EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

[inthenightmods]

EVENT LOG:
THE NIGHT WE MET

characters: everyone.
location: the path from downtown beacon to the harbor; all over town.
date/time: february 16-21.
content: the forest spirits send off their friends to join the aurora. memory opals drop from the eerie green lights above.
warnings: n/a.

i had all and then most of you, some and now none of you.

For most of the day on February 16, all of the town's forest spirits can be found along the stretch of road between downtown and the harbor, clearly setting up for, uh, something. They're piling snow onto the pathway, creating a miles long sled trail that starts outside the Landmark Inn and ends at the very end of the harbor's dock. Not only that, but the forest spirits are also not super willing to explain what they're up to! They're busy, you lantern-havers.

By the time evening rolls around, the spirits have set up wooden railings alongside the snowy path, as well as a warming tent, hot chocolate booth, and announcer stand outside of the Landmark. Oh, and a starting banner for the race! It's dogsled time!

Throughout the event, Beacon's downtown and harbor areas will be completely overrun with forest spirits, all there to bear witness to this holiday celebration—this holiday is for them, though, not you weirdos with your naked faces. Point is, none of the spirits will be hostile at this time! They're more interested in interacting with each other than with Beacon's residents, though if pressed, a kind spirit might be willing to explain what's going on:

The aurora arrives in Beacon for about a week each year, and the forest spirits believe it to be "friends in the sky". The lights are old friends of theirs, it seems! And each night while the aurora shines above the town, the forest spirits send off a handful of friends to join the aurora! The spirits ready to join the aurora build sleds of their own and assemble mighty sled teams, sometimes comprised of dog spirits and sometimes... other stuff. Then, when the aurora is at its peak in the wee hours of the night, the sled teams will ride off one by one, racing down the snow-covered path all the way down to the harbor, where they'll finally rocket off the dock and out over the lake, picking up more and more speed as each team gallops wildly over the water before arcing up into the sky. Once the spirits are barely a speck, they'll hit the aurora and burst into a shower of light. Beautiful stuff!

See, since the aurora is made of light, forest spirits launched into it are killed on impact! Isn't that wonderful! The forest spirits seem to think so! What is death to a dead thing!

All of this information can be learned through handwaved/played-led interactions with the forest spirits during the event. They'll all be focused on saying goodbye to their friends and cheering them on as they stream through the sky, but they're happy to welcome lantern-havers to join in the celebrations. The hot chocolate is free and only tastes a little bit like mud, so. Enjoy!

•••
For the entire duration of the event, the aurora will dance in beautiful silence overhead, lighting up the whole town with its eerie green glow. Every so often, handfuls of opals will rain down like meteorites from the lights above, and these opals each contain the memory of someone currently in Beacon! They can be found all over town, landing on paths and atop buildings and maybe even rocketing straight through your ceiling to crash into your living room. Perhaps a forest spirit decided to hide some shiny rocks in your cereal box or under your pillow... Better hope the Postmaster General doesn't find your opals before you do, though. That spirits sure does love their rocks. Point is, who knows where the opals might turn up?

On that note, if you signed up for a random event, we'll be RNGing characters to receive these random events throughout the event! The event may happen in response to a toplevel on this event log, or we might turn up in your IC inbox... 👀 These events will be entirely random, meaning we could dole out any number of them at any time, so it'll be a fun surprise for all of us.

If you missed signups and would still like to toss your name in the ring, go right ahead! Signups will remain open throughout the event, though we can't promise everyone who signs up will get something.

And finally... Each day, we'll post a list of the forest spirits joining the aurora! What, did you want to know in advance? The forest spirits have never been a particularly organized bunch, so they're winging this—which means more surprises for you. :)

Enjoy the races and the lights and the opals, residents of Beacon, and remember: WHAT IS DEATH TO A DEAD THING!

QUICKNAV
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Comments

I. twilight town (ellever)

[arsarcanum]

[ Then a tram rolls right by, clunking metal against metal tracks, the weight of it vibrating through the neatly laid brick underfoot. It smells warm here, like the last days of summer vacation. The air here is warm too, but it's also a bit nippy. Like the sun is just about to set. Almost there. Almost.

(Hey, is that thing ever gonna go down?)


Welcome to Twilight Town.

This sleepy golden urban district is a truly nice place to live. Sure there's the local attitude problem, but that guy's temper is more pride than bad circumstances. Here, there's just enough time for one last thing: the second to last tram downtown to catch the final bouts of the local Struggle tournament, just enough room for another tarte-aux-fruits at the bistro - but just one. One more movie with friends at the open-air cinema, a last hour at a part time job begged for so there's enough munny for everyone to go to the beach. One last sunset sitting on the belltower, ice cream melting down fingers in rivulets.

Utopia? Nah. More like a town where people to gather when they know there's not a lot of time left to be together and thus must make the most of the remaining few hours of sunlight. But it's best not to think about it, this bereft feeling in a familiar city; better to laugh in secret bases in back alleys than beg for more time, leave that seventh urban legend undiscovered, turn away from that sunset view and call it a day. Better to stay out of the woods on the outskirts of town so you don't spot her in that haunted mansion, that mysterious girl in white who draws the curtains of the second floor window closed. Maybe the truth is best left alone, or at least the hurt of it saved for the light of another sunset.

I mean, there's home to get to, right? (Where is home? It's gotta be the next stop on the tram, right?) And there are only a few days of summer vacation left. Hey, is the summer homework really finished? Might want to check on that.

After the infodump, one is free to wander around Twilight Town! The visitor will be wandering as Sora, but if Sora were themselves, or if they were themselves but with a Sora facade, or if they're just really into Sora cosplay. Here are a few points of interest the infodump at the start of the memory will provide the visitor:

