[ The more he considers it, the more he seriously thinks he should quit this dumb courier job, bite the bullet, and ask if that blacksmith guy if there's any work for him there. Partly because the shit he sees there whenever he vists to talk about his upcoming prosthetic just seems kinda ... cool. Completely foreign in its details, but somewhat familiar to him in ultimately being manual work, while still being interesting. More interesting than the job of delivering stuff, certainly, so a job change would be a good move, right?
And also partly because this courier job sucks.
Late in the afternoon finds Gen making his way through the streets of Kowloon on his last delivery of the day, huffing as he scuffs his sleeve past his jaw to wipe away the steady stream of sweat beading off his chin. He's had to haul around heavy shit all day, the heat's still pretty formidable around midday, and running around like this is doing wonders for his physical condition, but damn is it exhausting. Not to mention, Kowloon's still a pain in the ass to do deliveries in -- he might have grown used to the geography by now, but making his way through all these dingy allies and up these rickety staircases to cut through twisty streets is annoying.
Gen's clearly a little worn out by the time he makes his way to his destination, giving a hard huff as he leans against the wall by the doorframe and pounds his fist on it once, twice. ]
Delivery.
[ His voice, too, is a little hoarse as he calls out to whoever's inside. Hopefully they answer the door fast. A canine ear twitches as he listens for the sound of footsteps, staying where he is leaning right next to the door with fabulously unprofessional posture. ]
[ The address that Gen delivers to belongs to, for all intents and purposes, a battered door attached to a heavily-decaying, abandoned factory. The native, neon-pink mushrooms have grown throughout it — through windows that once had glass panes, through the cracks in crumbling walls, through the ground and the foundation below, weaving together to form a braided, warmly-glowing structure that is perhaps the only reason the old, squat building even exists anymore. Sandwiched between other abandoned structures, it looms at a strange angle, as if the building itself had leaned forward, loomed over those who might come knocking on the door.
Within it, there is the sound of footsteps. No startled crashing, no scuffling for purchase upon what must be a floor in terrible disrepair. The heavy tread of boots grows louder, louder still as the heavy, metal door ( perhaps the only door left, apart from the sliding loading bay shutters ) seems to briefly rattle in its frame. Through the narrow window, located just above Gen's eyeline, there is a light cast within — violet, where the mushrooms are pink.
The door rasps, squeals as it is pulled open; a single, fluid motion that should not be possible for such a battered old thing, yet there it goes. Controlled, swinging wide to reveal the dark, armored form of the thing awaiting its? his? delivery. Bondrewd has to bend down slightly, to peer under the top of the door's frame. The interior of the building is pitch black, only lit by the violet shine coming from his armor. Horrifying, or maybe normalized? because there are a lot of weirdos in Kenos these days. ]
Aah, wonderful. [ Subarashii Counter: 33. ]
You are perfectly punctual, and I am pleased to see you. Would you like me to help you carry my packages in? I am afraid I must have them brought directly to my office, as it is the only room I have cleaned thus far.
what do you mean, he's just doing a job for a nice polite guy
[ ... of course the intended recipient is some fucking weirdo.
Stubborn bravado keeps Gen from backing off when the door swings open to reveal that jagged, eerie figure coming melting out of the darkness to loom over him. But faint signs of tension do manifest in his body language -- the square of his shoulders, the grit of dirt underfoot as he subtly shifts his weight on his feet, the slight backwards cant of those canine ears of his. Not to mention, something about the guy's tone of voice makes his nerves crawl in a way he can't ignore. His gut tells him this guy is truly dangerous. ]
-- fine. [ Still, pride dictates that Gen can't show any sign of discomfort. And faced by Bondrewd's impeccably polite and gracious request, he technically can't raise any complaints. After fixing a flat stare on Bondrewd for a moment, an ear flicking in consideration, he speaks again at a deadpan drawl, almost a dare for Bondrewd to give him shit about it when he adds: ] But unpacking it's not my job. You're on your own for that.
[ Look at how wonderful his customer service skills are. Truly perfect.
He huffs a disgruntled sigh as he shifts the weight of the backpack-style shoulder harness his cargo sits on, then ducks his head to wipes his face on the upper portion of his sleeve. The fabric comes away darker with sweat; he really is quite tired. ]
Just tell me where you want it.
[ His whippy tail curls close to his leg, but otherwise Gen does an admirable job of feigning casual as he jerks his chin, indicating for Bondrewd to lead the way into that delightful, totally-safe, totally-cozy warehouse that will surely not be dangerous or sketchy at all. ]
[ That, and he would much rather handle the equipment he has coming in with his own hands; itemization and organization are better to do as things come in, than be faced with the task of cataloguing what he has available once it is all present. He is perfectly logical, like that. He truly has concluded that having Gen bring everything in, to the small office he inhabits at this time, will expedite the process; the thought of having the young man set everything down, only to have it picked up again and dragged piece-by-piece into the decrepit warehouse, is a thought accompanied by the idea of time wasted.
