I haven't joined hands with those girls.

Your local gay, depressed alchemist.

Thousands of years old. Has seen some shit.

If you've oppressed another person, you're going to have a bad time.

Will attack and dethrone God.

Almost always "having a moment."

Rarely smiles.

Burning your life away really hurts.

College happens and happened, and while I did have fun with the group, I’m honestly more comfortable moving back to an old indie multimuse of mine, @rakuene (which I need to revamp pretty heavily--it’s got remnants of my using fanart as icons days, haha) than trying to start over (and, really...I don’t want to put SG through any more suffering here, haha.

“Valentine’s Day, huh.”

@aid-lombard / starter call.

❅ : the day has been long and weiss feels just a bit more hopeless than she did at the start of it. all this time she’s spent in the library has felt futile and her search has progressed no further toward the goal she laid out at the start — finding something that might help her get back home, or even something vaguely related to the idea, which had seemed an entirely reasonable and open-ended goal — and while the day isn’t over yet, she’s been debating just heading home and quitting for the day. she’ll return the day after the next (she has a shift tomorrow at kohimasu) but any enthusiasm she might have had has quickly dwindled down to nothing. a shame, really, given that researching and buckling down to doing said researching really used to be her forte. funny how when the stakes have changed from something so small as a research paper or essay to the possibility of ever seeing her friends and home ever again that the very prospect of searching the library ceased being fun and appealing.

she’s found but one book of note that looked promising, but quite frankly she’s too overwhelmed at the moment to begin scouring its pages. instead, she sits, slumped up against one of the shelves deep within the library, head resting upon book upon knees hugged to her chest. what to do next? where to go from here? everything here just serves to make her feel more and more —

isolated.

but she’s not alone, as it turns out. a woman comes striding out of one of the aisles and startles her, and she nearly drops the book. has she been in this section the entire time? weiss had thought she was working in seclusion but clearly that’s not the case. she’s tensed up, but relaxes slightly when she realizes the woman is staring at her for the moment with a stony glare. all she can think to do is offer a little wave.

‘i didn’t realize there was anyone else here. are you…’ this section is full of books related to the island’s history, so she has no idea what the other woman is looking for. ‘can i help you look for anything? i’ve been in here all day and quite frankly i feel like i’ve almost got the shelves memorized.’

Saint-Germain is tired.

She’s tired of feeling like everything she has slips from her fingers, like she can’t count on anything--or anyone--to be here after she’s gone to sleep. She’s not even fully convinced Prelati’s with her in this strange, lonely place; after all, if she wakes the next day and her companion has vanished, what makes her appearance any different than a dream? She’s tired, and she wants to feel like she has some control.

So she’s gone to the Cotes Library, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she can find some sort of book on how to just get everything to slow down. The shelves are big, but old habits die hard--she’s spent years meticulously going through a library before. But for all she knows, even spending this much time in a different place will keep her from seeing the one she cares so dearly for--so skimming titles will have to do for now.

As she turns leaves an aisle, finding nothing relevant, she spots someone curled up by one of the shelves, clutching a book--though the sound of her footsteps startles the white-haired girl enough that she drops it. Saint-Germain stares down at her, unblinking, unfeeling. It’s a public space, after all. This girl is free to do what she wants.

He first spits, trying to rid his mouth of the bad taste. Throat still stinging with bile, he hardly realizes he’s been picked up until the smooth movement stops. The bright lights of the city lengthen and blur. Hair sticking to his gaping mouth. Fingers grasping her clothes. 

He leans further down, marveling as the ground got further away from them. 

“Safe…” he mutters. Kneeing and kicking, he tries to leave her grasp like someone climbing over a wall. “This…way.” He could stick the landing from this height, he figured–if he hadn’t passed out. His entire upper body going limp mid-struggle. 

As he leans down, Saint-Germain does her best to steel her grip; at this point, this man falling will result in far worse than a bad hangover. Even knowing that everyone here comes back to life, she can only imagine how painful it would be to have to deal with splatting on the pavement twenty-four hours from now. She really doesn’t have any desire to be responsible for that.

“No, not that way--” As he begins to struggle, she can’t help but panic just a little, only for relief to wash over her as he finally goes limp. Wishing for someone to pass out isn’t usually a good thing, but in this instance, it’s definitely going to save her a lot of trouble. She takes a deep breath, steadies herself, and thinks of the many establishments she’s seen as she’s wandered the ward.

