I'm ridin' down your moonlight mile
Who: Troll 1/Seth (tiersdes) and Troll 2/Shiroe (zealouspeter)
When: Saturday, January 29th, 5pm, before Grandmama's Boy shows up.
Where: The streets of Sector 4
Summary: A Crusnik and a Mu pass by each other in the street, and the cat is quite literally out of the bag. Or rather, away from the NV and out of the house.
Warnings: Snarkiness and trolling, but are those ( Read more... )
When: Saturday, January 29th, 5pm, before Grandmama's Boy shows up.
Where: The streets of Sector 4
Summary: A Crusnik and a Mu pass by each other in the street, and the cat is quite literally out of the bag. Or rather, away from the NV and out of the house.
Warnings: Snarkiness and trolling, but are those ( Read more... )
That's the one fleeting thought that Seth will allow Shiroe to detect. That is the only time she will open the floodgates just a crack.
He wasn't much different from her in that regard. The act of putting on a brave face and smiling even when you felt quite the opposite was not alien to Seth in her long, long experience.
But she knew his mask of courage was borne out of defiance. It was his conditioned reflex---unsurprising as he knew full well she was an empress. It amused, intrigued, and flat out annoyed the shit out of her all at once.
Faster than he can blink, she'll suddenly appear right in front of him, leaning toward him and smiling coquettishly as she responds, "I know better because only a naughty little cat like yourself will try to make himself at home where he otherwise doesn't belong."
Because, really----where would his rebellious attitude take him in the end? It'd gotten him killed once. Now what?
That was what prompted Seth's curiosity.
And with that, she pokes his nose a little. "The UV rays that have contaminated the eastern half of my ruined world makes snowfall impossible. The west probably still gets it, though."
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It would be more frustrating for her, he thought, and so he’d act like that.
What really got a reaction was that abrupt closeness; he reeled back from that, almost - but not quite! - cracking his head against the tree. Regained his bearings as she leaned in, looking smug as the feline that she definitely wasn’t (more of a dog without a master). Her words didn't frighten him any more than her expression did, though he didn't feel that invoking fear was really what she was after. No matter-- the proximity, however, was still an issue. He didn't like it.
Opened his mouth to maybe say as much, and then he was poking him in the nose and he side-stepped (get some distance needed some distance from this new woman), probably would have gotten away with looking casual if the timing hadn't of been so convenient.
"Most people don't have mental shields," was what he finally said, arms straight at his sides. "Most people don't have centuries to hide either, though."
A beat - a smile. As long as she wasn't tapping him in the nose, he could do that.
"Most people have experienced snow, too. Do the humans live in the West half?"
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(besides the defiance. the hidden anger. the odd powers he seemed to both ashamed of and yet reveled in----at least, around her.)
He didn't seem to be fond of physical contact---no, correction---he was adverse to it, almost phobic. The way he practically freaked out when she pulled on his cheek; how he swiftly strafed away after she poked his nose...she could write it off as simple shyness, the shyness of a little boy, but his movements and reactions to her touching him were much too deliberate.
She giggled. She'd found a weak point, and she was going to exploit it for all it was worth until he cried mercy (or at the very least lash out---but she could take care of him without killing him). If he was going to put on airs, she was going to provoke him into acting like the child he really was.
"That's where someone like you comes in handy, I suppose." She remarks, snickering as she dashes over to his side and rubs a little snow into his hair. It'll be enough to wipe that damn smug smile off his face. "But, to answer your question..."
...And now she's suddenly sitting on a thick branch of the budding tree he's leaning against, right above him.
"...The West is the humans' domain. If the Vatican is Heaven, then Albion is Purgatory."
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He didn’t squint his eyes or cock his head, though, for all that it would communicate the point well; no, he just continued on watching her, up until-“Hey!”- she was rubbing snow in his head. Ah, cold, cold - he ducked and sidehopped, his own ungloved hands immediately going up to brush what was left off. His voice wasn’t annoyed, though - well, the ‘hey’ had been somewhat offended, but his next sentences were back to being lofty and arrogant, taunting in a better-than-thou sort of way. “If you don’t want anyone knowing about it, just get better at keeping it to yourself.”
He forced that tone, of course; really, he was already a bit irritated at the constant prodding, but that giggle. It was a tip-off. He’d been careful in his reactions, but he’d still made them; if she thought she’d get to him by incessantly poking, she’d have to be proven (completely and utterly right) different. It was no wonder he was adverse to it, though; E-1077 had never been big on contact in the first place outside of sparring, and after his powers had been activated, a simple brush of the hand could mean a mental overload on information. His own fault for always monitoring the people around him in the first place, thereby inviting them into his own mind, but he’d live in denial of that.
Not that Seth presented any problems with overloading, but by now, it was as much of a reflex as his rebellious nature.