So, he holds his arm across the door — towering a few inches above the dog-eared courier, and gestures for him to enter. The warehouse is dark, save for the neon glow of the mushrooms that grow heavily from the floor, from the distant wall, from the ceiling itself - punching through in patches, through skylights and roofing. The ground below crunches with debris, save for a dutifully-cleaned path that must be the result of consistent, methodical travel. Amidst the pink glow, the lights of Bondrewd's heavy tail glow strongly, and it is by the hypnotic, easy sway of it that Gen will find his way. ]
In here, and on the desk. You needn't lean over. Poor thing, you look quite tired.
[ The office is not far, a former foreman's area located on the first floor — in the far, back corner of the dark, strange place. There is a lantern lit within, oil wicking strongly against the flame to cast flickering shadows and illumination upon the walls. A desk has been neatly cleaned off, a chair behind it. Bondrewd seems to be in the process of discarding broken file cabinets, judging by the heap of twisted scrap metal and drawers just beyond the door to the office.
There is! A little coffee pot and a pitcher of fresh water on the bare-bones shelves behind him, though. The scent of acrid, bitter beans fills the air — definitely burnt, it's been brewing all day in the pot. It is the pitcher of water that he moves to fetch, after heaving the sheer bulk of himself between the corner of his desk and some of the collapsed file cabinets. ]
I believe there is glassware in these packages. At least, I hope that it is my alembic system...
[ he cannot pout, but he is pouting eagerly............ ]
[Generally speaking, Liem is not the kind of man who wilds out and gnaws on the necks of near-strangers without any warning. As an apology for this embarrassing gaffe, Bondrewd will receive a small package a little later on in Pelu, containing a trio of leather-bound notebooks of differing sizes, a package of handsome pens, paper-wrapped sticks of charcoal, and a sheaf of very thin paper — the sort meant for making rubbings. A small square of card bears a note in ruler-straight script:]
Mr. Bondrewd,
Please accept my apologies for any suffering or inconvenience you sustained as a result of my behaviour in Aetós’s facility. I have had good experiences with the vendors of these particular products; I hope you will find a use for them in your endeavours.
[ Come morning during early in the second half of Pelu, Bondrewd will find a box has been delivered and waiting outside of his door. A fanciful card sits on top, and in elegant script reads:
Esteemed Bearer,
Please accept this token of our sincerest gratitude and proof of your efforts to combat the Blight's spread. Your assistance in procuring the flower specimens is greatly appreciated. The included mixture, when diluted in water, has been shown to slow the progression of the disease when ingested or spread directly over a degrading object. Though we still have much work to do, we will continue to experiment in hopes that this will lead us to a permanent cure.
Yours,
Yuri Vogen Greenwood Yards
Inside the box sits another decorative floral box - and inside that is a vial of a shimmering, blue-green mixture. True to word, if ingested by a person suffering from the Blight or spread over an object succumbing to its effects, it will considerably slow the progress of the affliction. There are enough for three dosages.
Next time Bondrewd visits Greenwood Yards, he will also find he is greeted with great warmth - and offered a small vial of dried herbs. They smell divine - and the man who hands it to him explains that when burned, the smoke it produces has the uncanny ability to make one able to shed their Shard's Discord, transferring it to another of their choosing through physical contact. There is enough for one use (with player permission, of course!). ]
[ Hey Bondrewd. Silco isn't going to talk like this, but you will be greeted with a... nudge to please stop by at your earliest -- nope, most immediate -- convenience, please.
[ if only bondrewd had the emotions to utterly blast silco with radiant joy
alas,
he does not.
Therefore, the return is a mild, curious uptick in attentiveness and the rush of something lukewarm. It is not affection, but is definitely a bit like a universal sense of 'yay!'
Followed, of course, by a most dutiful closing of Communion in order to make the journey from his little warehouse in one corner of Kowloon to the glimmering, neon-poisonous walls of Draumhol. Where he very, very politely waits to be seen as he chats with Silco's retainer about salves he can make for those burns and injuries, poor guy. ]
[ Poor Gregór, he actually looks interested in anything Bondrewd could offer, but before he can actually get out the ask, someone rushes up, and tipped their head toward Silco's office with a "the boss is waiting", before he's ushered off. The guy looks. Uncertain.
Silco isn't exactly forthcoming with his staff, so Bondrewd is greeted with a closed door, but the staff says 'You can go on in', before resuming his post.
And when Bondrewd opens the door, not only will there be Silco there, but there's a little guy sleeping in a corner. It doesn't look unhealthy, yet, but it certainly looks what could be called "low energy" ]
Ah, Bondrewd, you were so prompt. I hear you are a fan of creatures, yes?
