Micaiah Falkov

"Mm-hm, that's what I said!" Sissie loudly proclaimed, nodding at Aiden. "Juju, this boy is alright. Not so sure about that one, though."

"Momma, Micaiah is a good and honest reverend and we are friends, please don't talk about my friends like that!" Jupiter whined, sounding more like a petulant teenager than a fully grown woman. She looked at Micaiah apologetically and mouthed at them: 'I'm so sorry.'

Jupiter was embarrassed, but Aiden was introducing himself so she put on a game face. "Trust me, the cave ain't cool. And it's no place to be exploring with - well. You know..." Jupiter apologetically looked at Micaiah's legs.

"The ground is super uneven! My own clumsy-ass fell. Sweet jesus, I just keep apologizing to you, Micaiah. But...I'm glad you showed up. How's it going, for you?" Jupiter asked, motioning to Aiden. So far, Aiden seemed really nice, charming and less reserved than Micaiah. "You two, um, grew up together?"

"Eh, he'll be fine in a cave. Not like he can twist an ankle. Or break a leg." Aiden grinned, floating upwards and winking at Jupiter's mother. "Glad you think I'm alright, Ms. George. My friend here is a good guy too, don't worry. He's a goody two shoes. Just a little boring. May I say Ms. George, you are quite charming." Micaiah hadn't quite realized just how much he'd missed Aiden's friendly chiding, but hearing it now, it brought a familiar warmth to him. He knew his friend well enough to not be bothered by it.

"I'm good. The legs are causing some trouble, so I was here to pick up some garlic. It's supposed to help with inflammation." His gaze flickered to Aiden, floating upwards with the kind of ease and confidence that he'd exhibited since he'd been a kid. As if he always knew what he was doing, and what needed to be done. "Aiden and I grew up together, back in St. George. We've known each other for a long time. He was one of my closest friends, back then."

They looked confused at the other, anyone who had heard their rants should know that they believed in Allah, therefore believing in Magic wasn’t that far a stretch. Though… Walid did manage to get caught up in the Scientific aspect of it. They frowned. “Magic is science we don’t understand yet,” they said. “Someone said that to me once, I think that doesn’t account for all the things that there are out there in the world. We cannot explain the existence of the Tower for one, we cannot explain its reasonings and the way it works. Some things don’t need to be explained.” They paused. “I’m a Muslim,” they added. 

"I think the tower is created by God too. Though I don't personally think it's alive, if I'm honest." He offered another apologetic smile. "I believe God put us on this island for a reason. Everyone of us, even if it might not be clear what that personal purpose is just yet. I never thought about the tower much, if I'm honest. I was more busy trying to figure out what I was supposed to do here but... I'm starting to believe it's all intertwined."

He took a soft breath, trying to clear up their thoughts a little. His eyes trailed over the structure, it's slopes and arches and windows. "Maybe it's a tool. Meant to allow us to fulfill our purpose. Help the world, the people in it, find some sort of salvation in the chaos that this world is in right now. Why else would we be allowed to go out into the world and survey it, if not to help the people?" He realized he was more talking to himself than Walid. Using the other person as a sounding board wasn't why he'd come to them.

And Micaiah was thanking him for it. Emre looked away.

It was a relief, therefore, that Malkin escorted them up to their private suite. This was working better than Emre imagined. His hopes grew with every step, every word Malkin spoke and 'accidental' bump of Kaslova's hip against Emre's as they walked. Maybe Emre wouldn't even need to apply further 'pressure' on the couple to comply. Maybe Malkin would volunteer his own time and products to Micaiah, out of the goodness of his heart. Maybe Malkin was just a grandfatherly scientist who was passionate about his work?

Emre raised his mask up, hearing the sharpness in Kaslova's tone too, He smirked back. "Bruv did- I mean. My friend didn't trip. I was the clumsy one." Emre hid within his own ruse. With his mask off, he gave Kaslova a good slow once-over, gaze lingering on every part of her body where the silvery dress clung just right. "I'm dangerous. At dancing, anyway."

But derision and panicky indignation swelled in Emre at her audacious question. His instinct to shout, lash out at the perceived insult. But being a couple with another man - wasn't an insult, was it? Emre's perceptions were slowly shifting on the island. Learning things about himself, private things. He still wasn't used to it around others, his reaction was outdated. Micaiah would know. Micaiah would remember what happened, way back in London all those years ago. Emre barely did, aside from his own rage.