“Which one’s yours? Albion?” She had teleported (only not really, but he still had to figure that one out) up on the branch, but he only bothered looking up-and backing up, out of range of having anything outright dropped on him-after getting most of the snow out of his hair, shaking his hands out in a futile attempt to keep them from being soaked. With the chilled air, his breath still left as a tiny cloud, but that really didn’t mean anything other than that he was alive and warm-blooded.
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"Oh, I don't hide either my true nature or my past because I'm afraid of it." Like you happen to be. She leans her head on her palm. "I do it to keep the people around me safe."
There's a small pause, and Seth's expression suddenly ices over. The face of a weapon, the merest of glimpses he'll ever get of her inner beast in person.
"Shiroe, if you haven't picked up on things from what you've forced out of me----I can kill you anytime I wish, if you push me that far. And with little effort."
She snorts just as coldly. "Just so you know. I promised Marionettenspieler the same thing. And he was one of my mortal enemies."
Then, just as abruptly, her expression becomes unreadable, at the thought of Albion.
"Byzantium is my domain, the sanctuary for my children. Albion may look pretty on the surface, but it's a stinking snake pit underneath. A snake pit filled with enslaved Methuselah. Does that answer your question?"
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But even if she did, he wasn’t sure if he’d care. He was already dead- he’d experienced death five times over as a second party during those months in Sector 9, where monsters stole in at night to devour the drunkards just one floor below. Death wasn’t something he had ever much feared, though he wouldn’t run towards it with sirens blaring-even if this Seth-baiting might have been said as having the same effect.
“It’s not the safety thing, either. Maybe partially, but not fully.” He was on a roll, now; head tilted to the side and up, watching her with the same cutting eyes. She was- “You don’t like being treated like a killer. Or even like an empress, probably. Normal life is what you want, isn’t it? Peace with normalcy.”
Not so haughty as loud, clear, sure and factual. As if the other was a specimen under a glass, ready for dissection and examination, eventual classification- something Shiroe had come to do to all people he met, though it wasn’t entirely intentional. Another defense mechanism: to distance himself from the ‘alive’ part of the people he met, make them lesser so that they wouldn’t matter so much when they inevitably disappeared.
“It answers that question.” But, he had another, though who knew if it’d be answered after that little tirade - “Does that mean that you like Siren’s Port’s people?”
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But, he was wrong about another thing: if he ever did decide to cross her one day---she would make good on her promise. She would kill him ten times over and then some, even if he was just a child; Dietrich was just as much of a child (compared to Seth, anyway, being a Terran) as Shiroe was, and he was a ruthless extremist. Shiroe on the other hand was, nonetheless, a child with powers, dangerous powers that, if tapped into further, would make him practically an all-seeing god. So, he was, in some way, a potential threat.
Once he's done with that little spiel, all Seth can do at first is continue to watch him icily. Yet, there was truth to it. But she won't admit it; not to his face. Perhaps to Yosuke, or even to Allen or Akira, but not Shiroe. So, she'll only reply---as irritatingly cryptic as ever:
"Peace never lasts, and you know it."
And at his next question---well. Seth's expression wavers for the merest of moments.
...How could she answer that? Did she prefer Siren's Port to home? Even if it was a virtual Purgatory in and of itself, it still afforded her a strange kind of freedom she didn't have back home, back in Byzantium.
She could be Seth Nightroad, and Seth Nightroad alone here. She could use her powers for good here, without the fear of being feared or even hated. But, indeed, she could just as well live a simple life here.
And as for the people...
Well.
Some more than others, anyway.
"I can't say the people here are too terrible, no." She says, her grin becoming mysterious, unreadable.
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He smiled.
Smiled through her message, smiled through the break in her expression; moved a few more feet back from the tree, hands folding neatly behind his back. He'd hit on target, and he knew it - but just like with most of the other information he gained, he wouldn't share it with anyone else until the time was right (a reason he wasn't really a threat; she could easily track him down and kill him. he could struggle, sure, with that telekenesis he still hid, but ultimately - he held no illusions about his physical power. the mind was better in his opinion, but that opinion didn't matter much when one was dead.)
(he still believed she'd never kill him without good reason, though.)
"What about the city itself? With the snow and market and everything." She could be mysterious, that was fine - he'd still pry as usual.
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It was fairly off-putting how this boy would continue to smile even when he knows he's been outclassed. It was like staring in a mirror. Perhaps someone else would be flattered, even touched; but not Seth.
In her case, it both scared and worried her how similar she and Shiroe were in some respects. He didn't have her experience, but he certainly had her drive. Her stubborn refusal to cave in.
(it was for that reason why Seth probably wouldn't be able to find it in herself to kill, let alone harm him without valid reason.)
And with that, she finally laughs again. The prying. Oh, the prying.