[ Anyways, he grasps Gregór's upper arm firmly as they are parted, and takes his leave of Silco's retainer. Once he is given permission to enter, he opens the door to Silco's office, ducking his head below the top of the door's frame in order to enter without colliding with it. He is a large man, broad but not rounded in frame — simply armored and dressed to the teeth, if he even has any teeth.
His helm does make a nice wide sweep of Silco's office, cataloging the environment likely most personal to his benefactor, before his attention gravitates to two points: Silco, and then to the lethargic creature in the corner. ]
Good afternoon, Mister Silco. [ Always such a polite man! ] I am a fan of their presence, yes. The existence of a creature speaks much about the environment they are from, and their adaptability to foreign environments says even more about what can be done with them. That being said, pray tell me who this little one is?
Mr. Bondrewd. I hope you are faring well today, and that I am not interrupting. If you have but a few minutes to chat, I have a question or two for you.
[ Sebastian’s polite, warm voice comes through Communion, and with the extra connection of Stargazers his emotions are as cool and even as they usually tend to be. However. This time, there is something else, something indistinct and hard to pin down in that connection. Communion with Sebastian always just comes with a feeling of the dark (of the abyss, even—), but there’s something else in there today. It’s a low, steady undercurrent of something in that dark. It’s not something Sebastian would intentionally share. But he has his reasons for reaching out to Bondrewd of all his contacts, even knowing that he can’t quite hide his being so completely when they speak. ]
[ Two Stargazers connecting, what crimes will they commit! ( The poor Stargazer gang. ) ]
Mister Michaelis. I am enjoying my time spent in Springstar, quite honestly. The Shardbearers here are truly psychologically distinct from the Shardbearers of Zenith, and I am learning much of them that I regret to have missed before joining to my former faction.
[ Former, but one he believes he will return to. One must immerse themselves in the field, after all, to truly understand what they are examining; he was not overpowered by will, but instead opened back to the potential for study, and thus he had gone. As ever, Bondrewd's mind is clear and lightless, and his "voice" as unemotional as ever. ]
That aside. I always have time for you. How might I assist?
Well, that is my first question, as it would happen. You are at least saving me the time of delicately stepping around the major point, so I must give my thanks for that.
[ It’s said with a little laugh of amusement, since of course Sebastian would meander to asking if Bondrewd had truly Harmonized with Meridian, but it’s only for his principles of politeness. Being blunt is only something he does when he’s truly behaving as a demon and nothing else. ]
I do not mean this in an accusatory way, I must first say. I am simply curious, for the answer will direct my main question. What is it that drew you to Harmonize to Meridian? I am admittedly a little surprised, since I would have guessed that the… [ He trails off as if thinking of the word, but it’s for show. ] Well, the sensibilities of Meridian over Zenith would be stifling to your interests.
[ And it’s not why he was reaching out, but. Since Bondrewd has mentioned it, he can’t help but ask: ]
And how are the Meri distinct, if I may ask? I have my own guesses, but I would like to hear your analysis.
Your delicacy has always been one of my favorite traits, even when it is entirely unnecessary.
[ At least, when concerning Bondrewd, he is an enigma — but, not at all shy about what he does, nor why he does it. What others think of him holds no water, and personal opinions truly cannot find purchase in his reputation because of it. Because he obtains results. ]
Truly, I hold no personal animosity nor similar desire for either faction. Zenith has allowed me purity of freedom to operate without hesitation, while I feel Meridian challenges me to think creatively and address issues that arise. One cannot operate freely without understanding obstacles in their way, and obstacles are meant to be broken free of.
[ In terms of pure intellectualism, one cannot simply be either without running the risk of some degree of stagnation. ]
Based on my observations, the Meridian seem to embody extreme traits, juxtaposed against either a personal desire to be punished for such things, or an external force that punishes them. Many of them are angrier, were engaged in active wartime efforts, and took the loss as a personal shortcoming. Were it not for a handful of charismatic voices, they may have concluded that slaughtering Zenith was the way forward. And from there, they seem to have adjusted their overarching desire — toward one of independent, personal connections among each other and the Zenith.
They are a terrifying people, Mister Michaelis. Much like those who look into the Abyss from where I hail, their will is very flexible and their recovery time is exponentially swift. Breaking their spirit may prove impossible, as they are too faceted and not uniform at all.
I pray I witness a Zenite loss soon, so that I may assess how they handle it.
[ There is, perhaps, the sensation of a polite knock on the door. And, providing Bondrewd answers, a casual drawl of a voice, accompanied by a sense of bewilderment. ]
You, uh. Went up to Springstar's Tree?