Recklessly, he answered," Yuh. I mean, yes." And saying that aloud didn't make him feel immediately like an emasculated, ridicule-worthy poof. If anything, Emre felt bolstered, a bit heady. He looked at Malkin.

"You know so much about my - my partner's situation. Are you a doctor?"

Irina laughed suddenly. "Are you saying you don't know who my husband is? Who I am? Where did you two come from? This soiree was invite-only, and very exclusive." She tapped Micaiah's knee. "Are you trying to pretend this was all an extraordinary coincidence?"

"Well, some are happy coincidences," Malkin smiled at his wife and then looked at Micaiah. "Listen to me. If you'd be willing to be rigorously interviewed and vetted, we might be able to help each other. You could be a test subject in my prosthetic trials. It's a very lucrative role in my research. And with the world as it is, given the state of these old prosthetics and the need for new ones to survive, what I'm offering you is a gift, young man."

"To be his lab rat?" Emre protested, ditching his polite tone. He switched one ruse for another. "That's what you're asking, innit. For my partner to be your lab rat. For how long?"

Malkin's grandfatherly eyes turned sly, looking only at Micaiah. "You're on your last legs, son. If my wife is right, I believe you came here because you knew that I'm your only chance. I like your ambition. Work for me and I'll make you run and dance and anything you've ever dreamed."

"Show him," Emre said to Malkin, his mind working, plans in various trajectories depending on Malkin's choice. Breathless, like Emre had nearly forgotten he too had his own reason for coming here. "If you've brought your products here, show my, erm, partner what you've got to offer."

"Oh, uh-" Micaiah stammered, still a bit off-kilter by Emre's bold declaration, his heart beating up into his throat, before he finally caught himself. Malkin didn't seem too suspicious of his nerves, though the priest noticed the almost amused glint in Kaslova's eyes. Did she know? "I believe what my partner-" it sounded strange saying it -"has said is true - is reasonable. I want to work with you, but - I'd like to see them."

Malkin did not seem taken aback by that. Instead, gently patting Micaiah's thigh and getting up. "Of course. I can't just ask you two to take a leap of faith." With a long stride, he made his way towards the back of the room, grabbing a suitcase. Micaiah used the chance to shoot Emre a glance - a questioning look, showing that Micaiah might want to talk about this after everything was over and they were back on the Island. Then, Malkin was back.

In his hand, he was holding a prosthetic leg that Micaiah could tell was absolutely high-tech. Shimmering silver, with cogs and screws and valves that looked much more sophisticated than his own, simple legs. "These are highly developed, multi-functional prosthetics. They're designed to be flexible for difficult terrain - see how the ankle joint rolls? The springs allow for easy running and jumping. Of course, we'd have to cast the sockets for your legs, but they should fit well enough for now."

Micaiah swallowed. They stripped off their own legs before grabbing the new ones. It wasn't a great fit, there was some uncomfortable pressure, but they stayed on. Taking a deep breath, Micaiah pushed himself off the beg and took his first few steps. The difference was like day and night. "Oh dear lord-" Micaiah muttered. His steps were springing, easy, rolling, not stiff and uncomfortable like usual. If he hadn't been in a room, he might've tried running.

"These are- they're amazing." Micaiah didn't have the same pokerface as Emre. Never had. His eyes were sparkling as he turned around. Malkin seemed thoughtful and satisfied. "Of course, we'd have to discuss terms. I'd have to vet you, make sure you are reliable and trustworthy. A position as a trial candidate are very much desired, and highly-valuable, especially in this world. But it would of course mean that you would get access to these prototypes. I'm sure we can come to some understanding."

Emre counted on Micaiah's overall good nature to not make a public scene. Which was so frustrating about Micaiah, honestly. Prophet-bollocks aside, Micaiah seemed decent, stand-up. Honest, kind. It Micaiah's people that gave them a bad name...on the other hand, Micaiah co-signed all of that Eyes of Eden nonsense, wholeheartedly. So long as they benefited, as Micaiah as doing right now.

