well, things are looking up. He finds Viktor's other hand and loosely tangles their fingers together, and he goes to sleep.


The biggest problem, as always, is the knowing. Palamedes sees the problem with Lyctorhood before he sees all of the steps, that is: there aren't enough. The work ends prematurely, which he tries to generously tell himself (and Camilla) is part of the test, part of the proving to reach ascension: find what's missing and fill it in.

It becomes abundantly clearer that he is wrong, he was too generous, there are no other steps. The thing that the others assume is Lyctorhood is not, or at least, it should have another, more damning name. The work is unfinished, a tragedy waiting to happen as soon as one of the other necromancers figures it out and tries it, he's sure, and he wonders if he can stop it. The greater tragedy must be that none of the first Lyctors knew.

He tries not to think about it. Conveniently, the murders make everything go to hell, and he's given days of distracted of reprieve. When Ianthe Tridentarius eats her poncy cavalier and becomes another of God's holiest sinners, Palamedes tries in vain to tell her that she's arranged the pieces wrong, that whatever she thinks she's done, she hasn't; of course, she doesn't listen. Of course, some kind of abomination from the Eighth takes on the Third and Palamedes finds himself backed against a wall and his hand flattens against the painted message there, the YOU LIED TO US that screams down at the rest of them still alive in this chamber where Tridentarius has made herself a monster.

Palamedes blinks, hand on the painted O behind him. He blinks again, and he looks at Camilla, and Camilla isn't looking back at him and so he shoves off the wall and moves as quickly as he can back to the sickroom of the Seventh necromancer — whoever she is now.

The confrontation with the Lyctor who is not Dulcinea Septimus, Seventh adept, goes as follows: Palamedes' icy cool, the emotion snuffed out of his voice as he calmly asks why this murder, why that one, where is the Seventh, and why? The airy, floating voice of the Lyctor doesn't match the venom with which she speaks of God, and ten thousand years of cyclical sickness, and pain. Palamedes lets her talk, quests outward with his necromancy and pinpoints all the little pieces of the thing that hasn't killed her for a myriad and puts his proverbial finger on the pulse, just a push, he need only press and he will give the others a fighting chance to kill the immortal before she kills them—

But he thinks about the paint, YOU LIED TO US thrown up on the wall of that chamber that sits hollow with a grief unimaginable, a forgotten tomb abandoned by people lied to by the man they loved and trusted.

He falters; second-biggest problem. He withdraws and he swears she can see the shift in his carefully blank expression, something in grey eyes that betrays him as a creature that still has empathy, and he flees.

The rest is a blur. The Lyctor has no empathy for any of them in turn, no, her plan doesn't have a space left for worrying about the small lives of Palamedes, or Camilla, or the Ninth— it's a fight without mercy, with every inch taken through gritted teeth and spitting blood, and then Camilla falls.

He sees it in slow motion: the Lyctor's awful rapier of bone and ash, her speed undiminished by anything they've done to her, Camilla's footing unsteady on a pile of debris that was once Canaan House's beautiful, dead architecture—

The trouble with being very good, Palamedes thinks, is having to confront in advance the shapeless agony of the rest of his endless life. There isn't an option; Camilla is going to die if he doesn't do this, and unlike him, she doesn't have an insurance policy— he can't hold her in the River until someone can do something about it.

Their eyes meet. Neither of them says a word; they don't have to. Palamedes can only nod once, in promise, and nothing after that matters to him.


Being a Lyctor is, as he anticipated, stupid and miserable. They take him to the Emperor's own private- ship? Station? He doesn't pay attention and he doesn't care, but it isn't dim apathy that fuels him. He's blinded at all times by white-hot fury, by the furnace within him that was once Camilla Hect and so help him will be again one day, as soon as he puts a rapier through God's heart again and again until it takes.

(A rapier he cannot use, because Camilla favored another sword that his lesser physique can't wield no matter how much of her has become his innate muscle memory, it's too much, there's too much—)

The other Lyctors, hm, don't like him. He makes it worse on purpose, eye-rolling and scoffing and challenging even when he shouldn't, and it's a wonder none of them try to kill him within the week. Mostly, he hovers around Harrow, who is - who has - well, Harrow's problems are their own beast. He avoids Tridentarius like the plague.