[ From the guy who had just been encouraging him to go back to Springstar... and got... banned from a part of it... ]
Amos is nowhere near as empty as Bondrewd is — he's still got that pesky bit of humanity buried in him; not so deep that he can't recognize the difference between the two of them, but deep enough — but their vibes aren't all that different. He's still mostly neutral, but he isn't bothering with any pretence of being amiable. Mostly he's baffled. ]
Wait, so you were just gonna go up, kill them, do what you needed to do and then be on your way?
[ Does. Does he have that right, he really is mostly asking for clarification, ]
[ It's quite sudden when a presence reaches out to Bondrewd through Communion. It's familiar to him, but also not, since they've not had a proper conversation so much as direction being given. However. The voice of Aetós is fairly unmistakable. ]
Aetós. [ But faintly, there’s a little note of approval and humor in his emotions. ] But I see you picked up the hint.
[ It’s not a subtle puzzle to connect “Kite” and “Aetós”, but it wasn’t really meant to be. For someone seeking their attention, it would be obvious, but it’s obscure to anyone else. ]
I would have reached out earlier. But you arrived with somewhat poor timing, personally. Matters had to be cleaned up first. [ just little Manon oopsies, don’t worry about it, ] I was surprised that Shard-Bearers took over my Zoo. Usually they do not have the fortitude.
[ How often does Bondrewd leave his laboratory? How good is his security, how heavy are the locks to his doors? He's thus far kept it secret from most who would cause trouble, but how vigilant has he been about keeping it impregnable? -- all irrelevant questions, given the time Gen has spent (lightly) assisting Bondrewd thus far, and the set of strange abilities he's been blessed with.
And so, when Bondrewd returns to his laboratory from some errand or the other late one evening, he'll find the place not as quiet as he left it.
The guinea pigs are loose, he might notice first -- one or two of them scampering for freedom the moment he opens the front door. Something has opened the door to their enclosure. Further into his laboratory, he'll find more of the creatures hiding in corners or squeaking in distress as they trundle about the floor, seeking someplace quiet to hunker down. They haven't been hurt, it seems, and it's only that they're fleeing from some commotion.
The commotion of Gen upending a cabinet of drawers, sending papers scattering in every direction. The floor is already a mess of scattered supplies and notes, a table having been knocked over before Bondrewd made his entrance, and Gen huffs to himself as he turns one drawer, then another upside down to empty its contents across the floor. Clearly searching for something, and having difficulty finding it, judging by the frustrated huff he gives.
It's not until Bondrewd steps into the light of his laboratory that Gen whirls around to look at him, clearly on edge. And while his posture is definitely tense -- he hadn't expected to be caught by Bondrewd while still here, having planned on retrieving his target object quickly and retreating ASAP -- he's also too prideful to beat a hasty retreat now. And so, standing amidst the mess of Bondrewd's ruffled laboratory, he demands, ]
[ — with his hands upon the door's frame, he looms tall and dark and threatening for a long moment. Someone is in his laboratory, ransacking it. While his security involves delicate wards and locks and rudimentary alarms that go off to signal to his overworked assistant ( his retainer, newly accepted and knowledgeable of their eventual fate — ), he does not expect the errant Kowloon native to enter his lab. He's kept the exterior looking very unassuming and uninviting, which means someone who knows of his location must be there.
To find Gen, throwing things around in search of — ah. ]
All three are with Aetós, per our agreement.
[ He's recently been informed that Dark's second shard was not the result of an overabundance of power, but the presence of a secondary soul within him. ]
Mister Link. Mister Schneider. Lucien.
[ Behind Bondrewd, his tail flicks through the air. Whole again. His body moves in a way that seems different, as though there is a weight and realness to him now. The armor is repaired, as though any damage done to him by Gavial and Gen and Yuri has simply vanished; the scent of skin and blood lingers under the clinical sterility upon him, the empty shell of his old 'self' discarded for damages that he did not have time to repair, in favor of overtaking a new form. Zoaholic sits somewhere, safe and apart from curious eyes.
Which means his work can begin in earnest, finally. ]
Would you like to discuss it? I understand you have been emotionally impacted by Mister Link, at the very least. I will do my best to answer any questions and address your grievances, Mister Minegishi.
[ It would be an outrageous lie to say that he isn't afraid of Bondrewd. Even just seeing the lash of that tail has his nerves bristling as he recalls the stunning impact of getting flattened against a wall by that appendage; he knows for a fact that that blow would have killed him instantaneously if he were still a normal human and not a Shardbearer. But even so -- even as his canine ears cant back, his posture held tense and low -- Gen stands his ground as Bondrewd approaches. Whatever nuance might be seen in the changes in Bondrewd's movements and demeanor go unnoticed, given his entire focus is simply on maintaining that brave front. ]
I'm not emotionally impacted. [ He lies, each word spat out at a disdainful snarl to better mask the fact that he is, indeed, (unreasonably) emotionally impacted. ] And I ain't answering your stupid survey question.