- Knowledge that this place is called Twilight Town, and one enters and leaves it by buying a ticket at the train station under the clocktower and leaving via train. (Don't worry, there's a pink pouch in your pocket that has more than enough munny for the fare.) Here, it's the way to leave the memory. Visitors are free to leave at will, and the memory will eventually kick you out, but you can be in there for about a half hour of inside time or so.
- This town is ultra normal. Beautiful homey architecture, nice shops, great vistas, free public transportation, an excellent public education system, lots of good infrastructure (seriously, even the sewer systems are nice)... it's a genuinely nice place to be.
- Except for the creepy haunted mansion on the outskirts of town where a scientist conducted experiments on children for his own selfish revenge! At least he wasn't publicly funded.
- There are several residents of Twilight Town, but the ones Sora would have been most familiar with are Hayner, Pence, and Olette, three high schoolers who helped him with several tasks in his journey. They know the city front to back and happen to enjoy a good investigation.
- They're also alternate dimensional friends with a kid named Roxas, and they can feel that friendship from the original dimension... even if they don't quite remember the kid themselves.
- Feel free to assume that while here, there are echoes of what it might have been like to wander around as Roxas (who was secretly an alternate Sora who got unwillingly merged with him because of reasons - don't worry, he got better) but only as Sora would have been able to sense it. It feels like coming home after a long, long time away, and you hate to leave.
- What are those? Who's this?
- Hey, get lost, mister!
- What in the fuck is this thing?
- THE RAT FROM RATATOUILLE IS NOT RATATOUILLE IS THE NEW FRANKENSTEIN IS NOT THE NAME OF FRANKENSTEIN'S MONSTER
- Anyway, the Little Chef works in a bistro privately funded by Scrooge McDuck.
- "Carrying around a little hurt can't be all that bad."

The viewer experienced all events within the domain of the world in a blink of an eye, but one is free to choose how they interpret or remember events! did it all go very fast? very slow? did it speed up, then slow down at good parts, or was it a very steady progression from beginning to end? It's up to you.

supplemental viewing: one (12:30), two (07:20), three (08:06), four (03:01), five (03:04), six (04:27), seven (01:44), eight (00:47), nine (32:18), ten (07:38), eleven (05:33), twelve (47:23) ]

Quentin Coldwater | The Magicians

[moderatelymaladjusted]

Aurora

[He doesn't even notice at first. The lack of the Librarian or the lack of rustling behind the book stacks in the library, not until he goes to the counter with more questions hastily written down on a scrap of paper and there's just no one there.

Not even when he tries to leave a piece of bread out on the counter.

So, he goes outside to look and maybe, maybe the Librarian has more of a social life than Quentin does and is right outside.

What stops him in his tracks is the light.

For the first time in six months, there's light!

And Quentin lets books be books, heading back towards town and the bonfire, trying to find people, because light like this? Who would want to be alone when there's finally light.

The first opal hits him right upside the head, and still rubbing his sore scalp, he picks it up and tumbles in to a memory--

He comes to, gasping and leaned against a tree, still reeling from the sensation of being plunged in to someone else's head.]

For Will

[moderatelymaladjusted]

Chapter 9 - the gift of Ember

It's dark. The cave only illuminated by a few torches burning along the far walls and the torch in Julia's hand. It smells like wet fur and dead rodents, and in the middle of it stands Quentin. His hair longer and in his face, with a dark green parka on and a messenger-bag slung over his shoulder. A little further in stands Julia, her dark hair cascading down her back and her pale coat buttoned to the neck.

A voice booms out of the darkness, the English accent completely at odds with this place.

"It is customary to bow, children of Earth."

From the dark shadows at the back of the cave, something moves. The sound of hoofs on stone loud and echoing through the cave and Quentin and Julia stand closer together. A figure appears.

The legs of a goat and the body of a man. Two twisting horns are growing out of his forehead, reaching for the low ceiling as he walks slowly towards the fur-covered throne at the far end. The God holds a rod in his hand, leaning on it as he walks behind the throne to look them over.

"Have you brought me little cakes?"

Julia answers first, "No." While Quentin falls back a little. "Uh, I didn't really know that we were supposed to."

"Ah. I am so tired of eating mice." The God says, making his way around to sit down on the throne. The God giggles, "No matter. And? You are?"

"I am, uhm, Quentin Coldwater. Uhm, Julia Wicker." They pull closer together again, Quentin clearly nervous and his voice breaks on the names. Like he isn't sure, or like he's not sure if he should say them out loud, even when asked for them.

The horned God laughs, "Ah! Spank my cheeks! You're usually dead by now. He... kills you and I'm left here to hide like an animal in this horrid, arid, cake-deficient Loria, but... you're here."

Quentin takes a small step forward, "What--what happened? What are you doing here?"

"He lured me in to a trap, of course." The God Ember scoffs, pulling out a ratter, dirty handkerchief from somewhere on the throne.

"Who? The Beast?"

"As you call him, yes." Ember fiddles with the handkerchief, "He snared me, and my dear departed Umber."

"Wait, Umber is dead?" Quentin steps forward again, almost at the raised part of the floor now, where the throne rests and Ember sits.

"It's all unseemly. All of it!" Ember throws the balled up handkerchief away and pouts.

"I--I'm sorry, I don't mean to disrespect," Julia says, her voice raspy and there's something like steel in it. "But how could a magician get the drop on you?" Her whole face tells the truth, that this should be possible. That nothing they've read in the Fillory books ever prepared them for this. A Magician more powerful than a God?

"Fillory's magic belong to no one. Not even a God," Ember says, leaning forward, his voice shrill and annoyed. "A magician with enough... determination can harness its forces and make haggish of anyone of us. Hmm. So now I just... wait till he is slain. I am so fucking bored, children of Earth. Ha, I've had sex with every nymph in the kingdom."

"Well," and it's Quentin, stepping forward with his head slightly bowed and one hand tight around the strap of his bag, "We're here to help."

The God Ember looks him over, eyebrows raising a little. "But you're not a nymph?"

"No, I'm--" and Quentin steps back, face falling, and he shakes his head. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Pray pardon?"

"What are you doing here? You're just going to let the Beast trample the shit out of Fillory?"

Ember looks back, insulted, and he sits back in his chair. "Do you think I want to be here?"

"I think you're being kind of a whiny bitch!" Quentin says angrily.

Julia grabs for Quentin's arm and hisses, "Q! Maybe don't insult him,".

Quentin's voice rises with anger, almost talking over her, "No, does he care or not?!"

"You're right. Years, trying to outwit him. Greatest failure. Deepest shame. Now? He's prepared for anything I do. It is not I who can defeat him. Not directly."

Quentin sets his jaw in a stubborn line, his face hardens as he steps up those last few feet. All the way forward to the edge of the raised dais and so close he can see the dark, vertical pupils in Ember's eyes. "I'll do it. I volunteer. I'll kill the Beast." And even as he says it, his eyes fill with tears. They've failed at this in 39 other timelines. "I love Fillory and I don't know why, but I'm-- supposed to be here. I'm supposed to fight for it."

"Could you be the champion we've been waiting for?" Ember taunts, leaning forward.

