epic divorce guy

He's not exactly anticipating spending much time in his assigned housing, anyway.

"Not long," he confirms. The Batter studies Zacharie in turn, eyes flickering over his mask, meeting amber eyes. Even if he doesn't outwardly express it, be it through expression or words, there is relief that the other is here as well.

A familiar face (mask?) among everything else.

It's much like the world she envisioned for her son.

But Hugo is not here. Somehow, the Queen knows that much. She should not be here either. Ruthlessly struck down by her love, as he reduced her nation to ashes, all in service of his so-called "sacred mission." She doesn't understand it, doesn't understand him. Maybe she never will.

Her continued existence is an aberration, but there's nothing that can be done about it. She certainly won't complain. Even if her Add-Ons have been... reduced to a comical size, defanged and turned into toys. A few other things have fallen into her possession as well. A pamphlet, which she reads and tries to understand... And a peculiar little device, a "cell phone." This one is trickier, so she pockets it to examine later.

With no particular destination in mind, the Queen walks. And walks. And walks. Aimlessly drifting through Spirale's streets, in search of something...

And she finds something. Someone.

" Batter, " she calls out before she can think, the same gentle whisper. Her expression betrays nothing, but icy rage is all that she knows when she gazes upon him.

" How lovely, that we can be here together. If only our son could join us as well. "

The weather has started cooling down, the leaves are starting to change color, and the birds still sing in the trees. The sky is so very blue, there are no clouds, and the sun shines merrily, not too unforgiving. Despite everything, he can appreciate a nice day.

Something doesn't feel right, though.

He rarely ever feels anything even close to dread, but it's stirring in his belly now, like he'd eaten some particularly rotten piece of meat. There's a presence, heavy and suffocating, weighing down across the city.

And he knows.

When he sees her it is hardly a surprise. He knew that presence anywhere. He'd know her anywhere. Something stirs in his heart, distant emotions he's long quashed.

She's as beautiful as the day he met her.

She's as beautiful as the day he killed her.

For a moment, there's the phantom sensation of her hand on his cheek, smearing her blood before it hit the ground and her head lolled to the side.

It's so strange, hearing her call him anything but his true name. But there is no reason for her to do so now. Why would she?

"He would like it here," the Batter says, voice flat. "There are many children."

But he doesn't want to think about their creator, their child. He's dead for a reason.

Kris fiddles with his knife, sitting on top of a barricade and watching people gather with their groups and share supplies and whatnot. It looks like there's a lot of options but... they really don't want to work with other humans. It's one of those days where they don't feel right in their own skin, and they'd honestly rather work with someone less...

human.

They kind of wish Susie had come with them. But it isn't like they asked. Not because they didn't want to do it with her, but simply because they were restless and they don't want to let on that they're not doing okay today.

Maybe i should reconsider that though...

They're about to consider going home when they spot someone without a partner apparently; he looks human at a glance, but, the closer Kris looks, the less so he does. He looks like a baseball player, if a baseball player was fucking tall and was as white as a sheet of paper.

Honestly, he's kind of hard to look at in the sunlight.

That makes them perk up a bit, and, before they can think too hard about it, Kris hops off their perch and tucks their knife back into their belt, grabs their backpack, and approaches him.

"Hey," They ask, voice quiet and mumbly, same as it usually is when they're first approaching someone. "do you have a partner for this thing? I... kind of need one." Kris probably should have checked to see if there were ads or something. "... I'm good at puzzles. And I have some supplies I could share."

But he does have to work together with someone. Without the puppeteer, he's totally alone. And he's not exactly the social type.

...Someone else approaches him first, though. Quiet, hair falling over their face. They look relatively unassuming, not entirely suited for any sort of dungeon crawling.

"Okay," he responds. "Can you fight?"

The Batter has the mace he'd bought from that strange merchant, what with his bat being taken from him and no other replacements he can buy here even close to equal in power. It moves the same, so he can make it work.