[ As if he could even put into words how he feels about Link. He knows whatever feelings he has for that little Meridian twink are entirely unreasonable and tainted by how badly he'd been affected by something to do with Link's Discord, back at Xanadu. But even so -- those feelings, foolish as they are, are hard to entirely dismiss. And he doesn't want to think about it.
If Link's shard is with Aetos, then he's already too late. Would it have made a difference if he'd come here sooner? Or was it too late the moment he let himself get knocked out during that fight? Did Bondrewd immediately whisk the shard away, to god-knows-where? It's a deeply frustrating line of thought, and Gen gives a hard click of the tongue before turning his ire to Bondrewd. ]
-- that wasn't how you said it'd be.
[ Sharp and accusatory. He's never forgotten the distant goal Bondrewd had enticed him with, after all. ]
You said all that shit about giving Meridians a form that'd help'em survive no matter what. So what the hell was that? Have you just been bullshitting me this whole time? Give me one good reason why I should still believe in anything you say!
[ Very suddenly, there’s a sense of Communion touching your character’s mind. However, it’s as if they connect with the mind of a shared Aspect, as they’re not able to block out the brief, but sharp memory that comes to them. ]
A Shard-Bearer strums away at a guitar, and a nearby Kenosian laughs incredulously at the recognizable notes. The Kenosian starts to sing, and though the words are different, the Shard-Bearer plays with excited vigor at this unexpected connection.
[ ooc note — Just to avoid OOC confusion/misinterpretation, the details included in this memory are random and are not necessarily interconnected or plot meaningful beyond a surface level. However, your character is free to interpret this random memory however they’d like! This event will also be touched on somewhat during today’s NPC Communion Post. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action ; backdated to early pelu (mid-march)
And also partly because this courier job sucks.
Late in the afternoon finds Gen making his way through the streets of Kowloon on his last delivery of the day, huffing as he scuffs his sleeve past his jaw to wipe away the steady stream of sweat beading off his chin. He's had to haul around heavy shit all day, the heat's still pretty formidable around midday, and running around like this is doing wonders for his physical condition, but damn is it exhausting. Not to mention, Kowloon's still a pain in the ass to do deliveries in -- he might have grown used to the geography by now, but making his way through all these dingy allies and up these rickety staircases to cut through twisty streets is annoying.
Gen's clearly a little worn out by the time he makes his way to his destination, giving a hard huff as he leans against the wall by the doorframe and pounds his fist on it once, twice. ]
Delivery.
[ His voice, too, is a little hoarse as he calls out to whoever's inside. Hopefully they answer the door fast. A canine ear twitches as he listens for the sound of footsteps, staying where he is leaning right next to the door with fabulously unprofessional posture. ]
for once i really do feel sorry for gen
Within it, there is the sound of footsteps. No startled crashing, no scuffling for purchase upon what must be a floor in terrible disrepair. The heavy tread of boots grows louder, louder still as the heavy, metal door ( perhaps the only door left, apart from the sliding loading bay shutters ) seems to briefly rattle in its frame. Through the narrow window, located just above Gen's eyeline, there is a light cast within — violet, where the mushrooms are pink.
The door rasps, squeals as it is pulled open; a single, fluid motion that should not be possible for such a battered old thing, yet there it goes. Controlled, swinging wide to reveal the dark, armored form of the thing awaiting its? his? delivery. Bondrewd has to bend down slightly, to peer under the top of the door's frame. The interior of the building is pitch black, only lit by the violet shine coming from his armor. Horrifying, or maybe normalized? because there are a lot of weirdos in Kenos these days. ]
Aah, wonderful. [ Subarashii Counter: 33. ]
You are perfectly punctual, and I am pleased to see you. Would you like me to help you carry my packages in? I am afraid I must have them brought directly to my office, as it is the only room I have cleaned thus far.
what do you mean, he's just doing a job for a nice polite guy
Stubborn bravado keeps Gen from backing off when the door swings open to reveal that jagged, eerie figure coming melting out of the darkness to loom over him. But faint signs of tension do manifest in his body language -- the square of his shoulders, the grit of dirt underfoot as he subtly shifts his weight on his feet, the slight backwards cant of those canine ears of his. Not to mention, something about the guy's tone of voice makes his nerves crawl in a way he can't ignore. His gut tells him this guy is truly dangerous. ]
-- fine. [ Still, pride dictates that Gen can't show any sign of discomfort. And faced by Bondrewd's impeccably polite and gracious request, he technically can't raise any complaints. After fixing a flat stare on Bondrewd for a moment, an ear flicking in consideration, he speaks again at a deadpan drawl, almost a dare for Bondrewd to give him shit about it when he adds: ] But unpacking it's not my job. You're on your own for that.