This wasn't the time and definitely not the place for morality though. "Daughter!? Bloody hell...reckon she's as good as her father? And the fuck she want with me? Maybe she's got a taste for gulub jamun, know what I mean." A show of macho-ness, Emre smirked and hitched his own dick over his trousers as he eyed the swan. "Malkin not giving it to her proper, then. I'll give her one, if that's what she wants."

And just like that, Micaiah spoiled it. "Are you joking? Bruv, you're not a girl. I can't - we can't - these people is fucking -" But as the bell chimed, Emre stared in horror at men and women paired up regardless of gender. "Fucking posh depraved fucks...I can't dance though. I mean I can dance, but not this posh waltz sort of..."

But Emre's opportunistic mind was already forming an idea, when he saw Malkin and Kaslova heading to the front of the dancefloor. "Fuck it. Come with me." Emre dragged Micaiah to the dance floor. "I'm leading, right? You follow me."

Emre never felt clumsier in his life. The music swelled and people glided like swans. Emre stodged along, steps roughshod but managing to keep up with Malkin and Kaslova. She was watching him; and when they'd gotten close enough, Emre made his move.

"Damn -" he said, then tripped on his own feet. In a flail to keep balanced, Emre kicked at Micaiah's prosthetic leg, sending it off its socket to bend unnaturally under Micaiah's trousers. Emre made a show of doing his best to keep Micaiah upright, but then tripped on Micaiah's other prosthetic, dislocating it entirely off Micaiah's leg. They both went crashing down. The music stopped...and Malkin rushed to Micaiah's side.

"Are you alright? Your legs..." Without asking, Malkin pushed up Micaiah's trouser hem, and revealed the prosthetics. "On both legs," Malkin marveled. "And you truly believed you could dance on these? The make is good but these are so outdated--"

"Darling," Kaslova purred, hand on Malkin's shoulder. "You're making a spectacle and embarrassing this pair. Let us handle this privately, my dear."

"Oh you're right, of course my dear. I'll help you stand. Your partner is not a good dancer, no offense." Malkin got Micaiah's arm around his shoulders, to help them stand.

"None taken," Emre said, getting on the other side of poor Micaiah to help. "Where are we going, sir?"

"Please, it's Doctor Alexander Malkin...and if we could go to my suite, believe I might be able to help your friend."

Nodding like a passive sheep, Emre helped Micaiah hobble along, towards the elevators. He tilted just enough to whisper in Micaiah's ear: "If they want a foursome, you're taking the old man."

And of course, Emre wasn't too happy about their suggestion either. That was too be expected. Micaiah pressed their lips together as they looked at Emre imploringly. They had worked together pretty well so far, but perhaps Micaiah was pushing it. Their relationship couldn't be described as good. They barely talked, unless it was necessary. But - they needed to get along. For this. And maybe Emre saw it the same way because he relented.

"Thank you." Micaiah responded with relief as the other man dragged them off to the dance floor. Classical music began filling the hall, and just a few moments after it was pretty clear that neither of them was really good at this. They stumbled along for the most part, holding themselves up and trying to keep up with the other couples. Everybody else seemed to have this in their blood. Gliding on the smooth marble floor like birds in the sky or fishes in the water. Micaiah was almost mesmerized by it.

Mesmerized enough to be caught entirely off guard by Emre kicking their legs out from under them. "Emre-" Micaiah stumbled, fingers grasping into Emre's white suit to somehow steady himself, eyes wide with panic, but then his other prosthetic was lost and the two fell into a heap onto the floor. It was.. embarassing. A dance hall full of masked faces turned towards them, staring at them, little whispers flittering between the attendees, some shocked gasps at the bent state of Micaiah's legs. They had always been open about their prosthetics, but just the glances on him, on their display made Micaiah's cheeks flush red as he sat back up, trying to ascertain the damage to Emre and himself.

He would have a right to be upset. But, it had worked. Because a moment after, Malkin was kneeling in front of him, his gentle voice and long limbed fingers flitting over Micaiah's prosthetics. The priest shot a quick glance at Emre who was getting back up himself, unharmed, the emotions in it a mix of grateful and a bit ruffled. "Thank you." Micaiah muttered, both to Malkin and Emre as they were lifted back onto their unsteady, slightly bent feet. The hobble-walk through the room felt like it took an eternity. Especially when the priest felt Emre's breath in his ear. The words made him flush even deeper.