"I want to be. I'm ready to be. I'll do whatever it takes."

"You love Fillory," Ember intones, stepping down from the throne. One step for every word. "And you never stopped. Julia stopped..."

"Well, maybe in college, but--but now I--" she tries to defend herself, looking a little helplessly between Quentin and Ember.

"There, you see. She stopped. But you never did. Only the best and the purest can face the Beast. And that... is you." Ember says, smiling as he points one huge finger at Quentin.

"Right, so. Here's the thing. I can't really touch the knife that can kill the Beast."

"Ah, you lack the strength. I will infuse you with... my essence."

As Ember wiggles his fingers, a bottle appears in Quentin's hand. It's half-full of something viscous and white.

"I have gifted you with my bestowal. The seed of my power. When you are ready to face the Beast, you will...imbibe it." The smug smile on Ember's face makes him look younger and Quentin's own face twists with realization.

"That's semen?" Julia almost whispers, eyes riveted on the bottle in Quentin's hand.

Eyes never leaving the bottle, Quentin opens and closes his mouth several times before settling on a resigned and hopefully a little grateful "Thank you?"

For Kol

[moderatelymaladjusted]

We planned this trip since we were nine years old.

The day the gray and overcast. It's April 21st, 1942 and the air-raid sirens are blaring out through the smoky streets of London. Pressed up against the side of a nondescript building is someone who's clearly Quentin and a dark-haired and pretty young woman.

"She's coming." Quentin whispers, excitement so very clear in his voice, and he grabs Julia's hand as a young girl exits the shop, crosses the road and stands in front of the red phone-booth. The door opens on its own, and she looks around rabbit-quick before she slips inside, and she vanishes. Just like that.

Quentin looks down at Julia, a huge smile lighting up his whole face and he says, "Are you ready, Jane."

"Why yes, Martin, I think I am."

They hurry across the street, and with just a small pause to look at the golden glow of sunlight coming from inside the booth, Julia and Quentin step inside.

They step out on the other side, squeezing through the cleaved trunk of a huge tree. They step away from WW2 London and straight in to the hazy morning light in Fillory. There's a large forest all around them and Quentin almost stumbles as he tries to take in everything.

Julia looks as shell-shocked as Quentin feels.

Fillory.

They've dreamed of this since they were nine. In Julia's apartment, there's a table. The underside has a shaky hand-painted map of Fillory. They made it as kids, and they spent hours laying on the floor, just staring up at it. Making it better. Making plans for where they would go, once they found the right portal to go through.

A way to escape the lives they lived and a dream, that Julia grew out of sometime in her teens but Quentin never gave up on.

And now they're here. In Fillory. To save Quentin's friends and to save all of Fillory from the Beast. Because Plover, the fucking dirtbag author of the books, he was right. He was a scumbag, but he was right about Fillory. It was a real place. A real world and Quentin, who had dreamed of this very moment for years. Quentin, who had pinned all of his deepest, most secret hopes on this place. He's finally here.

Quentin looks... happy. His whole face almost rigid with happiness and the overwhelming sense of wonder. Fucking Fillory. He can almost smell the 0,02% opium in the air.

Fillory. That started out as a flaming blob of burning stuff and that blob gave birth to the Gods Ember and Umber, who in turn gave birth to Fillory.

A flat world, floating in space.

"Oh no. Oh Q," Julia rasps, the tears are in her voice and in her eyes when Quentin comes to see just what she's looking at. And he doesn't even need her pointing hand to notice.

Castle Whitespire.

It stands like a fairy tale castle from his dreams and it looks exactly like he always knew it would -- wondrous. The three tall spires, one at each corner of the castle and the magical wards imbued in the slowly rotating cubes suspended above each of them. The white walls and the rich forest surrounding it.

For Riku

[moderatelymaladjusted]

365 days

300 designs. 300 different designs, after they started recording each try in the notebook Quentin brought with him. But now, they were 300 different designs in and one whole year.

365 days, give or take. The calendar in Fillory doesn't match the Earth one completely but Quentin feels like he knows the difference well enough to be sure. 365 days of waking up in the cabin or on the daybed just outside.

Of trying to find a way to survive here, when reality reared its ugly head and told him, that they wouldn't get it done this week. This month.

But a year?

They're on the quilted blanket, laid out on top of design number 300 of the mosaic. Some kind of birds nest. It had eggs in it, carefully placed and logged, made with pastel tiles and Quentin's hands are still dusty with chalk from drawing it.

A year of getting to know Eliot. Through the good days, where Quentin would almost leap out of the cabin to get started, with that weird anticipatory feeling in the pit of his stomach. Because today might be the day, and the days when he could hardly get out of bed. Where Eliot had to cajole him, or outright just leave him to stew in his own misery, because there was just no way that Quentin could get up and get out and do one more impossible thing.

But they're not talking about that tonight.

It's a tiny celebration, of sorts. They made through a whole year.

The food had been good, some kind of chipmunk that tasted a little like salmon and vegetables from their own garden. Cooked, shoulder to shoulder, in the small kitchen in the cabin and eaten on the mosaic.

It's dark, and the stars are out. The whole clearing lit up by torches and the firelight really... suits Eliot. Painted golden, with his hair longer than it used to be and curling in the humid summer air in Fillory around his ears.

Quentin's whole chest aches, stomach in knots, because... well, it's Eliot, and they've been sharing a bed and sharing a life for a whole year.

There's wine, too. Something Fillorian that tastes like cheap whiskey and kicks like a mule. But Quentin kind of likes that, too.

He likes how it sits in his stomach and makes him feel warm and alive. Not nearly as alive as he feels looking over at Eliot, who raises his own cup and makes a toast, "Happy anniversary, Q. To our first, and last year here." And clinks his cup to Quentin's with one of those soft smiles that warms Quentin all the way down to his toes.

A year of watching Eliot get dressed and undressed, washing up at the stream and saving in front of the small mirror by the cabin. Of quietly watching Eliot's profile as he slept, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Of huddling close together during those cold nights and cursing Eliot to all hell for his long arms on the warm one. It's been a year of quiet mornings and talking softly at night. Quentin, telling Eliot about growing up with a single dad. Who, despite wanting to and trying his best, just didn't understand his son. About his mother, who... well. Really wasn't good with kids. About feeling forever and always like that small kid who broke his mom's ashtray and about loss.

On those really long nights, Quentin would start out with I really miss coffee and somehow end up talking about missing Julia. Or his dad. Or Alice. Missing friends and missing home.