[ Look at how wonderful his customer service skills are. Truly perfect.
He huffs a disgruntled sigh as he shifts the weight of the backpack-style shoulder harness his cargo sits on, then ducks his head to wipes his face on the upper portion of his sleeve. The fabric comes away darker with sweat; he really is quite tired. ]
Just tell me where you want it.
[ His whippy tail curls close to his leg, but otherwise Gen does an admirable job of feigning casual as he jerks his chin, indicating for Bondrewd to lead the way into that delightful, totally-safe, totally-cozy warehouse that will surely not be dangerous or sketchy at all. ]
no subject
He badly wants to touch them. ]
Naturally. You are a courier, not a maid.
[ That, and he would much rather handle the equipment he has coming in with his own hands; itemization and organization are better to do as things come in, than be faced with the task of cataloguing what he has available once it is all present. He is perfectly logical, like that. He truly has concluded that having Gen bring everything in, to the small office he inhabits at this time, will expedite the process; the thought of having the young man set everything down, only to have it picked up again and dragged piece-by-piece into the decrepit warehouse, is a thought accompanied by the idea of time wasted.
So, he holds his arm across the door — towering a few inches above the dog-eared courier, and gestures for him to enter. The warehouse is dark, save for the neon glow of the mushrooms that grow heavily from the floor, from the distant wall, from the ceiling itself - punching through in patches, through skylights and roofing. The ground below crunches with debris, save for a dutifully-cleaned path that must be the result of consistent, methodical travel. Amidst the pink glow, the lights of Bondrewd's heavy tail glow strongly, and it is by the hypnotic, easy sway of it that Gen will find his way. ]
In here, and on the desk. You needn't lean over. Poor thing, you look quite tired.
[ The office is not far, a former foreman's area located on the first floor — in the far, back corner of the dark, strange place. There is a lantern lit within, oil wicking strongly against the flame to cast flickering shadows and illumination upon the walls. A desk has been neatly cleaned off, a chair behind it. Bondrewd seems to be in the process of discarding broken file cabinets, judging by the heap of twisted scrap metal and drawers just beyond the door to the office.
There is! A little coffee pot and a pitcher of fresh water on the bare-bones shelves behind him, though. The scent of acrid, bitter beans fills the air — definitely burnt, it's been brewing all day in the pot. It is the pitcher of water that he moves to fetch, after heaving the sheer bulk of himself between the corner of his desk and some of the collapsed file cabinets. ]
I believe there is glassware in these packages. At least, I hope that it is my alembic system...
[ he cannot pout, but he is pouting eagerly............ ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
delivery ▶︎ backdated to several days after the zoo raid
Mr. Bondrewd,
Please accept my apologies for any suffering or inconvenience you sustained as a result of my behaviour in Aetós’s facility. I have had good experiences with the vendors of these particular products; I hope you will find a use for them in your endeavours.
—Liem Talbott
action;
Esteemed Bearer,
Please accept this token of our sincerest gratitude and proof of your efforts to combat the Blight's spread. Your assistance in procuring the flower specimens is greatly appreciated. The included mixture, when diluted in water, has been shown to slow the progression of the disease when ingested or spread directly over a degrading object. Though we still have much work to do, we will continue to experiment in hopes that this will lead us to a permanent cure.
Yours,
Yuri Vogen
Greenwood Yards
Inside the box sits another decorative floral box - and inside that is a vial of a shimmering, blue-green mixture. True to word, if ingested by a person suffering from the Blight or spread over an object succumbing to its effects, it will considerably slow the progress of the affliction. There are enough for three dosages.
Next time Bondrewd visits Greenwood Yards, he will also find he is greeted with great warmth - and offered a small vial of dried herbs. They smell divine - and the man who hands it to him explains that when burned, the smoke it produces has the uncanny ability to make one able to shed their Shard's Discord, transferring it to another of their choosing through physical contact. There is enough for one use (with player permission, of course!). ]
COMMUNION
Please... ]
no subject
alas,
he does not.
Therefore, the return is a mild, curious uptick in attentiveness and the rush of something lukewarm. It is not affection, but is definitely a bit like a universal sense of 'yay!'
Followed, of course, by a most dutiful closing of Communion in order to make the journey from his little warehouse in one corner of Kowloon to the glimmering, neon-poisonous walls of Draumhol. Where he very, very politely waits to be seen as he chats with Silco's retainer about salves he can make for those burns and injuries, poor guy. ]
no subject
Silco isn't exactly forthcoming with his staff, so Bondrewd is greeted with a closed door, but the staff says 'You can go on in', before resuming his post.