"A what- Emre, I don't think they..." Their voice trailed off when Malkin cast them a curious glance, shutting them right up and avert their gaze. They certainly didn't want to be heard discussing that. The mechanic doors closing behind them felt almost like a relief at that point. At least it didn't take long. The ride was short and soon enough Malkin led the two men into his apartment, graciously helping Emre to deposit Micaiah on the edge of a luxurious, red, velvety bed. They felt even more out of place here, but at least now it was only Irina's and Malkin's eyes watching him squirm uncomfortably.

"Thank you for helping me. I truly... I thought it would be alright. I'm sorry." There was a true bit of guilt in that. After all, they had kind of ruined that rather fancy gathering with their display. Malkin only waved it away. "Don't worry about it. It is hard, coming by proper prosthetics in these times. It's fascinating really, your models." His eyes didn't meet Micaiah's. They were steadily fixed on his legs. With interest, Malkin knelt down in front of Micaiah, pushing the hem of his trousers up properly.

"Truly, it is a surprise that they held you this long. These are not only outdated, they're beyond the point of wearing. You must have taken great care of them, if they have lasted you this long. There are cracks here... These must be at least ten years old. If not older." Micaiah shuddered as Malkin spread the palm of one hand out against Micaiah's thigh to steady their leg as he bent and lifted it, shifting. Emre's words still too fresh in their mind. Casting once glance at them however-

"You fool girl! What got into your head, going into a cave like that and nearly killing yourself!"

"Momma, I'm fine! I thought you wanted to be shown around the island, you get bored so easily. Not my fault I have a body and you get to float around like..." Jupiter paused in her mutterings, as she could more feel than see her momma getting hurt at that comment. "Oh momma, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

Jupiter was sitting in a side-room in the Medicentre, waiting for the cast on her wrist to firm up. It was an hour wait, and the painkillers were working, but now her momma wasn't talking to her anymore.

Fortunately, Jupiter spotted Micaiah, that familiar lope of his, gliding into the foyer like a preacher-ghost themself. "Micaiah! Over here! How you doing, reverend? Better than me, I hope..."

A loud 'HUMPH' echoed from the ceiling, with an ample amount of drippy, goopy ectoplasm. "Oh don't mind that, it's just my momma. She's sulking."

"Lord, are you alright? I kind of overheard what was going on, sorry about that. That is your mother, right? Your ghost? And you went into a cave?" "There are caves on this Island? And we're going to the hospital out of all places?" Aiden asked, a glimmer of almost childish excitement in his gaze as he stepped up beside them, not bothering to avoid the ectoplasm and instead letting it drip through his translucent body as he eyed Jupiter curiously.

"Hi there. I'm Aiden Miller. Micaiah's more interesting friend. Because he wants to go to the hospital to go pick up homegrown garlic instead of having cool cave adventures." He winked mischieviously at Jupiter, blue eyes glimmering, offering out his hand, even though he couldn't touch her. Almost similar to how he'd been back when they were kids. It felt a little bittersweet. Micaiah cast one last glance at Jupiter's wrist before he tilted his head backwards, to look up at the woman floating to the ceiling and giving her a smile.

"Wrong audience for blasphemous jokes, mi amor," Tomas said, tartly biting off the endearment as Libby's ghostly, bloodied face went peevish. She stuck out her tongue at him, float-skipping over to a rosebush and petting at it until she exclaimed and pouted over supposedly pricking her ghost-hand on a thorn. Tomas ignored her, clearly fed up, although at least Micaiah provided some diversion what with his own ghost companion.

"That's my ex-wife Libby, which I'm sure you've guessed," Tomas said. He hadn't exactly been tight-lipped about his marriage and the disintegration thereof, nor the depths of the acrimonious divorce. "It's been a blast getting to reconnect. She's exactly as she was when I last saw her, which is exactly as she was when she was twenty-four, which is exactly as she was when she was fifteen. By all accounts. I didn't know her when she was fifteen."