A full year of learning about Eliot. His moods and his smiles, the graceful way he moved his hands and how his whole body went taut when he got angry. A year of learning how to forgive and to let go, because they were both stuck here.

They drink, and Quentin sets his cup aside, turning to face Eliot head on. There's grass on his pants and the evening is hot. Humid. Warm. And Eliot...

Eliot, and before he can talk himself out of it, Quentin turns and says, "Hey. I, uhm-" and just goes for it. He leans in close and pushes his mouth against Eliot's in a kiss. Lips moving together and when he leans back, Quentin can't help smiling, because wow.

Eliot looks at him for a second, eyes narrowing and Quentin is just about to apologize or blame it all on the wine, when Eliot's hand moves to cover his against the blanket, even as he slides the other around Quentin's neck and pulls him close for another kiss.

This one goes on for longer, it starts out almost chaste. Just lips moving but Quentin, who has been quietly dreaming and thinking about this for a while, finally remembers that he has hands too, and moves them in to Eliot's hair, letting it curl around his fingers as he deepens the kiss in to something urgent. Something unsaid, but it makes Quentin's heart beat hard and fast inside his chest, it makes his hands shake and his breath stutter out of him in small uncontrolled bursts against Eliot's mouth.

The memory fades when Quentin, still with his hands in Eliot hair, still kissing like his life depended on it, straddles Eliot's lap.

For Bruce

[moderatelymaladjusted]

Love at first sight

Quentin was pacing, and he knew he was pacing and it's driving even himself up the wall because. Why is he even pacing? It's not like this hasn't happened a million times before. People did this every day and it was fine.

From the next room, there's the sound of Arielle grunting and panting and the helper from town's soothing voice telling her she's doing great. Midwife? Arielle knew her, some women in her late forties who had her dark hair done up in a bun on top of her head and who made sure Quentin never strayed too far away.

Arielle is probably alright and in a minute, Quentin is going to join them and hopefully Eliot will rub his back when he gets in there and tell him that he's doing great.

Because Quentin doesn't feel like he's doing great? Arielle is, because she's just fucking amazing.

And right now, she was twenty feet away, giving birth and Quentin was pacing the dirt floor in the cabin like his life depended on it. The floor that Arielle had shown them how to fix. How to change the packed earth once a year and then, spread out the new. To keep the floor from going sour.

Whatever that meant.

But it did help with the smell in the house and in minutes, maybe, there was going to be a baby in this house and the floor probably needed to have the dirt changed soon. Didn't babies eat dirt?

He's freaking out and he knows it. Knows that he should be in there, by Arielle and hold her hand, and he takes those first steps towards the bedroom. The only room in the house, aside from the kitchen-slash-livingroom. It's a small cabin.

He had been doing okay. Holding on to Arielle and wiping her beautiful, sweaty face with a cold cloth. Had handed her glasses of cold water and helped her move when she needed to.

Still, though. He had needed Eliot there, too. Had needed to reach out and hold his hand when things got... intense. When Arielle gritted her teeth and concentrated on breathing.

He goes back to the bed, the midwife- Cindy, he remembers now, is on her knees in front of Arielle, telling her to push and Quentin hurries to stand by her side. Holding her hand, and she's squeezing it so hard it feels like his fingers are breaking. And Quentin, Quentin reaches out blindly, groping for Eliot, and he's squeezing his hand hard--

And Arielle pushes, her face flushed red with exertion and Cindy is telling her -- "more, Ari! Push harder!"

It happens just like that, between one breath and the next and Cindy is holding up a tiny, pink baby. It's little legs kicking in the air and Arielle reaches for it. No, not it. Him. And Quentin's legs are like rubber as he watches Cindy place the tiny boy on Arielle's sweaty chest. Between the swell of her breasts.

There's a pause. A break in the world where no one seems to be breathing and Quentin can't take his eyes off of this little guy.

His son.

Cindy is talking, sounding like someone who has been repeating herself several times. "Take him, I need to help her with the rest." Which seemed to require Arielle to get up and walk? But Quentin takes the tiny bundle of blankets and a baby-- his baby, and cuddles him close to his chest.

The baby just looks up at him, with large steel-blue eyes, all calm as if he doesn't get what all this fuss is about and Quentin holds all of him in his hand. And when did his hands grow so large, but now they're holding a whole human being.

Careful as anything, Quentin turns and looks up at Eliot, eyes large and wet with unshed tears. His heart bursting with pride and fear.

"My son. Look at him, El. Just look-- he's. Perfect."

For Gwen

[moderatelymaladjusted]

No better to be safe than sorry
It's a forest like any other, some place in the world and the sun is setting. It's beautiful and there's nothing to hear for miles except for the footsteps of Quentin and two friends hurrying through the underbrush.

A petite brunette with a huge axe in her hand and a handsome guy, with a long scarf wrapped around his neck. They're hurrying and there's a sense of urgency, of hopelessness.

Quentin looks-- tired. Worn down and like he hasn't been sleeping, which isn't too far from the truth. But they need to do this and they need to do it now, while there's still ambient magic enough in the world to do the spell. Before the Monster realizes just what happened to his sister and Quentin needs this to be done.

He's beyond scared. At least scared about himself, he's plenty scared for everyone else. Margo and Penny-23, with him on this. Alice, waiting for them by the mirror and Julia, already de-possessed and fighting for her life in a hospital bed from the axe wound to the back.

But this is now.

Here.

And Margo pops out her eye, throwing it along the forest floor and it comes to rest in front of someone who looks like Eliot Waugh.

It's not.

This hasn't been Eliot for months and this is what Quentin has been working towards, what he's been fighting for. This one chance to save Eliot.

She gestures silently, and Quentin charges forward, another axe held high as he steps in front of the thing that's not Eliot.

"Hey!"

The Monster gets up, hand already drawing in to the familiar gesture. The one that will tear Quentin apart, will splatter his blood all over the dead leaves and Penny-23 coming up behind him.

And Margo steps out from out of nowhere, slamming the axe right in to not-Eliot's stomach with a "Hey, motherfucker!" and not-Eliot drops like a ... well, a dead thing. A golden mist rises up off the body on the forest floor and it goes straight in to the bottle next to him. Next to Eliot and Quentin is ready, so ready, hands up and Penny-23 is typing on his phone while Margo is talking, pleading in the back ground.