And when Bondrewd opens the door, not only will there be Silco there, but there's a little guy sleeping in a corner. It doesn't look unhealthy, yet, but it certainly looks what could be called "low energy" ]
Ah, Bondrewd, you were so prompt. I hear you are a fan of creatures, yes?
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His helm does make a nice wide sweep of Silco's office, cataloging the environment likely most personal to his benefactor, before his attention gravitates to two points: Silco, and then to the lethargic creature in the corner. ]
Good afternoon, Mister Silco. [ Always such a polite man! ] I am a fan of their presence, yes. The existence of a creature speaks much about the environment they are from, and their adaptability to foreign environments says even more about what can be done with them. That being said, pray tell me who this little one is?
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some generic time after the oracle event
[ Sebastian’s polite, warm voice comes through Communion, and with the extra connection of Stargazers his emotions are as cool and even as they usually tend to be. However. This time, there is something else, something indistinct and hard to pin down in that connection. Communion with Sebastian always just comes with a feeling of the dark (of the abyss, even—), but there’s something else in there today. It’s a low, steady undercurrent of something in that dark. It’s not something Sebastian would intentionally share. But he has his reasons for reaching out to Bondrewd of all his contacts, even knowing that he can’t quite hide his being so completely when they speak. ]
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Mister Michaelis. I am enjoying my time spent in Springstar, quite honestly. The Shardbearers here are truly psychologically distinct from the Shardbearers of Zenith, and I am learning much of them that I regret to have missed before joining to my former faction.
[ Former, but one he believes he will return to. One must immerse themselves in the field, after all, to truly understand what they are examining; he was not overpowered by will, but instead opened back to the potential for study, and thus he had gone. As ever, Bondrewd's mind is clear and lightless, and his "voice" as unemotional as ever. ]
That aside. I always have time for you. How might I assist?
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[ It’s said with a little laugh of amusement, since of course Sebastian would meander to asking if Bondrewd had truly Harmonized with Meridian, but it’s only for his principles of politeness. Being blunt is only something he does when he’s truly behaving as a demon and nothing else. ]
I do not mean this in an accusatory way, I must first say. I am simply curious, for the answer will direct my main question. What is it that drew you to Harmonize to Meridian? I am admittedly a little surprised, since I would have guessed that the… [ He trails off as if thinking of the word, but it’s for show. ] Well, the sensibilities of Meridian over Zenith would be stifling to your interests.
[ And it’s not why he was reaching out, but. Since Bondrewd has mentioned it, he can’t help but ask: ]
And how are the Meri distinct, if I may ask? I have my own guesses, but I would like to hear your analysis.
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[ At least, when concerning Bondrewd, he is an enigma — but, not at all shy about what he does, nor why he does it. What others think of him holds no water, and personal opinions truly cannot find purchase in his reputation because of it. Because he obtains results. ]
Truly, I hold no personal animosity nor similar desire for either faction. Zenith has allowed me purity of freedom to operate without hesitation, while I feel Meridian challenges me to think creatively and address issues that arise. One cannot operate freely without understanding obstacles in their way, and obstacles are meant to be broken free of.
[ In terms of pure intellectualism, one cannot simply be either without running the risk of some degree of stagnation. ]
Based on my observations, the Meridian seem to embody extreme traits, juxtaposed against either a personal desire to be punished for such things, or an external force that punishes them. Many of them are angrier, were engaged in active wartime efforts, and took the loss as a personal shortcoming. Were it not for a handful of charismatic voices, they may have concluded that slaughtering Zenith was the way forward. And from there, they seem to have adjusted their overarching desire — toward one of independent, personal connections among each other and the Zenith.
They are a terrifying people, Mister Michaelis. Much like those who look into the Abyss from where I hail, their will is very flexible and their recovery time is exponentially swift. Breaking their spirit may prove impossible, as they are too faceted and not uniform at all.
I pray I witness a Zenite loss soon, so that I may assess how they handle it.
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1/2
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communion, after The Sap Incident
You, uh. Went up to Springstar's Tree?
[ From the guy who had just been encouraging him to go back to Springstar... and got... banned from a part of it... ]
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Yes, I did. Miss Rosaria asked me to help her with a request. As I am Meridian currently, I thought I could kill two corpse-weepers with one blow.
[ He was being helpful. ]
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Amos is nowhere near as empty as Bondrewd is — he's still got that pesky bit of humanity buried in him; not so deep that he can't recognize the difference between the two of them, but deep enough — but their vibes aren't all that different. He's still mostly neutral, but he isn't bothering with any pretence of being amiable. Mostly he's baffled. ]
Wait, so you were just gonna go up, kill them, do what you needed to do and then be on your way?
[ Does. Does he have that right, he really is mostly asking for clarification, ]
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ring ring
Bondrewd, isn't it? You know who I am, I hope.