This entire situation was strange to say the least. Of course, that was to be expected when you encountered somebody who had died in their previous lives who was now connected to you as a translucent life form. For some, like Micaiah, it felt like a reward, almost. Some old security and the bittersweet sense of certainty. For others, like Tomas... "Yes, I suppose I am a bit better off. Tomas this is Aiden Miller. He is an old friend, back from St. George. We grew up together."

"I was a bit of a late addition, though." Aiden rose from the bench, even though as a floating ghost he'd not really been sitting and did a little, overdramatic bow. "Pleased to meet you. Aiden Miller, at your service, Mr. Tomas." Aiden reached out his hand, as if he were expecting Tomas to reach out so Aiden could press a kiss to the back of it. Knowing full well that that wouldn't really work, he pushed back up again with that sly grin on his face as he eyed Tomas.

“We could try some new medication. Gabapentin typically works well with nerve pain.” Arden continued. “Of course we’ve got some non-pharmacological methods we could try to reduce inflammation like ginseng tea and increasing your garlic. I’ve got some garlic growing back home that I can bring to you.”

“Do you want me to try to massage your legs for a bit? See if that brings some relief?” She asked.

“If you both wanted, I’d be happy to pitch in with the harvest. I’ve got more free time than I need. I usually just end up spending more hours in here, but some outdoor time might be nice.”

Though, their legs weren't their main reason for the visit. When Arden offered a massage, Micaiah shook their head. "Oh, it's not that bad. But thank you." There was something else that had caught Micaiah's attention, making them perk up in their seat.

They nodded as the other started talking, eyes focussing in and out on their questions. “Yes, I do,” they affirmed, about their time spent at the tower. They almost lived there, they slept at their desk often… mostly that wasn’t the intention, it just happened. Because they loved being there. And their dreams were better, sometimes they spoke with the tower.

“From what I found,” Walid stated. “The catalogued recordings go back up until 1985, when the first people came here to work with the tower. But there is data from before, it’s just… well, not catalogued. It is a mess and doesn’t appear in any order. We’ve only ever had enough people to work with the recordings that get in on shifts, and nobody knows how to catalogue all the images from before… we have movies from the whole century,” he said, not sure what they were asking. 

The tower had always seemed like something unexplainable and mysterious. Or rather, something that didn't need any explaining. For Micaiah, it seemed clear that everything, the Island, the tower, had been a work of God. They had been more focused on finding out their purpose on this Island, what they were meant to do, rather than exploring things like the tower. But as the years passed - they had become curious. And now, with Ify and Adanna, and the Eyes of Eden spread out around the globe, the felt it was time to turn inwards, too.

It shouldn't be a surprise that Walid was interested in the technological aspects. Even though they did not know much about Walid, they had at least heard of their interest in technology and mechanics and anything related to that. However, something surprised Micaiah. "Magic?" They asked, perking up. They hadn't quite expected that. Despite that, their tone wasn't disbelieving or mocking. "That's interesting. I wouldn't have expected you to believe in magic. A lot of people I have met here who are interested in sciences don't really seem to believe in that."

There’s a prickling kind of anxiety that comes with stepping foot into a church, no matter how run down or decrepit the building. Ghosts and memories hide in every corner, the lingering silence heavy and oppressive. Jules doesn’t make a habit of seeking out churches if he can avoid it; he hasn’t set more than a fleeting step in one since he’d been forced to leave home, regarding any he’d passed in Paris or elsewhere with a tourist’s eye and more interest in the architecture than anything else.

Even on the island, miles away from home and far beyond the clutches of his parents’ disapproval, Jules has purposefully avoided going near the small church building. He keeps away from its doors like he steers clear of water, as if though there’d been even a grain of truth to his father’s claims of sin and doom sticking to Jules like dirt. He knows only from asking around that it’s not currently in use and that there’s someone gradually fixing it up after what must have been a long period of abandonment. It’s a very human response, he thinks, to turn to God and faith in the face of uncertainty.

And yet despite this aversion Jules finds himself stepping cautiously through the double doors of the church one late afternoon, fingertips idly tracing along the backrest of the nearest pew. He’s not entirely sure what he’s looking for. Proof that even men like him may step into the house of God without bursting aflame? Penance? Comfort? Answers to all his questions?Jules’ expectations of the entire experience are relatively low to start with, and he’s almost ready to turn around and leave again when a flash of movement across the hall catches his attention.

