#prodigls

hades ━ selectively accepting ( @prodigls )

caelus knew that the doctor was right, yet he doubted he would heed his words. he knew that endlessly running around doing whatever people requested of him would only exhaust him, but he would rather do that than be seen as unreliable, or worse, forgotten entirely. so, the trailblazer just ducks his gaze away from the taller man's, feeling bashful for being read so easily.

music for the soul ━ accepting ( @prodigls )

❝ well that is certainly a problem, isn't it ? we wouldn't want the good doctor to get bored before the fun even begins. ❞

he chuckles softly, shifting in his chair to rise out of it. it was only natural for the other to tire of semantics and policy, just as it was tiresome for him. fortunately for ratio though, sunday was long since accustomed to serving others and catering to their interests. the halovian moves to his shelves and plucks a few books from them before returning to the table. sunday gestures towards them amicably before sitting down, a miniscule smile on his lips.

@prodigls

Dr. Veritas Ratio is not the first person to bring up such hypothesis to the table, and he will not be the last. There are countless who think the same way: some things are meant to be memories and nothing else. It is a common understanding, but memories are both the experience and the setting on which a person builds themselves. Their past, the events they lived through, the hardship they went through, and the victories they've carried with themselves. Memories are the entire being, they are the eternal blessing of existence. In memories, everything will live in colors or in shapes. Memokeepers desire to collect those memories to preserve them, to keep them, to let them bloom as crystal flowers within the garden of recollection.

"Memories are ever changing but also everlasting," Black Swan begins, bringing her hand to her face in a thoughtful gesture. They speak of countless recollection, of the worlds which have been forgotten by the general public but not those who study, search, and analyze. Memories are experience upon which others learn, memories are the foundation of self, memories are the life lived and a book written. Memories create books and stories, memories push you towards certain actions, memories embody the true essence of self. "They are the embodiment of who we are al existence, the true essence of our spirit. A memory pure and untainted is the true essence of cosmos. If you speak of how certain things are destined to belong only to the past, I will agree with you."

The maiden of cards and fortune telling will not deny him that understanding. He is the scholar and the doctor, the one who walks the path of logic and who may deny the spiritual affiliation as it is not seen in his own eyes. But can someone who is not a Memokeeper truly understand the importance of memories and the spirit that everyone carries themselves? In the moment of prayer, people beg for the people they loved to come and forgive them, or embrace them. Memories are both a blessing and a curse, both an angel and a demon. But would a scholar like Veritas look at the past like this?

@prodigls gets a starter from the artisan~

"I wasn't aware that anyone was here, I apologize." He really needed to check that Mehrak's systems weren't bugging out. The device usually let him know when someone was HOVERING while he was halfway in the body of a starskiff. Except for apparently, today, when he'd pulled out of a piece of the body and hit his head when there was a PERSON there.

@prodigls said: i missed this place. (dazai to kunikida after meursault)

He's home, that's the first thought that burns into his head the moment of Dazai's return from Meursault. The familiarity of the voice settles in, a voice he missed even though often times it came with the daily non-scheduled events that went against his plans. He missed the man sincerely, and the fact he's alive is something that puts his mind at ease to a degree.

It would seem that neither of them had been able to sleep that night .

Such was not unusual for Rimbaud , ever since the explosion some years ago he spent many nights lost in thought , warming himself in his library by the glow of the fireplace . This was not one of those nights , however . He wasn’t melancholy , despite the aches that pained his body & the worries that plagued his mind . His partner was home , the twins were safe & fast asleep in their beds , everything was positively serene . Perhaps that was what troubles him ? He had learned to distrust serenity , he feared happiness being snatched away , just when he became too comfortable with it .

He wasn’t surprised when he saw Paul peek his head around the corner , though he may have more or less retired from his career as the King of Assassins , his partner still has senses & instincts as sharply tuned as ever . Even down in the basement of the manor , he likely heard Rimbaud’s movements & realized his restlessness .

The raven - haired man had asked him to sit & join him , & now he was making them drinks . Arthur had never liked his coffee strong or overly bitter , & had struggled to adapt to the taste of green tea for the same reason . Admittedly , he has always had a bit of a sweet tooth . As the older former spy returns from the kitchen , Illuminations follows him in the form of a floating golden cube wrapped around a silver tray carrying two glasses — his ability steadier then his hand these days — & he carefully lowers them to the table .

“ It’s warm milk with cherries & fermented chamomile . ” Arthur says , to explain the strange pink hue of the beverages as he sits across from the blond , a sheepish smile on his lips . “ I started drinking it a few years ago , on the suggestion of the Port Mafia’s head nurse , it helps me sleep . Cherries are full of melatonin & chamomile has a soothing & sedative effect , the fermentation allows for quicker absorption . ” he carefully tugs off either of his gloves & wraps his hands around the warm glass immediately with a gentle sigh as the heat spread through him .

Nightmares were not unusual in their home , they all had them , even Chuuya since unlocking his once lost memories , though his were less common . Dazai didn’t typically talk about his bad dreams unless they were disturbing enough to need intervention on , which they weren’t always . Tonight , unfortunately , was one of those nights . He’s fast asleep , Kura & Aura are curled up on the end of the bed , & Chuuya didn’t notice anything amiss until he felt an arm hit him on the side , light & nonthreatening , but it was enough to jostle awake a martial artist trained by the world’s best assassin .

“ Osamu ? ” he rubs his eyes & sits up , reaching over to pull the chain on his nightstand lamp . As soon as he saw his husband he understood the problem . The young man was twisted up in their bedsheets , tangling himself up worse as he struggled , sweat beginning to bead on his face , his breathing shallow & frightened . Kura was awake now , whining in distress & pawing at Dazai’s chest , trying to wake him up as gently as possible . His heart clenched painfully at the sight of his partner so upset , & without a second thought , Chuuya pulled the matted blankets away & tugged his husband into his arms . He feels his breathing hitch as Dazai wakes up , catching on a silent sob , but before he could say anything , the redhead is already hushing him .

He could definitely argue the LATTER. It felt as though there were a lot more things that they could talk about. For the GOOD DOCTOR to be speechless, was a feat in itself.

"Oh, is there not? My dear Veritas, you WOUND me."

Card twirled around fingers as the eyes of a HAWK are drawn onto the doctor. "What makes you believe we're done here?"