"It has its good and bad points. It's entertaining, at the very least." She chuckles. "After all, even Never Land had Captain Hook."
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Everything - everyone - was predictable at its core, after all. The only challenge was finding that core.
A good thing that it was a good challenge: it was honestly one of the few things that had gotten him through Siren's Port.
Another one of the things that got him through it would be a very certain book, and the mention of Never Land sets him to starting a bit, shoulders rising up just a fraction.
You've read it? is the question he'd like to ask. What comes out of his mouth instead is, "Does that make the Core the crocodile? With a ticking clock inside?"
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"A ticking clock that signals the end of Captain Hook. I suppose the 'Captain Hooks' here would be the companies, right? The Core is just biding its time to eat them up in the end---and the rest of us, too."
....Another Armageddon. Because, really, who would save them in the end? Would the colorful personalities here---Shiroe and Seth included---be able to band together to survive? They were only just barely doing it now.
What if things got more drastic? Then what?
...Which was why Seth was willing to cooperate with Shiroe, as annoying and obnoxious as he was. She knew high intellect when she saw it. When (if) he grew up, she knew (but would sure as hell deny) he'd amount to great things.
...If only he would just put that sharp mind of his to better use in the meantime, that is.
Nevermind that she did, indeed, see that Lost Boy within, and wanted to protect him from the likes of SERO. He was a mistake just like she was, but not to such a horrific extent like her. There was no use in making him into an even bigger mistake. Not with powers like his.
"If Siren's Port is like a twisted version of Never Land, then we are all Lost Boys." Seth continues, spreading her arms wide, grinning. "But the question is---where is our Peter Pan? It seems he's gone on an extended vacation."
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He was more than a fan, that was true; even if it had been over a year since that fateful day (one that he only remembered in bits and pieces, which seemed like plenty enough), Peter Pan was still a book that he latched on to. Idealized toward. Jomy’s arrival didn’t change that, either: even if the other Mu could fly, he wasn’t (yet) someone to fall into line behind. Maybe Shiroe should have admitted to himself that there would never be someone he would fall into line behind, but there was still that small part of him that was stuck with his parents, where there had been - as far as he knew from photos - nothing but security and comfort. Every emotional creature wanted a place to belong, and he was definitely nothing if not emotional.
To compare Siren’s Port to something that dear--to him, it was the same as using his family as a comparison for something disgusting. Even more so, really, since he had actual attachment to that book (an obsession), whereas his attachment to his parents was only something he’d fabricated for himself.
Ire was rising, frustration slinking right behind it - irritation at the fact that she was including herself in his fairytale, annoyance with how he couldn’t just say that. Never mind that she could have been proposing a good point; he was stuck on the topic, and that was that.
But, he didn’t glower. Instead, his smile dropped, eyes looking much more analytical than they had before (if he knew about her feelings of sympathy, he would have laughed-and then mocked, prodded, poked, pried and all around do what he did over the network, never to round back to any serious discussion again). There might have been the impression he was laughing underneath anyway, but that was a fake, defensive projection.
“Do you need a hero?” Flat toned, easy toned, casual toned. As judgmental as ever. “A Peter Pan flying in to rescue you? You were doing well at pointing out all the problems that needed fixing; you could probably do that all yourself.”
Hm-mmm. A hum, rocking back on his heels, face turning up to look at the sky (and keep her in his peripheral vision). “But then you’d have to round up a lot of others, and people here- mostly newcomers, I mean, since the natives don’t really care- don’t like to be led around. So you’d have to act with everyone equally… And there would never be one Peter Pan. It wouldn’t be right for you to be one.
“Are only newcomers part of the Lost Boys?” Another sudden question, but maybe it wasn’t so surprising. His eyes were back on her, anyway, waiting and watching - still as sharp as before, but with a slightly different lilt.
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She'd struck another weak spot. First the aversion to physical contact---now the clear reverence for the tale of Peter Pan. If she was too vague, yet wore her obvious sadness and innermost struggles like a shroud, he was too emotional and prone to snippy outbursts whenever he was on the defensive.
Which only made his inner anger, his rebellious streak, all the more obvious and easy to poke fun at. Because it made him seem more and more like the child he really was, deep inside. It only brought out that naivete he was trying to hide, to bury away like a broken vase tipped over on accident.
He might not have a sense of justice, but the will to fight...it was there. It was there in how quick he was to shoot back at her. He may want so badly to be independent, but before he could really learn how to actually go about that...he had to have someone to guide him. At least somewhat.
And so, Seth smiles and closes her eyes.