He had just been busy in one of the side chapels - a beautiful thing with a stone altar and beautiful windows that cast dancing, colorful lights in the little room when the evening sun hit it right. Some of the windows had broken and Micaiah had been busy collecting the shards, gathering them up in the cellar to store them (and hopefully later reconstruct them, somehow). They had been so occupied with their task that they hadn't heard anybody come in, until that person called out. Still clutching the box, Micaiah made his way up the basement doors to greet his new visitor.

"Oh, hello there!" Micaiah smiled as soon as the man came into his field of vision. The priest was sure he'd seen him around, but they couldn't recall really, properly talking to them. Maybe there had never been a chance. They enjoyed talking to others, but their field of contact was limited, confined to very specific spaces. "No worries, you aren't disturbing. The doors are open for a reason. Everyone can come in and spend some time in here, if that is what they want."

He had a goal: locate a neurosurgeon named Dr Ivan Kaslova. And the only reason Emre knew about Ivan Kaslova, was because the doctor had once lived on Panopticon, and had something of a 'mad scientist' reputation, from what Emre gathered at the Medicentre. Dr Kaslova had disappeared from the island in the early 2000s (not through teleports but some other way) and then disappeared from public life entirely. Emre had yet to realize that Kaslova's daughter Irina - also a neurosurgeon like her father - was the woman in the white swan mask. Emre had spotted 'Kaslova' on the exclusive party roster, and wrongly assumed it was the father attending. Emre had no clue the daughter existed.

A glance at Micaiah, who seemed occupied not with Malkin, but with the swan mask. Emre snorted into his champagne glass. Lady was barking up the wrong tree, with that bloody birch of a man.

Apparently a dance was on the programme, like some odd ritual for the posh. The white swan who'd cornered Micaiah was now clinging to Malkin - a good sign, well done Micaiah - but kept turning to look at...what? At Emre? Was he being caught out by some silly bint in a swan mask?

Like a snake in a nest, Emre slipped through the crowds, listening. He heard 'Kaslova' mentioned a few times, but never the Doctor himself. The dance was getting ready, but Emre ducked into the niche first, before anyone could clock him. Micaiah appeared too, to Emre's relief.

"I learned Malkin's here on business as much as pleasure, tonight. He's got some sort of robotic prototypes up in his chamber to show some global traders after the party, from what I heard. Oi - that white-swan what grabbed you - is she Malkin's wife or that? Was she looking at me?" When it came to the ultra-posh, Emre often felt more like a pawn than a player. "They're putting on a bloody dance, if you can believe! Hope you got your tap shoes on..."

A thoughtless joke, all things considered. Emre grimaced at himself looking away from Micaiah as he carried on. "Right - who've you found then, bruv."

It seemed that while Miciah had directed his attention towards one person, Malkin, Emre had paid much more heed to his surroundings. Not only gathering the info about the prototype, but also having noticed Irina's glances and heard that there was a dance going to happen. The joke drew a slightly pained smile fom the priest, not because it was in poor taste. Mostly because the prospect of the dance made them a little stressed. But that wasn't important right now.

"Irina Kaslova. Or Malkin's wife, if you will. She's a world-reknowned neurologist." Micaiah gestured in the direction, where Irina was still holding onto Malkin's arm, laughing alongside her husband and now not bothering to glance in the direction of their little alcove. "She noticed you, actually. She said she wants to talk to you privately, after the dance. She said she was curious about you and that you were interesting."

Well, and Micaiah could see what she meant. Emre had a certain something about him, a kind of charm. His quick way of talking, his jokes, his way of navigating others could be quite capturing. No wonder he had caught her eye. Pushing those thoughts away, Micaiah decided to focus on their tasks. Or rather one task.

In fact, Emre had been content to give Micaiah wide-berth, and it seemed Micaiah was either content to do the same, or respected Emre's deliberate avoidance. But this was different, this was just two Panopticans in a sea of rich fucks who might or might not know Panopticon existed, and they were both here for valuable reasons.

Prosthetics. Emre looked down a Micaiah's legs, knowing they cut off at the knee under those stovepipe trousers. That old distinctive canter Micaiah had; how Emre recognized them on Pan. The bloke deserved good prosthetics, Emre wouldn't deny that; and Malkin had been on Emre's list of reputable scientists.

