#yckaii

Just the thought of spending time with his girlfriend... he knows that he looks absolutely moonstruck, hearts in his eyes and all.  He can't much help it either.  He loves his girlfriend, and he's missed talking to and being around her.  It's nice, knowing that he can just be himself  ( whoever that may be- he's still figuring it out for the most part )  without having to worry about his life taking a turn for the worst or people chastising him for being too childish.

So he simply makes sure he has everything he needs for a five day stay with his girlfriend and her family, uncaring of the little giggles he's hearing from the spirits of his house.  He doesn't even give them the time of day of him being embarrassed.  Why should he be?  Katie has his heart, and he's not ashamed of it.  Why would anybody be ashamed of being in love?  Why would he?

Luckily, he's already ate, already taken his medicine and put it in with the smaller of the containers for the week he'll be gone, and he's already gotten cleaned up and nice looking.  Of course, it's not like she'd mind if he looked like he just woke up.  She's unfortunately had to brush his hair for him a few times since he was too drowsy and lazy to do so himself.  Not that he minds.

Both of the bonds he has are light with his giddiness, his anticipation, his absolute love, and he knows that it's a welcome change in pace for him.  Getting to be like this without anything heavily weighing him down... without anything truly bothering him...  It's not something that comes often.  He enjoys the moments where he can simply be a normal boyfriend.  ...or as normal as he can get.

Alas, he's getting distracted.  He ought to get going.

He puts the bags into his Inventory, spares one last look in the mirror, and heads downstairs for a bit.  Almost as an afterthought, he playfully warns the hunter sitting on the couch;  "don't cause too much trouble while i'm out,"  and casting a cocky little grin back at him.  It's been a while since he's looked so... happy?

E X P A N D C O W L I C K

FOOL MAGE // GENIUS IQ

      There’s a gentle ringing in his head, like a bell...

           Ring... ring... ring...

 The slouch in his posture straightens out  There’s a gentle smile on his face.  But he knows there’s something wrong.

 He pauses in his cooking for his family and he takes stock of his surroundings, the people in the room with him, the items, the situation. Saros, Whisper, Pacifica, Lucidia, Loki, Flare - his darling pup - and the rest of his Pokemon. Good, good, he remembers all of that. He’s in his house in his timeline that he made, with his family, making them food, enjoying their company, and he’s hanging out with them despite... what? Wait. Despite?

                                             Wait, why is he here?

 Saros is the first one, if only by seconds before Whisper, to realize something is off, and when they get him to turn towards them, they notice something wrong immediately. He’s standing straight up. He once told them that he slouches because of the weight of the expectation of the world upon his shoulders. Where has that weight gone? True or not, the weight. It’s gone. He’s standing at his full height, in his boots, and he looks so... happy. But it’s wrong.

 “Hmm. Big brother? Y’alright?”

 He looks around again, spatula in one hand for a moment before he sets it down.

 He looks back down at the young star and smiles a little brighter.

 “i’m... a little off. but i’m in a good mood.”

 “a good mood? better than you were, five seconds ago?” Whisper speaks up.

 Saros squints, but says nothing, yet.

 “Oh yeah, something’s off.” Pacifica says, somewhat jokingly. She stands up though and walks up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, having to reach up a little more than she normally does to do so. “Well, whatever it is, you look good, smiling like this. A smile suits you, blomstbror.”

 “thank you,” his head tilts as his smile softens with confusion, eyes sighting the worried, and one annoyed, looks of the others in the group. “but everybody else seems to disagree. is my smiling a bad thing?”

 “Not bad,” Saros finally says, not looking away from their brother, who also doesn’t waver much or nearly as often as he normally does. “but it’s not you. You smile plenty whenever I see you normally. This, is not you.”

 “can you explain? i certainly feel like me. just a little bit off mentally, but that’s nothing new.” Fleur chuckles, and the sound is warm, without that familiar grating quality to it that shows the hell his kindness has been through.

 “... It’s hard to explain.” They look towards Whisper, and he’s just as shellshocked as they are. Back to Fleur. “I have to ask that when you’re done cooking, please take a walk. Clear your head before you come back home. We’ll be here. We just want you back.”

 “But guys,” Pacifica’s tone becomes a bit desperate. “He’s happy! He’s smiling!”

 “Sis.”

 “I haven’t seen him this happy around us in ages. Can’t we enjoy what we have while we have it, Saros? Can’t we see him be a little enthusiastic, Far? And Mom, you can talk to him without the scowl! He’s actually in a great mood and he’s not weighed down!”

 “Sis. He’s under a spell.”