The cloaked peddler turns away, and pulls back a cloth from a long, thin box, retrieving a long mace from within. It had a balled end and guard for a pommel, flanged edges on the head and a spiked tip at the heavy end.

It'll do.

"I'll take it," he says. "Do you have medicine? Bandages?"

He only has one of his competences, and it only heals minor injuries. If he's going to be possibly fighting and getting hurt, he'll need something to patch his wounds. His and whomever he decides to work with.

The merchant clearly has rations available, too. The Batter points to a case of them. It'll be easy enough to put into a bag and carry.

"I want that, too."

"Yeah." But he didn't stay long. "They brought me there after I woke up."

It wasn't too far away, they're still in the neighborhood. Since Zacharie is in the area, too, he wonders if he's also been assigned this same ward. Wouldn't that be convenient.

The Batter hasn't had a proper home in a long time. The fleeting memories are quashed by that vicious drive to complete his mission; he can hardly remember what it was like. It doesn't feel right, and he doesn't imagine he'll be spending much time there.

Maybe. He still needs to sleep and eat like any living being would. A bed to rest in instead of sleeping propped up against an alley wall like he'd done before is probably preferable.

Out of the many places of Spirale, the Judge found the Boardwalk to be most agreeable. There were numerous railings or benches he could lounge upon, and the bustle and noise of the amusement park reminded him of Zone 2. 

Of course, it wasn’t without its longing. The familiarity made him miss home and his brother, though there was little he could do on that matter. So for now, he pushed the feelings aside.

It was here at the Boardwalk, as he padded along to his favorite section of railing that the cat caught sight of a familiar figure in the distance. He would recognize the shape of the man anywhere. It was the Batter.

Surprise overtook him and he was near dumbstruck to see him, of all places. But he quickly shook it off. Of course, whatever force had pulled he, himself, here, it certainly could have taken the Batter with him. He was more surprised it took this long for them to cross paths!

With delight, he leapt up onto the railing and quickly made his way after the Batter. With tail upright, he hopped down at the man’s feet, snaking himself between his legs as he rubbed against him.

That calm is shattered in a moment, though, when he feels the familiar sensation of a cat weaving between his legs and rubbing its face up against him. That damn purr was loud, almost grating to his ears.

Why is he being so—

The Batter blinks a few times. Zacharie had said not everyone arrives here... the same way. There is no reason for the Judge to be so friendly with him had they the same memories, had they come from the same point in time.

But that doesn't make the memory of his throat getting torn open any less fresh, visceral, and humiliating.

I could end this here and now, he's vulnerable, he...

No, probably not the best idea to hurt a "defenseless" cat in broad daylight, huh. Besides, he's without a bat right now, leaving him defanged and vulnerable.

Best to go with it and gauge the situation and what the damned feline remembers.

"An angel," he replies grudgingly, and resists the urge to purify him on the spot. "While I commend you for the ability to aim at an oversized target, I gather you have better uses for your skills."

"Or maybe you lack any entirely, considering you don't blame yourself at all."

"Does it matter?"

Unstoppable force, meet immovable object.

The Batter is clearly not sorry at all.

The purveyor of the goods is heavily obscured by layers of cloth and leather, hunched under the weight of a heavy backpack. Regardless, he turns to the adventurers, and hopefuls gathered around for a chance to delve for treasures.

Oddly enough, the ghost white of his skin doesn't seem to burn.

His attention drifts to the stranger. The Batter had only ever bought wares from one particular merchant, but he doesn't seem to be seizing the opportunity to set up shop out here.

Besides, if he decides to venture into the keep he ought to be prepared.

"We have a few more jars to open over there—they're holding a picnic today, you see, for the children. Hot dogs and pickles are on the menu."

The Batter is... unmoved, really. Helping children isn't really motivating for him. In fact, he'd rather stay away from them. He really considers telling her to find someone else.

But he's also... got nothing else to do.

This is really stupid.

"Fine."

* Nice * If We Were Playing On A Field Then Would've Easily Been A Double

"You have a good arm," he states simply. He must be in a very good mood if he's willing to dish out any sort of compliment.