"Fuck..." Emre muttered under his breath. He couldn't force Micaiah back to the island now. Trying to think, Emre glared at Micaiah's attempt at genuine kindness.

"And you look like a bloody Beatles fancy costume," he said. Emre didn't want to be pleased, thinking of Tamyra. Of course she'd design something so luxe, she was brilliant. And helpful, apparently, with Micaiah. Bloody slim and tall and all in black - eye-catching to plenty of women and likely men here too, Emre was sure of it. Which could be advantageous... "Just give me a moment to think."

Emre glanced around the soiree, which was just gearing up. He ducked out, snagged two glasses of champagne, one which he gave to Micaiah before downing his own. "Right. You know what Malkin is dressed as? A black swan, apparently. You go on your search, and I'll go on mine -" Emre hesitated, but Micaiah might as well know. "It's for Wren, and the other island babies innit. There's doctors and scientists here....might know something about their, erm, quarantine."

Time was of the essence. After the ship-trip with Orion, Emre's credits were running low. He couldn't buy himself a day, just a few hours. He had to work fast.

"We'll meet back here in fifteen, yeah? Just - just to check in." Emre started to leave, but pointed at Micaiah. "And don't think I didn't catch this whole bloody 'followers' nonsense, yeah? We're chatting about that later."

"A black swan?" The man repeated, casting another glance over the crowd, as if Alexander Malkin might appear right in front of them. Of course, he didn't. But the mask was a good tip. Micaiah's eyes wandered back to Emre, an air of worry in them, the annoyance in the back of their throat dissipated instantly. Everybody on the island had heard of the strange condition afflicting Wren and everybody else born on the island by now. Of course, it made sense for anybody to start looking here for any doctor that might be able to help them.

"I'll-" Before Micaiah could say much, Emre was already half making their way off, as if he was in a hurry. Maybe he was. Micaiah let out a soft sigh - he wasn't sure what there was to talk about regarding the remaining members of the Eyes of Eden, but he didn't want to argue. Not now. "Alright. I'll be back here. Thank you." Emre had disappeared back into the crowd, and Micaiah followed shortly after, diving back into the crowd of black and white suits and fancy dresses.

In a way, they were used to large gatherings and talking to people. They had done it back with the Eyes of Eden, when they'd been traveling around, trying to show people the truth, to accept their path to salvation. They'd been successful then. They just needed to be confident. Sipping their champagne, they made their way across the floor, keeping their eyes open for a black swan mask. Finally, they found him. Aleksander Malkin. He was tall, taller than even Micaiah. Black suit and matching mask, decorated with feathers. His salt and pepper hair was styled back, his grey beard well-kempt. The only issue was that he was surrounded by people, laughing and talking.

"My, my, aren't you a darling? Are you lost?" A voice sounded beside him. Micaiah turned around and met a pair of ice blue eyes. A woman, quite beautiful, in a black evening dress, wearing a white swan mask. She had a thick, russian-sounding accent as she spoke. "You were looking at Aleksander, weren't you? He is quite mesmerizing, is he not?" "Oh, yes, he's an impressive figure." Micaiah quickly agreed, casting another glance at the woman. He was unsure of whether to ask for her name or not - when she spoke up again.

"I saw you were talking to that man wearing a tiger mask. You seem to know each other?" Micaiah blinked at her, before nodding. "We are familiar, yes. Old friends." She smiled, tilting her head slightly - the diamonds around her neck glittered in the light. "I am curious about him He seems... interesting. Could you tell him to come talk to me privately, after the dance? Let him ask for Irina." For a moment, Micaiah was too surprised to respond. Not because this woman had taken an interest in Emre.

"Dance?" Micaiah asked. They had no idea that there would be a dance. "Yes, a dance. I would have offered for your friend to be my partner, but I am occupied unfortunately. You should find a partner soon, dear." She patted his arm, giving him another brilliant smile before she walked to Malkin's group. To his surprise, Micaiah watched as she blended into the circle effortlessly, wrapping her arm around Aleksanders. His wife? If Micaiah had been right, one of his followers had mentioned a wife. A world reknowned neurologist, if he remembered correctly. Maybe someone who could help Emre.