Life, maddeningly, goes on. The wheel continues to turn, and Palamedes with it, although who is he now, when Camilla is gone?


Waking up on some repugnant beach in a town reeking of blood is notable only as a change of scenery. The anger is still there; the furnace is still there. He notes the new breed of magic as a thing that has implications, which he intends to make use of. He has, still, only two goals: kill God, and restore Camilla. It occurs to him vaguely that he is the same as the Lyctor who killed Camilla, whatever her name was, but with the advantage that he has never loved God.

In the Trench, he meets Viktor, whose own unique contributions to blood magic (and etc.) can only improve chances. What can this drug of his do to a Lyctor? Worth pursuing; worth, also, in a twisted way, the company— if only to have a sounding board for ideas that will not say a word against him when he says things like kill God. Palamedes appreciates that particular quality of Viktor, if not his complaints about tardiness. He scoffs.]

Shut up; I'm here, aren't I? You never leave.

[is he late, or did viktor sit there all night!! hmph!!!

He comes over to Viktor's table and sets a bag down; it clinks pleasantly, because it is full of more blood vials. Pleasant. He frowns, petulant.]

I've brought you a gift, but not if you're going to complain.

for vi, may

[mehanizovati]

[standing at the odd, wooded path is new, for a trench dream. he hasn't had many odd ones yet though viktor's kept something of an eye out, given the fact he's a paleblood. others of his type have wandered into people's dreams without meaning to. he'd really rather not with that, thanks, for a large variety of reasons.

this is certainly an odd dream, if only for how lucid he feels. he glances down and finds a cane in his hands instead of a crutch, head tilting in curiosity at that distinction. if this is a dream he suppose a cane is what he used most of his life, up until only a couple years prior. it's refreshing to be without the constant pressure under his arm from the damn crutch, dream or not.

a glance behind and he sees shadow but also-] Vi.

[huh. for the most part he looks the same but in this dream space he's in a far more piltover fashion, the academy vests and whatnot. her favorite.] I believe this is a dream, or at least the last thing I remember is falling asleep. Yourself?

for rose, early may

[mehanizovati]

[the boardwalk is cheerful in a way viktor isn't sure if he finds unsettling or not. he's only been here since march, not yet used to anything but the dying winter rather than the emergence of spring. frankly it all feels a little... hm. cult-like. then again when doesn't it in the trench?

so he's taken to the boardwalk today, an eye out for new arrivals but more so curious about the food. in fact he can be found with glowing mushrooms growing out of the side of his neck, seemingly unperturbed by this but gesturing to the floral springrolls as he tries to talk to a smiling but unhelpful vendor.]

Who made these? [the vendor just shrugs and viktor tries not to sigh.] Were they purposely infused with magic? Is there anything you can tell me about any of this food?

[give him the Truth.]

[rosae]

( Rose is extremely cautious of the shifts to everything. It's almost too sweet, too pretty... and she's definitely getting those culty vibes, too — which brings back a slew of bad memories. She's already been incredibly uneasy of this place, but that feeling has simply grown over time. Add in the recent appearance of monsters from Silent Hill, and being killed by some horrible creature from someone else's world.... She's certainly not the biggest fan of Trench.

But the fear it elicits in her doesn't make her want to hide herself away. No, Rose is freshly invigorated with the desire to find out yet more about this place. She doesn't trust it at all, and she wants to learn anything she can. She's out and about often, though she never stays away from her daughter for long. Trips to various shops and businesses don't take too much time, and there's dashes of exploration in there, too.

She also frequents the beach, because she knows well by now that it's where things wash up. Things from home... and clues, snippets that could be useful. It's where she is now; admittedly, it is a nice day and she's enjoying the fresh breeze as she heads down the boardwalk. The new food items that have popped up catch her eye as well, though less in a curious way and more in a wary one. She'd freshly witnessed what eating weird food can do to people around here.

When she sees a man just up ahead inquiring about it to a vendor, Rose hesitates, before stepping in closer and uttering quietly. )

I wouldn't eat anything here, if I were you. ( But as she takes the stranger in, she notices the mushrooms seemingly blossoming right from his neck, and her eyes widen. )

....Did you already eat something?

for eyeball palamedes, mid may

[mehanizovati]

[sometime in the afternoon pal gets a message from the boyfriend:]

Come to the lab around dinnertime and bring clothes that would convince the people at the Red we are a normal enough pair of sleepers there for a date. It is time to get some information.