[ senpai, duh ]
I was hoping we might have a little chat.
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[ The most muted, albeit pleased, sense of acknowledgement bleeds from him.
Senpai noticed him....... ? ]
Of course. I confess that I am — excited to finally get to speak with you.
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[ It’s not a subtle puzzle to connect “Kite” and “Aetós”, but it wasn’t really meant to be. For someone seeking their attention, it would be obvious, but it’s obscure to anyone else. ]
I would have reached out earlier. But you arrived with somewhat poor timing, personally. Matters had to be cleaned up first. [ just little Manon oopsies, don’t worry about it, ] I was surprised that Shard-Bearers took over my Zoo. Usually they do not have the fortitude.
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me boomeranging these to clear u from duty fast
me crawling back after five days like a scrub
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action ; early october, before link's revival
And so, when Bondrewd returns to his laboratory from some errand or the other late one evening, he'll find the place not as quiet as he left it.
The guinea pigs are loose, he might notice first -- one or two of them scampering for freedom the moment he opens the front door. Something has opened the door to their enclosure. Further into his laboratory, he'll find more of the creatures hiding in corners or squeaking in distress as they trundle about the floor, seeking someplace quiet to hunker down. They haven't been hurt, it seems, and it's only that they're fleeing from some commotion.
The commotion of Gen upending a cabinet of drawers, sending papers scattering in every direction. The floor is already a mess of scattered supplies and notes, a table having been knocked over before Bondrewd made his entrance, and Gen huffs to himself as he turns one drawer, then another upside down to empty its contents across the floor. Clearly searching for something, and having difficulty finding it, judging by the frustrated huff he gives.
It's not until Bondrewd steps into the light of his laboratory that Gen whirls around to look at him, clearly on edge. And while his posture is definitely tense -- he hadn't expected to be caught by Bondrewd while still here, having planned on retrieving his target object quickly and retreating ASAP -- he's also too prideful to beat a hasty retreat now. And so, standing amidst the mess of Bondrewd's ruffled laboratory, he demands, ]
-- where's the shard.
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To find Gen, throwing things around in search of — ah. ]
All three are with Aetós, per our agreement.
[ He's recently been informed that Dark's second shard was not the result of an overabundance of power, but the presence of a secondary soul within him. ]
Mister Link. Mister Schneider. Lucien.
[ Behind Bondrewd, his tail flicks through the air. Whole again. His body moves in a way that seems different, as though there is a weight and realness to him now. The armor is repaired, as though any damage done to him by Gavial and Gen and Yuri has simply vanished; the scent of skin and blood lingers under the clinical sterility upon him, the empty shell of his old 'self' discarded for damages that he did not have time to repair, in favor of overtaking a new form. Zoaholic sits somewhere, safe and apart from curious eyes.
Which means his work can begin in earnest, finally. ]
Would you like to discuss it? I understand you have been emotionally impacted by Mister Link, at the very least. I will do my best to answer any questions and address your grievances, Mister Minegishi.
[ Gen deserves answers, after all. ]
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I'm not emotionally impacted. [ He lies, each word spat out at a disdainful snarl to better mask the fact that he is, indeed, (unreasonably) emotionally impacted. ] And I ain't answering your stupid survey question.
[ As if he could even put into words how he feels about Link. He knows whatever feelings he has for that little Meridian twink are entirely unreasonable and tainted by how badly he'd been affected by something to do with Link's Discord, back at Xanadu. But even so -- those feelings, foolish as they are, are hard to entirely dismiss. And he doesn't want to think about it.
If Link's shard is with Aetos, then he's already too late. Would it have made a difference if he'd come here sooner? Or was it too late the moment he let himself get knocked out during that fight? Did Bondrewd immediately whisk the shard away, to god-knows-where? It's a deeply frustrating line of thought, and Gen gives a hard click of the tongue before turning his ire to Bondrewd. ]
-- that wasn't how you said it'd be.
[ Sharp and accusatory. He's never forgotten the distant goal Bondrewd had enticed him with, after all. ]
You said all that shit about giving Meridians a form that'd help'em survive no matter what. So what the hell was that? Have you just been bullshitting me this whole time? Give me one good reason why I should still believe in anything you say!
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a memory—
A Shard-Bearer strums away at a guitar, and a nearby Kenosian laughs incredulously at the recognizable notes. The Kenosian starts to sing, and though the words are different, the Shard-Bearer plays with excited vigor at this unexpected connection.
[ ooc note — Just to avoid OOC confusion/misinterpretation, the details included in this memory are random and are not necessarily interconnected or plot meaningful beyond a surface level. However, your character is free to interpret this random memory however they’d like! This event will also be touched on somewhat during today’s NPC Communion Post. ]