"Eliot! Eliot, stay with me!" her hands trying to hold the huge gaping wound in his guts shut and she's failing, the blood runs thick and dark and Quentin is still ready, so ready, because they got the Monster out and now--

They tut through the spell together, every magician they could find and all the hedge witches. All across the world and for one glorious blink, he isn't Quentin Coldwater anymore. He's-- he sees London, New York, Fillory and Tokyo. He's young, and old, barely able to move his hands. He's watching the sun blaze on a cloudless sky, watching it set, watching it rise through the fog. And he's here, all here in the forest, sealing the Monster in to the bottle while Margo keeps screaming "Eliot!".

The spell settles over the bottle and Margo is still talking, still crying, still pressing her hands down in to the wound, "Eliot! Eliot, if there's a tunnel with grandma, you tell her to piss off and come back to me, you selfish fuck! Come back? Eliot?"

"Well, when you put it so sweetly, Bambi..."

And Quentin is lucky he's still sitting on the ground because there's no way his legs would be able to carry him right in this second. Not with Eliot moving his head, breathing and muttering to Margo. It's like all the strength he had left has drained right out of him and everything, everything, everything is centered on Eliot, bleeding out and possibly still dying. But he is Eliot.

The memory fades with just Quentin, getting up and wiping at his face with the back of his hand. Eliot is safe.

✧ sora

[mellowyellow]

It’s raining, but Masaomi is out on the streets of Tokyo anyway. He hasn’t bothered with a jacket, let alone an umbrella. When his cell phone rings, he answers it with a tired monotone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me, Horada,” the raspy voice on the other end confirms.

Masaomi sighs. It's just Horada, just the Yellow Scarves. They aren't who he wants to talk to right now. “What? Did something happen?”

“You know, you don’t need to come around anymore.”

Masaomi doesn’t stop walking, but he does give his phone a bit of a glare. “Hah?”

“You’re fired,” Horada explains with an audible smirk. “Fired from the position of Shogun. Fired, fired!”

“What are you talking about?” Masaomi presses. Some wannabe thug who only recently joined the gang is trying to insist he can oust Masaomi, the one who started the damn thing? There's no way he's being serious.

“Mikado Ryuugamine, is it? Isn’t that your friend’s name?”

For the first time since he’s picked up his cell, Masaomi is visibly perturbed. He gasps, pulling away from the phone before shoving it back into his ear.

“What a shock!” Horada drawls happily on. “The leader of the Dollars was friends with our gang’s head-”

“Wait! Who told you-”

“Who cares? Anyway, I can’t believe you tricked us all. Everyone’s here, and they’re all lookin’ shocked.”

Masaomi’s eyes narrow as he stares out into a crowded street that seems to have grown several degrees colder. His voice hardens. He knows where this is going, and it absolutely can’t happen. Any fucking thing but this. “What are you going to do?”

“Go after the Dollars’ head.”

Masaomi’s breath halts in his throat.

“Everyone can’t wait to kick some ass! You’ve got an execution order out on your head too. You won’t be able to walk around Ikebukuro anymore. Bye.”

Horada ends the call like it’s nothing, and Masaomi is left standing in the rain - soaked, alone, and devastated.

✧ stone

[mellowyellow]

“Oi, Sonohara. Heading home now?”

Upon hearing her name, a young girl turns to the much older man standing in the hallway behind her. She is clearly a teenager, and her uniform matches those of the many other teenagers roaming the hallways of this school. Apparently above this standard uniform, the man wears only a collared shirt and dress pants. If age alone isn’t enough to set them apart, the man’s authority over her and her classmates certainly is. Though her head is down, short hair obscuring her eyes, the man moves in closer, shamelessly cornering her.

“Hey, Sonohara. Is something bothering you? Are you being bullied? Caught up in some trouble?”

Her response is stiff, curt. “No.”

He smiles down at her anyway, like he knows better. “If something happens, tell me right away.”

Again, she firmly insists. “I’m fine.”

By now, his gaze has dropped from her eyes to her well-developed chest.

“I see. Come to think of it, has Harima not come to school yet? Even though you’re finally in the same class… It was tough, getting her into the same class as you,” he drones on, smoothly sliding his hand around the girl’s stiff shoulders. “Mr. Saito, from your middle school, asked me to take good care of you. So don’t worry. I know, I’ll take you home today. You heard the Slasher struck again nearby, right?”

The girl doesn’t look up, doesn’t meet the man’s eyes, doesn’t even move as he nestles closer.

Suddenly, a familiar voice echoes through the hall. It’s Masaomi. “Mr. Nasujima!” he shouts with mocking incredulity. “Are you sexually harassing a student?!”

Both Sonohara and Nasujima jump, upon realizing that Masaomi has been watching from an open doorway the whole time. He hastily pulls away from her before any of the other students can turn their heads.

“Wow! You’re flirting with the poor, little, glasses-wearing class rep? If that’s not sexual harassment, I don’t know what is! Or maybe it’s more like sexy harassment!”

“Kida!” the man barks. “Don’t be stupid!”

He shows his true colors, however, when he immediately turns back to dogging the poor girl, desperate to cover his tracks. “Sonohara, don’t get the wrong idea and spread any rumors….”

By now, Masaomi has sidled up next to them. He waves Nasujima’s concerns aside with an incorrigible grin. “Does she look like the type who would?”

“Th-That’s true,” Nasujima concedes, taking his chance for a quick exit. He hastily passes Masaomi, but before he manages to get very far, the mischievous teen gleefully adds an amendment.

“I’ll take care of spreading the rumors, so don’t worry!”

Nasujima promptly trips over left out janitorial equipment, and Masaomi’s smile spreads wider than his damn face.

He’s such a hero.

✧ vanitas

[mellowyellow]

“Masaomiii Kidaaa~” the antagonistic voice lilts playfully from Masaomi’s cell phone. “Hello! This is Izumii, head of Blue Square. I have a quiz for yooouu!”

Recognizing the name of his rival gang leader, Masaomi jerks to his feet.

“Question 1: We’ve got a special guest here today. Who do you suppose it is? Hint: It’s someone very, very, very important to yooouu!” Before Masaomi can even interject, Izumii breaks out into his game show host impression again. He’s laughing. “Time’s up! But I bet you figured it out, didn’t you? Yes, yes! Your answer is correct!”

“Bastard!” Masaomi growls. “What have you done with Saki?!”