And save whatever snarky comment you have about 'normal' given our transformations for when you get here, text never does them justice.

[for his part viktor takes some time to go get proper clothes, which is... well, difficult in his current condition. his chest has fully opened up by now, spouting so many different plants it makes tradition shirts difficult. with a little uh, pruning and some effort he manages a shirt and vest he has to mangle at certain areas to let the stems and flowers and various greenery he's learned he can't remove or clip without issue out.

it at least covers the organs and bones, which is a plus. it does not cover the bones of one hand and arm which have now become an odd mass of said bone, veins and plant matter in curling vines and buds. he doesn't bother trying to hide it in a glove or something, mostly because it's hard to find gloves that come in 'plant hand' size.

one of the things he actually finds the most annoying are the glowing mushrooms growing up his neck and the opening in his temple dipping down low and close to the corner of his eye for various leafy stems to burst out of, like his head is a morbid vase. it's less that and more the fact he has to duck his head when going through a door or leaves brush back and he's not getting into how weird that feels when he's pretty sure they're rooted in his brain one way or another. he'd be more alarmed about that if it didn't just... not cause any problems he's seen. weirdly harmless, really, like it's natural. pun intended.

oh, also his skin has a bit of a green tint, the more visible veins like vines even in the human part. plant man. he's focusing on smoothing out his nice date clothes around the fucking plant thing for now. when pal does enter he won't look up at first, still fiddling.]

I'd hate how I had to ruin this shirt and vest for this but I suppose I can just use it as scrap fabric later.

here we go

[megatheorem]

[Ooh, an information heist date, Palamedes' favorite kind. There really is something, hm, incredibly compelling about Viktor's brisk "date time to get information" vibe here, like The Red has been holding out on them and it's finally time to take them down. Is this Viktor's elusive firm hand...

Well, first:]

Don't sigh at me if I can't come up with any good clothes. You know I have a very limited wardrobe.

Don't sigh at this text, either. I can practically hear you.

[Ha ha, anyway, the hunt is on for... clothes. He truly has nothing at all, and even if he were to go out shopping, he doubts he could find anything that would a) accommodate everything about his appearance right now, and b) fit Viktor's strict parameters of "normal clothes."

That is to say, not grey.

Anything he has to pull over his head is out, given the several pairs of miniature wings that now grow out of the back of his neck. He's managed to corral these into a sort of feathery scarf, though imperfect - sometimes they just flutter? It happens. But it kind of inhibits having to pull something down over his head without ruining the collar entirely. Equally inhibiting are the big wings, long enough to trail along the ground when he keeps them closed, which is most of the time. If any part of his new outfit is going to be grey and dusty, it's the big wings.

The myriad eyes are... still the eyes, though they've seemingly stopped sprouting more copies of themselves overnight now that the wings are in. They also - Palamedes is pretty sure it's the eyes themselves, though there are so many of them it seems like it's just the totality of him - they also glow faintly, brighter in the dark, and he's long since given up matching them with any outfit.

In the end, he pinches Viktor's clothes. They're of a height? They're of a variable thin- and boniness? These will have to do. He brings them tucked under his arm to the lab, shirt and vest and tie and Viktor will have to excuse his grey pants this one time, they're very normal without the rest of the grey fit.

So: he's here, and after a quick glance up and down to be sure that Viktor hasn't hit the point of no return on his plant growths, he gives him another glance up and down that is a lot less quick. Hmm! He's seen plenty of this Viktor variant (perhaps one might even call it a skin) lately and expressed in no uncertain terms that he is very handsome even with his face sprouting mushrooms, but in the date outfit— hmm!]

Well— bad news, I've stolen a shirt and vest from you and we're going to have to ruin these, too. [because of his cool wings. He comes over to put the clothes on the nearest table in a folded heap like, welp, there they are.] But first, I need to do something.

[That being kiss the plant man, specifically, one hand cupping his face and the other skimming over the plants his fancy outfit could not contain until he gets down to the bone plant hand, to hold. He tries not to linger too much, they have information to obtain, but no one would fault him for kissing Viktor in kind, just in case he's feeling some kind of way about his plant parts creeping further.