He was on his way back from testing some things at the tower, his brain had been completely on then running further tests at the water cleaning facility, but being thrown off course as the other spoke. They wished to say they knew their name, but nope, nothing came to mind, even if they were certain of who the other was and recognised their face. 

"Well- I guess it's a bit more general. I'd mostly just like to know about the surveillance. How it works - you seem to know a lot about the tower and spend a lot of time here, so I thought I'd ask you." Micaiah hadn't been off Panopticon that much, but they could never recall seeing any cameras around. Maybe there was a reasonable explanation for it, that they simply weren't aware of. During their time with the Eyes of Eden, technology hadn't exactly been a priority.

"And, more specifically about the recordings. How far back they go, how to access them. If there are parts that can't be accessed." Micaiah put the palms of their hands against each other, fingerpads of each hand pressing against each other. They wanted to see if they could find out anything about Ify and Adanna. Where the two had gone. Maybe they could also find out what had happened to Kirk. And maybe - it provided a chance to get to know Walid better.

Emre only came to this Scottish location for one reason: Wren, and the other island babies. They'd all fallen under some strange waking-comatose illness, and the doctors had no answer for it. Maybe the answer was on Panopticon, but Emre got wind of this ridiculous masquerade fete for the upper crust, survivors of the apocalypse who lived in their wealthy bubble-world with little consequence.

But they had influence. Medicine. Brain doctors. Emre had written down a list of symptoms, and if he could 'coerce' (read: beat up) some brainy person into giving him some answers, it was a start. Bonus: a good place to build connections for the Panopticon trade. Surely some of these billionaire types were aware Panopticon existed, and wanted to take advantage of its recourses as much as Emre wanted to take advantage of them.

Emre just managed to graft his way in without an invite, using the servant's entrance and changing to his masquerade outfit inside. Strutting across the foyer like he belonged, he was jostled by someone coming down the stairs. Emre bit back his 'OI! WOTCHIT!', balancing the other instead since they seemed slightly unsteady.

"Pardon me," Emre used Iyaz's 'Harrow Boy's College' accent to sound more posh - until the other spoke his name. In that distinct Yank drawl that flipped Emre's stomach in dread. Fucking hell. Micaiah was also here.

"Shut the fuck up," Emre hissed at Micaiah, then motioned for Micaiah to follow. They wove through the crowd, until Emre found a dark niche for them to duck into. "The fuck are you doing here?" A sick sense of familiarity crawled over Emre - dark London streets, wastemans beating the shit out of a broken-legged bloke. And...everything that came after. Emre gave Micaiah a once-over.

"You look like a proper twat."

Finally they reached a quiet corner, to hide them from any prying eyes and privy ears, but even then, Emre's demeanor didn't change. There was a sharpness in his tone, a judgement in his eyes, looking at Micaiah as if he were a nuisance. Normally, the priest took such things with a stride and a smile. But something about the way Emre talked to him annoyed him, a hot disrupting sensation burning in his chest. Maybe it was the exhaustion and frustration of chronic pain, or maybe it was their shared history. Whatever it was, it was throwing Micaiah off in a way they weren't used to. They made sure to swallow it down, though, keeping their tone measured when they spoke.

"Well, I'm looking for Aleksander Malkin. He's supposed to be here. Somewhere. One of my followers said that he would attend this party and helped me get in here. I wanted to ask him something about prosthetics. It's just been... a little difficult to find him." Micaiah held their head high as their spoke, still carrying themselves with the body language of a person used to being looked at. Their gaze fell onto Emre's clothes. A suit, entirely white, perfectly tailored it seemed, the bowtie a spot of black. A mask, styled like a tiger, black and orange and cream colors. It looked like Tamyra's work, masterfully crafted. Good. Emre looked good. Handsome. In a way that might have made Micaiah stare longer than was necessary, if the insult hadn't dragged them out of their thoughts.

A huff from Micaiah. "And you look-" They stopped, unsure of what to say. They weren't the type to insult others. Or lie. They sighed. "I think you look nice, Emre. And I like this suit - Tamyra made it herself." They shook their head, trying to clear their thoughts. They didn't like being like this. Annoyed. Emre didn't deserve their bad mood. "What are you doing here, Emre? Does this have something to do with the bazaar? And your business there?"