“Question 2: What do you suppose she looks like right now? Question 3.” A wet crack resounds through the phone’s speaker, and a young girl screams bloody murder before her cries wither into pained sobs. “What bone was it that just broke? Hint: She won’t be walking for a whiiiile!”

By now, Masaomi’s entire body is shaking with silent rage.

“Final question: What’s going to happen to her if you don’t come to the parking garage where you trapped us before in twenty minutes?”

Izumii hangs up, and Masaomi wastes no time throwing his cellphone at the wall. Still shaking with anger and grief, he breathes heavily for a few seconds before scrambling to the phone again and dialing another number.

No one answers.

Masaomi curses at the top of his lungs and bolts out the door, racing straight for that parking garage. He has to save Saki. He has to. After all, he’s her boyfriend. He loves her. And he’ll kill every last one of those bastards who hurt her while he’s at it. He runs all the way to the garage, ready to murder.

But the moment he sees it, right there in front of him, he freezes. Masaomi stares down at his own paralyzed feet as realization hits. He’s not shaking in anger. He’s terrified.

“Why? Why am I so scared?” It’s barely audible at first, but the volume of his voice rises with every word, frantic and cracking. “I thought I could do anything for her!”

He doesn’t move, even as a van barrels out of the designated parking garage with Saki in its backseat, even as he hears shouts and howls from within the garage itself.

He doesn’t move for a very long time.

for midge. cw: child abuse, domestic and family violence, alcohol abuse, burning.

[magnitudes]

“Respect.” Somehow it’s bitten out, stretched over three syllables. “That’s the problem with you, Sarissa.”

Her father is standing so he partly blocks out the sun. Beyond him she can hear birdsong, faint but undeniable. No matter how terrible he tries to make the world, he can’t ever block out birdsong, or nature. He can’t make the flowers stop blooming.

“Are you listening to me?” His voice isn’t rough, doesn’t carry the broad twang of some rural. Nah, he speaks polished, camouflaged to the city classrooms where he earned his degree. Fingers curl into her hair and jerk her head back, forcing her to look up at him.

Graham Theron has blond hair, grey eyes and a neatly kept beard. He dresses well, though now his sleeves are rolled up and his tie loosened. “Are you listening, you little bitch?”

Roughly, he releases her hair, and in the process her head knocks back against the chair. His breath reeks of alcohol; ash from his cigarette crumbles and falls on her clothes.

Sarissa smiles. It’s not all defiance. She isn’t some impenetrable wall, some stone. And even if she was, stone cracks. Walls are battered down. When she smiles at her father, it’s tremulous at the edges, and her eyes are bright, but she is still a wild thing with claws ready. Wild things in a corner will fight.

“Respect was invented to cover the empty places where love should be.” Tolstoy, flung right back. She’s twelve, maybe, and bearing words like weapons. Did she read the book, or just find quotes? Did it really matter?

Her father laughs, shaking his head. Well, you just take the biscuit, don’t you? It’s like any kind of oh, you little scamp comment might come out of his mouth, until he twists her arm outwards and extinguishes the cigarette on the inside of her elbow. "Come on. Toughen up, Sarissa. Toughen up."

for elektra / kol / castiel. cw: child abuse, domestic and family violence, threats.

[magnitudes]

She's scrawny. The only way of putting it, really, but there she is, standing with her arms held out in front of her and a plank resting across them, with a bucket full of water in the centre. Her forehead is sweating, and she's kneeing on the ground. Her arms are shaking with the weight of it. Whatever she's been stuck with, she's been stuck with it for a while - how long could anyone keep their arms out like that, let alone a kid?

Crouching next to her, Sarissa's father looks at her intently. "You embarrassed me. You understand that, Sarissa?"

Her back and shoulders are twisting with the strain of keeping the bucket held up, of not dropping it. Don't flinch. Don't cry. Don't embarrass me. Toughen up. The mantra, over and over and over, repeating it to herself in her head but hearing it in his voice. "You make a scene like that again," he continues, very softly, "and you'll know it. I will make you disappear."

Her father leans closer, and she keeps her gaze dead ahead. "I'll make your mother disappear."

Dread, and fear, and the certainty that he probably could, and her arms are shaking from how scared she is and because it hurts, she's so tired and it hurts, she can't keep holding it—
The bucket drops, water practically exploding across the floor, and Sarissa's hands are uselessly outstretched after the bucket, though she's barely able to hold them up any more.

She's aware of him moving across the room, and the heavy thud that comes when he gets out his clubs for a game of golf. And her shoulders tense and eyes shut tight as she braces herself.

[sunborne]

[ tilting his helm to the side, day looks pretty confused by jason's demeanour right now. something happen...? did jason need helping in anything because, if so, he's ready to drop anything to give his friend a hand.

he's about to offer his help when he learns why jason is here. soon, the confusion gives way to pure excitement. surprised excitement, yeah, but excitement all the same. ]

Oh! No- I haven't- [ hang on, give him a second to get him and jason some alone time.

turning his attention back to the spirits he's with, he lets out a melody in spirit language. he basically asks if he can have some alone time with his friends. he'll be back in a bit to help them out, promise, but he needs to catch up with something. the message is a bit jumbled at the end but the request is at the heart of the message and the spirits don't seem to mind.

letting out assuring squeaks and hoots, the spirits take the supplies and the bobsled, the group hurrying off to a distance to allow the pair some privacy.

with that now settled, day looks back at jason and he still looks hopeful. ] Um- Yeah! I haven't gotten a chance to find mine. Been really busy helping the others out. [ does he mean 'the others' as in the others of beacon or 'the others' as in the spirits? that could wait. day grins, his winglets fluttering as a sign of excitement. ] What did you see, Jason? Who did you see? My friends? My family? Finally got to see me when I was still human-sized?

for quentin. cw: ref to war, historical homophobia.

[magnitudes]

The driveway is long - too far to see the road at the end of it, and it's lined with massive trees, easily a hundred years old. They look like pale yellow candy floss is spun about them in little clusters. Tiny, creamy white petal and a bright yellow centre, with so many fine stamen coming off it that the cluster looks fluffy. Sarissa’s a kid, maybe eight or nine, and she picks a cluster of the flowers and crushes it in her hand to inhale the bright, citrusy scent. Lemon myrtle.

“Greeks, we grow up with the water. Island to island, Doryoula.”
Her grandmother’s voice is audible beneath her as Sarissa swings down from a tree branch, grinning brightly. Eunike carries a basket, and is moving along the cascading trees of lemon myrtle, gathering blossoms and leaves as she goes. “You are a fish of the trees as well as of the water.”