Mind set, she makes her way to one of the cushier-looking hotels she remembers; she’ll certainly get a few strange looks, but she knows it’s probably safer there than at a dingy motel. While there’s questions at first when she walks in and approaches the front desk carrying a clearly drunk man, a flash of her Dust amount shuts up any questions, leaving no obstacles on her path to a quiet room.

She places the man on the single bed, sighs, and falls onto the couch. “...okay.” Hopefully, when he wakes, he’ll either be cognizant enough to slightly recall what happened, or just think he got very, very drunk. She’s not too inclined to care either way. A sigh escapes her lips as she stares up at the ceiling. She knows she’s just playing hero, really. Something like this is barely a blip in the scheme of the sins she’s committed.

But at least it’s something.

“Nyaaahh!”  Entrapta’s arms fought to keep steady, holding the tray she carried upright even as she lost her footing on the icy patch of ground.  The momentum proved too much, though, and a cup of soup would end up flying from the flat surface, crashing to the ground and splashing a bit onto someone’s shoe.

“Aah!  Sorry!  It wasn’t too hot to burn through your shoe, was it?”  With her footing regained, she lowered the tray with a sheepish expression.  The cup that had crashed was…quite small, more of a sake cup than anything, and it seemed to make up one of several tiny soup bowls she had bunched up on her tray.  Definitely from the free soup cauldron in Fibonacci, though one had to wonder how patient those waiting for their own helping would’ve had to be with her…

If Saint-Germain was a ghost when she first appeared in this place, she’s nothing more than a wisp now. She’s not really paid attention to where she’s been going or where she’s come from, and the icy cold doesn’t help to try and make her feel more real.

It takes something scalding covering her shoe for her to even begin to process that there’s someone standing in front of her, with a tray of...small bowls of soup?

She stares, silent, for a moment, before shaking her head. “I don’t care. It’s fine.” Were Cagliostro here...

...but she’s not.

Her lips grew into a hardened line at the other’s words. Nanami thought back to her own childhood as she stood there, eyes and ears taking in what they could from her conversation partner. Growing up in her mother’s estate had kept her from experiencing such strife, though she had instead been given different pain instead. 

“You had to endure that in your youth? How unfortunate…“ she mused out loud. Taking in whatever packages of food that looked good on the outside, she stepped back and noticed rows of juices and milk. Choosing out of those had to be easier. 

Nanami understood everything the other had said… in a sense. She looked down at the box held in her hand, giving it a weak shake. 

“Do you find it odd? That we were brought here against our will, and then they leave us to do whatever we please. They even see fit to provide us with the means to have meals and comfort.“ She cast a look back, finally making full eye-contact with the stranger. “What’s the point of it all?“

“It was a long time ago. If I spent all my time lamenting my childhood, I wouldn’t have ended up where I am now.” The fact of the matter was that if she spent too long thinking about her past, she could easily find herself consumed by grief; without Cagliostro or Prelati at her side, things were even more dangerous. It was simply better to keep herself distracted from moment-to-moment, to do her best to forget the past.

She glaces at the drinks the other woman’s looking at, not really interested in any of them. If it were up to her, she’d only drink water, and the stuff from the tap seems to be fine.

“The cynical way to look at it would be to assume they’re leaving us be so we’re better ‘subjects.’ After all, someone isn’t going to act ‘naturally’ if they’re in a state of distress.” Her background as a researcher meant that she was acutely aware of why people in a higher place of power would act around those they were manipulating...though she didn’t want to give this woman the wrong idea.

{ 👑 } ❝YEAH, BUT THEY DON’T TASTE THE same. They got diff'ering ingredients, y'know? Vodka gots potatoes, an sake gots rice. So what gives? Who decides what goes into what?❞ Gangrel has never run high on the brain cells, but for a tipsy state of mind, he’s ABSOLUTELY putting whatever little he has left to use -— not necessarily good use —- To him in this state of mind, alcohol was not some shallow way to spend time, but true CULTURE!

TRUE CULTURE IT SEEMS BEING SOMETHING this woman does not wish to entertain. To Gangrel, the thought is rather odd; if she’s as old as she is, doesn’t she want to live a little? He’s a man of spite too, but what use is spite when you’re positively miserable and utterly unfun AT THAT. It isn’t as if the Stars give a damn either way. As far as he’s concerned, they’re rocking their socks off at every single thing their citizens do. ❝You gotta have some hobby or another, don’t ya?❞

HE PICKS AT THE DRESS SHE just so recently discarded, humming at the thought of giving it a wear himself. Whatever society deemed NECESSARY for a man, he rejects without much of a care. And in his tipsy state, he CERTAINLY seems to concentrate on the very cut of the dress, as if expecting it to magically trade places with his current wardrobe.