It's a firm kiss with an edge of something more heated, and if one of his head wings brushes affectionately against the mushroom side of Viktor's head, well, that happens. But yes: heist. Mm.]

Now— help me get dressed?

willful machine, early-ish may

[creidim]

[ It's in the following days of her Network broadcast that brings Luna to the lab in Willful Machine. The name's cropped up a couple of times, but it was one particular man who'd gone into better detail. Mentions of research into utilising Paleblood as a way of communicating to Sleepers fallen to Beasthood. Considering her new endeavour to write a book, it's safe to say she's curious. New ways of curing Beasthood is certainly something worth looking into.

And really, she'd much like to just throw herself into things as much as she can after... well, everything.

She hasn't come far, considering her own shop's in this district too. Well, John's shop. It feels odd calling it hers even if it is in fact now in her possession. It's a stop on the way home after she's shut up for the day, early evening. She knocks politely on the door, waiting for a long moment before calling gently: ]

Hello—? I'm looking for Viktor, the... Alchemist—? [ In truth, she doesn't quite know what he is exactly in terms of titles. But experiments and laboratories make her think of alchemy, and Jason hadn't exactly told her that wasn't the case. So she thinks he must be something along those lines. ]

[mehanizovati]

[viktor almost thinks he's hearing things, hunched over his taser project and trying to find a way to perfect the voltage. funnily enough a project related to beasts again, a more nonviolent way to deal with them and hopefully at least escape, especially for people like him who are not fighters by any means.

he pushes his goggles up his forehead, glancing to the door when he hears the voice call out. so there was a knock- alchemist? he nearly snorts at that, a touch amused as he picks up his crutch and makes his way over, opening the door and peering out at his visitor.]

You have found him, though I am not sure alchemist is the correct title. More eh... engineer. Inventor maybe. [he offers, accent markedly slavic and offering a faint quirk of the lips before he moves and gestures for her to come in.] What can I help you with?

[the lab is mostly just tables covered in Science- machines and parts in various degrees of assembly, a couple of lunar orbs running energy through some of them. there does seem to be a machine with the wires run in a pattern that looks distinctly rune-like or magical, so that's at least one odd thing.

there's also a great deal of jars with those glowing orbs from the butterflies about. very useful in purification research, as it turns out.]

for john, may

[mehanizovati]

[in the recent month viktor's attitude towards his illness has changed, perhaps a little. he would never say he was passive on the matter but as time went on he's gained a foothold here, in the trench. his lab, companions, palamedes and the bunker and research worth throwing his life into. so, to say, he's gained a lot of things he can now lose.

so yes, he would not say he's more active in his search but he is far more committed, perhaps, far more driven to find a way to fix the rot in his lungs one way or another. making a new pair of lungs with pal's help seems possible, if not endlessly complicated in several areas and maybe too long a process to manage in time. it's the only viable option he's found so far, though.

which is why he's been making the effort to see what else may be done.

the blood ministers haven't been all that helpful but this time someone mentions a 'miracle worker' who sometimes goes through. that sounds like snake oil to him but he has nothing to lose, following along to see if he can find this mysterious man somewhere around the healing district, following whatever clues or hints offered.

there's a good chance he'll be found first, given he has to stop in the blood mist and hack into a rag, bones rattling with the force of it.]

[necrolord]

[ Viktor makes it closer than he realizes.

Lumenwood is perpetually dark, cast in a misty red twilight. Through that gloom, great luminous flowers stand on woody stalks; they stud the mist like hanging lanterns and line the city streets. A ways off the cobblestone path, a particularly dense and glowing grove shelters a healer's tent. It's smaller than the rest, and the only one with windchimes. Something delicate— a lot of tiny somethings— click and shiver in the occasional eddies of mist and breeze.

Harrow had maybe gone overboard on the decorating. Still: it wouldn't be a Nine Houses setup without all the bits of bone.

It's from this clinking grove that a man steps out. Black shirt, black pants, hair kind of rumpled. He wouldn't look like anything much, if it weren't for the eyes. That's the only clue anyone could agree on, the only name they'd give: a man with black eyes. ]

Hate to pry. [ He waits for Viktor to regain his breath. There isn't pity in his face, particularly: just interest and a faint crinkle of concern. ] But are you looking for a hand with that?