When Eunike smiles the scar on her cheek stands out starkly, and she smiles all the more as Sarissa snorts out a laugh.

“Fish don’t swim in trees,” comes the typically cocky response of a child, with all the requisite attitude.

Eunike tilts her head. “They do, until you can tell me this in Greek.”
Sarissa huffs at the challenge, and runs along the branch (no hands, no hands) until she has suffer the indignity of dropping down to the ground to run to the next tree.



A summer. Everything's touched by dry heat. There's an old federation farmhouse a ways off, beautifully kept despite its age. Grapevines grow over a pergola-covered path connecting to another house maybe a hundred metres off, but Sarissa isn’t paying attention to any of it. She’s maybe thirteen or so, and simmering with anger, as Eunike sets down a box of tools, cleaning rags, a plastic tub with a collection of bottles in it - the sort that every family has in their shed and nobody really knows what it contains.

Before them? A tractor that’s well past being any use. By the looks of it, the thing was left out in a field, so plants and grasses could grow through it.

“This is stupid,” Sarissa huffs, kicking the dirt.

“This is history,” comes the correction, and Eunike holds out a rag to her granddaughter. “Destroying things, that is stupid. I think you need to see what fixing can do.”

Sarissa exhales furiously, but Eunike’s calm is unrelenting, and she takes the stupid cloth and stupid cleaner, and gets to work on starting to clean the tractor up, as her grandmother watches - careful, assessing, focused on Sarissa rather than the task at hand and trying to piece together what’s wrong.



She sits with her grandmother, older now. Sarissa’s in her late teens. Eunike’s hair is more white, now, though she still holds a cigar between two fingers. Her knuckles are a little more swollen now.

“You didn’t think it would stay a secret, hm?”

Sarissa’s gaze is downcast, fingers twisting around each other, picking absently at her nails as her grandmother watches the setting sun, so soft purples and pinks stretch across the sky. “No. I just—” She twists her hands around each other awkwardly. “I don’t know.”

Eunike laughs quietly, leaning over to gently pat Sarissa’s cheek. “Nicky told me. He was worried I would be…” She gestures, a little tilt of her head and one-shoulder shrug. “Cold, I think.”

Her pause is pensive, sad. “You know, when I was fighting with the rebels, there was a young man from my village who joined us. He was, uh—“ Another gesture, as she searches for the words, “he was like you. I don’t know if he liked women as well, but… he was just as brave as all the others. Just as brave, and strong, and clever. Simon was a good man.”

Was. There is a contained sadness in Eunike’s gaze, as she leans against Sarissa’s shoulder. It was a war, after all, and they were fighting occupation. Simon was not the only friend she lost. “The only reason I knew this of Simon was because we were always so much in each other’s lives. It is sad, I think— that a man who was so good had to keep his heart so secret. I don’t want this for you, Doryoula.”

Sarissa's wrapped up in a hug, and thank fuck, because she wasn't going to be able to avoid getting teary after that.

[equinoctials]

Confusion is only to be expected, there's plenty of times when Riku has stoically folded his arms listening to something while a whole litany of question form a proverbial congo line, his external calm isn't always a reflection of actually having his shit together. He'd be as mystified in Jason's shoes.

"Snap?" That reminds him of three pranksters in Halloween Town, though he only knew of them through entries Jiminy made in his journal about all of their adventures, and because Halloween Town was a stop on the Search for Sora Itinerary, before he fell to Darkness trying to find him and ended up here.

Riku automatically puts out his gloved hand, frowning slightly as he realizes quickly what he's here about. He's tense... there's a lot of private thoughts that can get tied up with memories, so he's understandably nervous about how much of his innermost thoughts might end up advertised regardless of the audience, but he says seemed important and he relaxes.

He'd been a little concerned by the use of the word weird. It must be... a battle, or something related to the ways his universe differs from Jason's. He can handle that.

"Thank you. Mind if I look?"

[equinoctials]

Strength - real fortitude - these things don't usually come without struggle, without pain to challenge one's limits. It's not like Riku needed some glittering stone fallen from a glowing river of light in the sky to tell him something he'd already known about Soldat. That the soldier exudes an understated, even lethal power honed by discipline, Riku doesn't have to know the soldier personally all that well to notice.

But he thinks he understands a little bit better what sort of trials have molded Soldat into the person before him today.

"That's kind," Riku says, placing the stone into the metal hand, "It's yours, so I'm sure you can handle it... but this one," he cuts his gaze away thoughtfully, "It's..." Sickening and sad all at once. The things they did to the soldier, the horrific wounds they inflicted, just because they could.

Riku, who has seen how human hearts can manifest deep Darkness, can't say he's surprised. That doesn't mean it isn't abhorrent, that it's any less--

"Awful," he says, it's not pity. He looks again at Soldat, his hands fists at his sides, "I wish I could've given you something happier, but you deserve to have a say in where this goes."

[sunborne]

Mr. Hughes! [ he laughs, surprised by the sudden appearance of the man but pleased to see him. ] Hey! I hope you've been doing well.

[ now in the colours of lively spring, day's peppy greens and pretty pinks and blues has him standing in strong contrast of the whites and greys of the snowy environment. almost ironically but day seems to content (or, at least, at peace) with his new set of colours.

he raises his servo, giving a subdued wave in greeting while asking for his spirit friends if he and mr. hughes can have some time to themselves. day's smile is a little fainter than usual for some reason, not as cheerful. did something happen...? ah, well, he's clearly happy to see a familiar face amongst the throng of spirits. maybe he's tired after helping the scurrying spirits all day. ]

You do? Oh wow- That's really nice of you, Mr. Hughes! Thanks! [ he doesn't ask right away what it is. he has a feeling he knows what this could be and, truth be told, he's... a little unsure if he can bring himself to touch it directly. let alone accept it after- well- after his firsthand experience with the opal. it hurts knowing now that, despite all this time, he wasn't even-

but mr. hughes went out of his way to locate day, track him down, and give it back to him in person so no one else got it and he was sure the opal came to the right person. that means a lot to the teenager. so hence the big smile, a cheerfulness that mr. hughes may have experienced earlier day is quick to bring up. ]

SCREAMS

[equinoctials]

The worst part of this is Riku fumbles the opal in his shock the first time, meaning the second time sees him blushing to the roots of his silver hair as he shoves his fist into his pocket, grateful there's no one around to witness his silent fluster. These opals are a serious problem, if there's something this personal just lying around, there's no telling what's out there.