❝DIDN’T NEED YOU TO SAY THAT aloud, sourpuss, I can see your apathy towards me plain as day across your face. Didn’t think I’d find someone who’d care less than myself, gah ha ha~❞ Were her words and indication that she’s leave his sorry ass behind? Gangrel cocks his head to one side, slipping a hand in his pocket to PRODUCE a thin strip of vellum. ❝I’m guessing this is the map of the ship. If'n you’re curious about the rest, it might come in handy, eh?❞

“Some alcoholic beverages are more tolerable than others, yes.” It didn’t help that she wasn’t the biggest fan of most beverages, even those considered “tasty” by the average person, and the headache a hangover gave her wasn’t worth choking down ambrosia. “Shouldn’t you be glad you won’t have to share?”

He really does remind her of Cagliostro and Prelati at their least endearing. “Before coming here, I hadn’t had free time for hundreds of years. I had more important things on my plate than looking ridiculous,” she retorts, shaking her head. Is it good for her to spend so much time listlessly wondering the city of Spirale? No, probably not. But until she’s able to make headway in fighting these “Stars,” there’s not really much that engages her.

“This place took away my alchemy.  I would basically have no other options at this point.”

In spite of the unpleasant situation she’s bringing up, Prelati can’t help but smile.  It seems like the mild assault was enough to convince Saint-Germain that she wasn’t dreaming- that they were really here with each other.

“It seems as if it ‘de-powers’ any who come here.” There’s a lot racing through Saint-Germain’s mind, at the moment, but the one thought at the forefront is simple: how long will she have? She looks at Prelati, briefly closing her eyes as she clasps her hands together.

“I’ve been here...for months. I’ve not kept track. Cagliostro was here, too, for a bit, but--she’s gone.” And she doesn’t want to admit how much she’s fallen apart since then. “...I don’t know if I could stand to lose anyone again.” That’s what’s so terrifying; not only could Prelati vanish at any time, but for all she knows, she could, too, leaving her beloved companion alone in this unforgiving city.

“…Who am I to tell?”  He answered vaguely.  It just seemed like he was being difficult to hide what he was actually doing.  Such as shoving rather harmless explosives into a comedically bottomless hat.  “I’m sure there’s someone else you can bother.”

The glasses disguise had at some point, dissipated into thin air, so it was safe to assume he’d casted some sort of illusion spell.  For no real reason other than to be a pain.  “Did you want one?”

Oh, so he’s a little shit, huh. And a magical little shit, at that. Saint-Germain sighed, more out of exasperation of how often she seemed to find herself in these situations than actual annoyance at the child.

Location: Tall Treasure Trove

Up from the roof Ogata can see something. His eyes— eye has always been good but the having turned sort of halfway into feline he can see even better. Not only that but the night vision really helps to make out forms in the darkness of the more unruly streets of Fibonacci. 

To take advantage of it all he’s climbed all way up to the roof to get a clearer view of the map they’ve drawn onto the ground.

He leans back a little letting his eye wander until it stops.

There’s a beep. Low sort of mewl that just somehow drops out of his mouth all too naturally as he noticed she doesn’t seem to see him.

“ You’re in the way “, he continues at the usual voice, referring to where Saint-Germain is standing.

Saint-Germain has no real interest in getting treasure for herself; no, she wants to find the obscure riches and give them to people who clearly need it. It feels like there’s always newcomers to the city, after all, and if one doesn’t know how to properly delegate their money, they could end up hungry for quite a bit.

Of course, she knows she’s not the only one out there looking for goodies, and she’s definitely one of the few not looking for herself. That, combined with people becoming literal creatures of the night, means she really should be on her guard. But recent events mean she’s a little more carefree than usual, and so when a voice mewls at her, she’s a little startled.

“...a cat.”

She can’t help but feel a little bemused by this.

     The suggestion is one that perks Elfnein to attention– immediately. 

     Being able to show an alchemist of Saint Germain’s caliber their workspace was certainly exciting enough of a prospect on its own, but more importantly, that meant taking the most competent help she could possibly have at the moment to the place where her dear friends were still awaiting repair. Things were turning out to be… sadly more tricky than they were expecting, but giving up was definitely not an option either.

     “Of course!” Elfnein nods eagerly, hands clenched into small fists. “As soon as you’re given clearance, anything of mine that could be useful to you, you’re more than welcome to, Saint Germain-san.”