"No. I wasn't speaking for myself when I said that. There are some who aren't so willing to fight. Those who don't even have the fight in them at all. Who, have, perhaps, lost all will to fight." She chuckles, rocking her legs to and fro. "I cooperate with others who wish to carry out noble causes---but I don't fight their battles for them, either. But the helpless need a Peter Pan---Peter Pans, like you just said---to protect them. Natives, and Newcomers, alike, to answer your question. Just like how both the Terrans and Methuselah needed someone to protect them, even on my side of my 'ruined world'."
She makes "quote-unquote" motions with her fingers as she states those last two words, just to make another little jab at him, completely unfazed by the intensity of his stare. She giggles.
"...And what makes you think I haven't made attempts already?"
...A question for a question, that.
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It was a callous statement, but his gaze and expression didn’t change - only the minute tilting of his head, the jagged edge of something a lot more bitter than any child should have. Siren’s Port hadn’t ever been kind to him (Mother hadn’t been kind to him), and there was no getting away from how it had changed him. He might have liked to say that he was independent, above being effected by general going-ons, but-
Really, he was the same as any other living creature with a working, developing, changing conscious. This only proved it.
But he’d leave the statement as it was, tilt his head down to look at the snow-splattered ground, snub the toe of his shoe into it, watch what happened. She was an empress, a nearly thousand-year-old non-human... Soft-hearted, obviously, stubborn with a mean temper underneath. A teasing side, too, apparently. Who was the cat and who was the mouse?
At least he still had his tongue.
"You might've made attempts, but they haven't done anything yet. You're feeling out the field, huh?" A pause. "What's going to be your Peter Pan? Someone who manages to make headway legally? Is getting rid of the companies really a good idea at all?"
Devil's advocate - he was aiming to rile her up, and here, he'd make his shots at it. He knew he'd already hit a few of her lines, but the now defensive part wanted to step over them.
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...What in the world could've happened to this kid that made him so...so...vicious at times? She can sense it, though; he'd been put through something awful, something that left with him a weight that would remain with him for as long as he lived. It was not the weight of bloodshed, like half of her own burden was made up of.
It was tragedy---the bitterness was a dead giveaway; only the despondent were bitter---but what exactly was it? What had left him so cynical towards hope, towards goodwill?
...It mystified her almost as much as he generally annoyed her.
"Do you mean the natives?" She asks, after a long pause. "They may be hostile and suspicious of people like us, but...they're just as much trapped in this strange city as we are, if not even more so. Isn't that kind of attitude just as discriminatory as their own?"
That wasn't meant as an insult---it was an honest inquiry.
But, she goes on:
"For the most part, yes, we're starting out small. No use in overstepping our limits and getting ourselves caught---or killed---in the process. If anything, getting rid of the companies would ease a lot of the tensions taking place within this city---while it would cripple the economy, it's not as if a new benefactor couldn't arise in their place."
She responds clinically, calmly, much like a high-ranking military officer---she knows he's trying to get under her skin, and she's ignoring it. She saves his Peter Pan remark for last, however, and when she decides to answer that, her voice regains its playful tone as she says, "I have no need for a Peter Pan. I have only myself. If no one else wants to help me, so be it."
Another beat. "I will fight on my own---it's only what I've been doing all my life, anyhow."
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He knew she was noting everything he showed, but as far as this went, he didn't care. It was a conviction that had started and remained with him through the months, and he'd always had the awful habit of- when truly striking something serious- answering as bluntly honest as possible. This was to be no exception.
"They don't deserve people saving them. It's a waste."
And that was a conclusion made with non-budging conviction, purple eyes narrowed and smile off of his face. He wasn't insulting her, either; these were just things that he believed.
Just as he believed that this rebellion against the companies wouldn't truly get anywhere in their lifetime, and yet he'd help with it anyway-- help with it as a persona over the network, at least, what with the cardkey to that (underused) line stored away on his NV. The rebellion forces were a game, to him; some entertainment, to see how far the people believed they could get as a force of barely two dozen strong. Seth, in her own way, was part of that. She put on maybe one of the better shows to follow - an actually interesting, intricate part that was still being unraveled.
The reason he'd continue to bother her, even if she ever did prove to be a legitimate threat.
"What if they rose up just the same?" Lilting, challenging. Always. "The new companies, that is. The economy would probably be permanently ruined, too. And the government-- it's not strong enough to handle the city on its own. There would be anarchy..."
A responding pause.
"... And none of it will happen if someone doesn't die. That's how things work in this world; I've read up on it."
If she was going to be clinical, so was he. But he couldn't match her playful tone exactly - it was striking him, too, just how similar the two of them were (especially if he wanted to bring in Jomy's stories of the Mu), and it wasn't... pleasing. Wasn't distressful, either, just not something he could gloat about-- and this continued Peter Pan talk-
"What made you think about that story?" A blurted questions, all-too-telling, but he didn't have time to scold himself for it. Only enough time to ask and wait and think for the steps ahead, on her and him and everything else.
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