#devorabit

                                                    devorabit

  — Strange though it may have been, Morrigan couldn’t lie and say that there were no benefits to being... taken to this city. The culture was fascinatingly foreign; completely unlike anything she had ever seen or read about. Everything from the language to the style of dress confused and intruiged her, and the things the humans of this age built were incredible to say the least. Beasts made of some metal moved on wheels and magic manifested as black mist, houses two, no, three times larger than the most fearsome dragons, and all the lights... As awe-inspiring as it all was, the noises and the colours were at times too much for the former arcane advisor to bear. When she found her head throbbing, there were a few places she had found were suitable to hide away in.

    Her current favourite was that of an old library, more akin to a ruin than a haven of knowledge. She’d heard many passersby complain of the smell of the old pages and the earth seeking to reclaim what was rightfully hers. To Morrigan, it was so similar to the lost archives of the elves that it nearly felt like home. 

    Often times she would gather a few interesting scrolls and tomes and lay them out before her, resting gently against the shelves for hours upon hours and simply read. Poetry, history, works of both fact and fiction alike; anything to help her make sense of this new land she was forced to temporarily call home. Each time she was able to block out the sounds both within and without her. The well’s whispers dulled, as did any pesky citizens curious about the oddly-dressed woman reading musty old books. Morrigan learned to simply ignore them - apparently the people of this city were far better at noticing subtle social cues than many in Ferelden, and even Orlais.

    On one unique occasion, Morrigan discovered that she was not the only one interested in this time-weathered place of wonder. A man, human as many here were, was perusing the shelves with obvious curiosity as opposed to disgust. He had a purpose for disturbing this place of peace, and she was determined to know what that purpose was.

     And yet, when he shows up in the office without much of an invitation or appointment--the hood is up. His features are obscured in shadow, and his tone is more than accusing in an attempt to guard his anxiety. How well that works in the face of this person isn’t something he is willing to think about.

devorabit      Hive had a way of slowing time; the past few weeks had felt much longer than that, and considering how sensitive Rei was to the passing of time this troubled him. And with that passing brought more than its fair share of concerns; he felt their weight heavy on his shoulders, giving him a host of irking physical side effects. To name a few were mysterious aches and pains, a healing ligament in his ankle, the inability to wake up without a cramp in his neck. His old routines--running, conditioning, reading and the like--always brought some relief, but only temporarily. Just enough to clear his head and push him forward. His personal resilience, something Rei had always prided himself in, was being tested here. This test had a format he’d never seen, material he’d never been given the chance to study. It relied heavily on his critical thinking skills, forcing him to dig deeply into a part of himself he hadn’t known was even there.        But that was fine. Rei liked to believe that humanity as a species was above the “kill or be killed” mentality, but he was willing to do what he had to to stay on the top of this food chain; at least long enough to make it home without changing so much that he could no longer recognize himself. He was surrounded by works of fiction and occult, but to let that get him down would be to invalidate everything he’d ever stood for. No, he would see to this experience in his own way. Adapt on his own terms. He was a firm believer in having one real freedom, even when all others were taken: the freedom to choose one’s mindset when given a problem.        It was admittedly easier said than done.

     Today, a more sensitive concern was on his to-do list. It was still as much of a conundrum as it had been while they’d been home, but here it appeared far more approachable when compared to those distinct to the city. Rei finds himself in a book store on the outskirts of sector four where it connected with sector three. The distinct quiet and familiar smells were enough to bring him focus. Rei with purpose scans each genre sign huge above the shelves; he adjusts his gait with the same single-mindedness until he’s where he wants to be. 

     Behavioral Psychology. How specific, even for a sub-genre. It really lends to the credibility to this store, or at the very least the effort put forth to organize it. Rei could appreciate that. He fingers the titles with lingering care, as to not let a single word escape note. Finally, he plucks a title; it isn’t quite what he’s after. But four or five books later, finally he thinks he’s found it.  

☆: What made you start playing your muse?

I was late to the TG bandwagon (as in, I actually just-just watched and read it over the course of the past few months) and so Juuzou’s muse called out to me particularly strongly, because the series was new to me. I picked this problem child in particular simply because he’s so vastly different from the other sorts of characters I like to play. I tend to favour quiet geniuses or adorably shy boys worried about their potential. This was quite the swap for me.

☺: Favourite canon scene/chapter involving your muse?

  "I've heard that your taste in food is superb;    is it alright if you can advise me in the finer foods available in the city?"

      The bowels of the respective Districts were a plain Roman dare not tread unless at the utmost end of need. Yet here he had found himself in the famed bunker which encased within its thick walls the knowledge of a thousand lifetimes. Here, in the wreckage and decay of the Temporal Athenaeum he cautiously came to peruse the many tomes which littered the floors more or less often than the shelves poised on all sides in search of some rather specific knowledge.

      ❝No. Nothing. Useless.❞

One by one, these precious volumes preserved in their prison only out of sheer desperation were discarded over the man's shoulder, forming a haphazard pile of ancient texts he determined less than worth his while.

He had no need for the knowledge to construct temples or tombs, his search leading him to scout for information a touch closer in line with this world than the next over. Yet, for all the results he had reaped thus far, the whole deed was comparable to five hundred channels and nothing to watch.

      ❝Honestly, these ingrates are just pissing on us without even the courtesy of calling it rain.❞ Irritable was the slight to pass his lips, the book in hand seemingly living out its usefulness as Roman allowed its leather binding to slip from his fingertips and to the dust-laden floor among its fellows. The place was a sty as it was...surely the redhead's contribution to this meant little in the grand scheme of things.

Well...the scientists certainly didn't seem to mind.

The prospect of abandoning his hunt now did not bide well with the man's stubborness, his cane tucked rightfully beneath one arm as he turned onto another shelf awaiting decimation. Yet it was as he did so that Roman became starkly aware of another figure poised in the dark...right behind him in fact. That was until a sharp turn at the heel confirmed otherwise. However the inkling remained, embodied well by the chill which ran up the length of Roman's spine.

      ❝Not a very well-mannered little spy, are you?❞ The challenge issued itself alongside an irritable sneer. It seemed the criminal was of no mind to play games, a gloved hand for an instant disappearing beneath the folds of his coat to extract a small firearm procured at some poor bastard's expense. But, to be fair....lessons did have to be learned when you attempted to con a conman.

      ❝I don't have all night, so let's cut to the chase shall we?❞ The invitation lay extended to his mysterious onlooker, the criminal's own posture remarkably lax in face of a foe he couldn't see. Although it did hold true that gazing down the barrel of a pistol did beget the perks of bravery.