     With a small clear of their throat, a glance to the side, they add, “T-There’s just… one thing, if you don’t mind. During the recent altercation at the Chateau, Carol’s Autoscorers reactivated, to… k-keep me safe… all four of them were destroyed in the fight, a-and even though I was able to retrieve most of the, u-um… t-the pieces…. it’s proving difficult to make any progress with repairs. If it wasn’t for them, and for her, I…”

    The corners of their lips pull into a small frown as they hesitate to look back to their company.

     “I-It’s very important to me, so if there’s anything at all I can do in exchange for your help, I will. Any of our research, mine or Carol’s–” There’s another pause, this one lingering in the air a bit longer, before they chance to offer a determined, “Even classified information, it that’s what it would take.”

It’s nice to be able to speak to someone (that isn’t Hibiki Tachibana) who isn’t inherently distrustful of her. Even outside of being a member of S.O.N.G., Elfnein certainly has reasons to not be the biggest fan of either her or her companions; Carol might not have gotten so far in attempting to dissect the world without the support of the Bavarian Illuminati, after all.

“You’re very kind. Thank you very much.” As the small homunculus continues, Saint-Germain tilts her head, her brows ever-so-slightly raised. She remembers Carol’s plans for Autoscorers; she’d never met them herself, of course, but they certainly seemed distinct from the plans and footage she’d seen. It made sense that their loyalty not only extended to Carol, but Elfnein, as well. Their desperation’s not only genuine; it's relatable.

“Please, do not put yourself in harm’s way for my sake. I wouldn’t want you to also get put on house arrest for leaking something. I require no payment for helping you; it is simply one of the ways I can atone,” she remarks, not attempting to meet the other alchemist’s eyes. “If you would like, I would be more than happy to take a look at them here, though I’m not certain how ‘within regulations’ that would be.”

“Life has really been that hard on you, then.  Very well…I will wake you up from the miserable dream you’ve been living.”

A resounding SMACK!!! rings out as Prelati slaps Saint-Germain right across the face.  It was an action she took no pride in carrying out…though she also held nothing back, just as was asked of her.

“Ow!!!!”

💚🍵💚⚪ :  “Of course they do !” Oriko was a little more knowledgeable about the country itself, given its proximity to Japan. The religion, merely a passing name in her ears. “Fyodor Dostoyevsky was born in tsarist Russia, after all. Well, I didn’t expect you to recognize a corpse bride.” She almost felt offended at the implication that she didn’t know what Russia was. Saint-Germain’s world must be similar to her own, given the mention of the nation.

“Merely makeup,” she nodded. “I’m hardly a professional, anyways. I do not trust the candies they’re giving around here, but to be frank…this is my first Halloween.” her voice was almost sheepish; unusual from the stoic, level-headed girl she often presented herself as, perhaps due to the fact that it made it clear that Oriko hadn’t grown up the ‘normal’ way, compared to her peers. “Though you hardly seem like the type to celebrate such thing.”

It was…odd, when Oriko thought about it, in how she became so used to this place that, without thinking much, she went along with all of this - minus the candies, of course, hard to trust those. Had she been here for too long ? Regardless, there was a freedom in it; the act of putting on her makeup, the trick-or-treating that happened across the town. But a part of her wanted to have this, just this once.

“You say it as if it’s obvious. There’s plenty of individuals from worlds that likely have never heard of places that are common for me; I suppose our worlds are similar in their structure.” That would make sense; Oriko was obviously from Japan, but with how easy it was for things to spin out of control, Saint-Germain wouldn’t’ve been surprised if the structure of the girl’s world was different entirely. “I’ve lived for a long time, and learned many folktales.” (Perhaps talking about the supernatural that always surrounded those folktales wasn’t the best way to spend her time in the moment.)

“You’re hardly alone in not trusting what happens in this city.” Not after the things they’ve been subjected to; if there was some cruel side effect to the candies, Saint-Germain wouldn’t be surprised. “I don’t remember it being celebrated much in Japan, so that doesn’t surprise me. You fit in with the goblins and ghouls, though.” She’d never really been able to tell what “good” or “bad” makeup looked like; that was more in Cagliostro’s department.

“I usually have no time for such frivolous activities. My companions, on the other hand, enjoy the holiday, though for rather immature reasons.” She smiled, wondering what sort of nonsense Cagliostro would be getting up to, especially with magic candy. “I was often the unwilling third wheel.”