He needs to return this to...

Crap, which one? The Eliot he remembers from when they were sharing a cabin with Quentin seems different from the Eliot who recently came in off the ferry. He doesn't know him well enough to judge if this is something that happened in his timeline. But Quentin... he'd want this back, the impression Riku got was that this carried much of Quentin's personal feelings, his point of view.

But...

Just knowing this particular opal is occupying his pocket keeps attacking him with fresh embarrassment all over again, he's not sure he could bear to face Quentin or see his reaction if he realized that Riku had seen... had seen TWICE...

And can relate with everything Quentin felt, Riku observes, feeling the small scar in his lower lip with the tips of his fingers.

In the end, he folds the opal into some paper and slides it under Quentin's cabin door without announcing his presence, trying to walk briskly away before he can be caught.

[legalcy]

His inquiry came to a brief halt at the update. Another cabinet has been completed to his standards. That's a good thing. Minimus nods. "Thank you. It seems that progress will quicken now that we have a general idea of how to reorganize the files."

He then holds out a small bundle of old cloth that holds an opal. "I came here to return this. It seems that you have quite the experience in traveling to different planets."

[dadandgone]

Maes nearly drops the opal in surprise. He's used to being a snoop, sure, but even something as innocuous as that seems like a step too far. It's odd, experiencing the feelings one man has for his wife, when that wife is not your own. He doesn't know how to process it at first and instead fumbles in his own pocket for one of the memories he had picked up of Gracia.

A refresher with the correct wife.

He's careful picking up the opal a second time, using a handkerchief that hadn't gotten much use until now. This seems like a special one or at the very lease a pleasant one that would be cherished more so by the owner than anyone else. He pauses for a moment, trying to figure out the best place to find Cao Pi. Probably as far away from the races...given which spirit he had seen preparing itself there.

He shudders and turns to go find him.

[legalcy]

It wasn't necessary, but confirmation does help. "Noted," he responds and walks over to the edge of the lake, peering downward. The ice won't be able to hold his weight, but it should not be so deep as to cause difficulties in exiting.

"I believe there is a bucket in one of the storage cabins. I can scoop it out from the lake without touching it."

[dadandgone]

He'd been spotted. Maes lowers his mug and returns to drinking the less-than-stellar coffee. It had been awhile since they spoke, mostly because Maes and the Soldier both seemed to have their own routines and business to take care of doing. Maes focused on putting together the puzzle of this place, gathering clues, and organizing expeditions when he could and Soldier...well Maes actually wasn't entirely sure. He knew the man to go on the patrols, to explore himself, and possibly handle less than desirable spirits.

Hmm. Perhaps he should have considered asking him along on that mission that had gone to shit.

No, no now wasn't the time to dwell on past mistakes. Maes looks up with the other man joins him. He's straight to the point, which doesn't surprise Maes, though he is still trying to solve the puzzle of how the figure of 'Bucky' fits in with someone like this. There's a big piece missing, that's all he can say.

"Hello. For now things are as fine as can be expected. Some of the spirits appear to be leaving us and no one's been taken out by a falling rock yet, though I imagine that's only a matter of time given our collective luck." He takes a sip from his coffee, this is all stuff he would have already known if he was patrolling. He won't make this unnecessarily long.

Maes reaches into his pocket and, using a handkerchief, pulls a stone out and places it on the table. The stone is easy enough for him to take, though Maes pulls his handkerchief back to place in his pocket. "Found this by my porch and I wanted to return it. Unfortunately, the guy in it doesn't seem to have come back from getting some smokes, so you seem to be the closest recipient." It's a terrible joke, but it's meant more as a kind of test than anything.

C

[legalcy]

Well, there was finally something Minimus found negative about Cao Pi. That bantering between he and another officer - casual or not - felt unprofessional. What kind of soldier had time for conversations that lead nowhere are felt like stealth insults? Was there no war during that conversation?

Perhaps that was it. With no looming danger, there was no reason to focus on work.

But wasn't there always danger?

He wraps the opal in the remains of a potato sack and searches for the human. Thanks to the light from the sky, it doesn't take too long to spot the man matching the one in the memory among the crowd.

"Officer Cao Pi?" He calls out as if addressing a fellow soldier.

[dadandgone]

[He was an idiot not to have put it together before. He should have seen the signs of youth in his voice, even if it wasn't always clear in the way he looked. Maes was a little more accustomed to strange shapes and sizes given his time with the Circle, but it still was hard to shake a prejudice of bigger must mean older. But the way he addressed people, the way he treated the spirits, and the idealistic way he seemed to think they could all get along.

Youth. It all screamed youth and Maes had been working under the assumption that Daylight was older somehow. Not that it necessarily changed how Maes would treat him, Daylight had certainly prove himself, but it did change how Maes would probably approach Daylight from here forward. It was like working with Alphonse all over again.]

I've been all right, all things considered.

[No sense talking about the horrors of the forest and that one spirit. That was all in the past and they had a new problem to deal with at the moment.]

I've been taking up a new hobby. These stones are showing up just about everywhere and I've always been pretty good at finding things. Seemed like the thing to do was to help people find these stones of theirs.

[He fishes his in pocket, producing a stone for Daylight carefully held in one of his knitted gloves he'd collected from the trees but had not used as bartering material. The glove was a deep, rich purple.]

It was...[It wasn't good or bad entirely. He's not sure how to classify this one.] well, I could relate to it in a lot of ways. I can't deny that I'm a nosy person, but every time I pick one of these up I feel like I'm crossing a line somehow. So, here.

[He offers it up for Daylight, though if he wants to take it along with the glove he can.]

[afoolshope]

Minato nodded, tilting his head in thought. “I guess I’m surprised that demigods do exist, or no... not that they exist but I guess that there seems to be a lot of you? Camp Half-Blood, it was called? I assume that’s a place where you all meet up?”

It wasn’t that he was trying to be blasé about gods existing, since it had always made him curious why their Personas took on names of Greek and Roman figures but then with the revelation of Nyx and humanity’s end... well, why shouldn’t the others actually exist? He wasn’t foolish enough to believe his persona Thanatos was the actual Thanatos, but the concept came from somewhere. Personas came from somewhere, or the potential for them anyway.

“I’m sorry if it seems like I’m prying,” He said. “But what exactly were you all fighting about? Polybotes not liking Poseidon aside.”