 “Please,” frustration takes her tone. “Let him have this. Let him enjoy this. Doesn’t he deserve it after all the hell he’s been through? Almost dying, losing everything, losing us for a long time, he deserves a moment like this, spell or not, to relax and have fun and smile without worry.”

 “It’s not REAL.” Saros all but snaps back, like the crack of a whip. “He wouldn’t want this, and neither do we. He’s perfectly capable of being happy on his own, and this is just m...” They think for a moment before they shake their head. “This is just ruining his ability to believe he’s capable of being happy on his own. Which he is.”

 “but i am happy?” Something feels off about this.

 “You can be. But not like this.” Saros says again.

 Pacifica deflates somewhat. “But he deserves a moment to breathe.”

 Nothing is said this time, and Pacifica finally lets her anger get the best of her and storms out of the kitchen, leaving a confused Monstrosity and a silent family in her wake. Fleur watches her storm upstairs and into her room, only to then look around the room with a bit of a confused look. His eyes land on the god in the room, and worry takes his expression.

 “that’s what’s off, isn’t it?” There’s that ringing again, but it’s stunted, staggered, swaying in a way he can’t explain any other way than ‘breaking’. “this happiness. it’s not right is it?”

 “no.” Whisper says solemnly. “it’s not you.”

 “so you’ve said.”

  He pauses for a time, taking stock of the rest of the situation once more. After a short time, he finds his smile returning.

 And here’s the thing. When he smiles, it’s so gentle, so soft, so kind. His touches are fleeting and careful, the rustling of a young one’s hair like the breeze, ethereal. He stands taller. He’s got a bit of a pep to his step. The pain in him is gone. The agony, the anger, the hatred, and vengeance, the justice. It’s all gone, replaced with something saccharine. He’s so sweet and so kind and so honest and so much better than he was before and it’s so different, but that’s the thing. Different. Wrong.

 Not the truth.

 No matter who he speaks to, they all have the same consensus if they know him deeper than the average speaker. It’s not you, this isn’t you, you’re not happy, this is wrong. And he believes it. And he smiles at it.

 It’s less than a day, less than half a day, but he steps away from it all in a timeline where very few know how to find him or follow his footsteps, and he reaches out with one hand. Claws find resistance as he drags them upwards, the tangled knot of falsities and sugar coated lies resisting with all its might against it. What pretty magic. What pretty, and pretty sweet Intent.

 His fingers curl delicately around it, and he takes out a small pair of clock hands from a pocket dimension. He uses the hour hand to steady the tangled mess in the air, and then uses the minute hand to carefully find the one string that leads back to where this intended to begin and finds the moment where the thread was made too chaotic to function the way it was supposed to. He smiles softer, pausing as he repositions the minute hand, pulling a nearly invisible thread through a hole at the end of it.

 “... reality can’t be worse than this.”

 And he pulls the minute hand through the break.

 In an instant, the tangled knot fixes itself and the hour hand and minute hand clatter to the stone ground. The slouch in his posture returns, the shuddering of a sigh taking the soft smile along with it. A single tear drops off of his chin and he wipes away what’s left of the remains on his face. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

 “reality is not worse than that.”

   He'd been up for several nights, now.

   His instincts, he knew, were nearly always right.  His time as a Hunter and as a Weapon of The Depths had honed his instincts into something terrifying, something beautiful, to behold.  They were more trustworthy than an average Human, more reliable than an average Monster, and if he's being honest he's fairly sure he outpaces some Hunters and Monstrosities in that department.  So he had no reason to doubt it this time.

   It wasn't That One.  No that one hadn't been completed on Its end so this had to be one of the other ones.  If he's right it could be the one about his body, or about his world, or even about his abilities to handle celestial and eldritch fluctuations without... severe repercussion.  It’s likely to be his body, that one came next... and he never specified a date.  A curse and a boon, perhaps...

   But he's... in Ian's house.    He should be safe from that...

   He supposes that anywhere he casts a shadow, he's not safe. Heh...

   It's around the time he's had that thought, that a  B E L L  rings in his ears.  Muffled yet honest and wholly undeniable as what it is.  His eyes snap wide open and he jolts up to a seated position, terror in his eyes for the first time in a long time.  Since he started staying in this house, actually...  And it's at that thought that he's frantic in his movements to jump out of bed- there is no THUNK against the floor.  No shuffling of clothes against wood as he runs to the door.  He curses under his breath as the door's handle turns to dust in his hands, blown away by a wind that doesn't exist.  A chill runs up his spine in greeting of what he knew was always there.

   The whisper in the back of his head, he can feel it muffling and quieting all of his connections.  Turning the colors into blacks and whites and greys.  Turning everything gold to rust.

   [ ẂἝ'VἝ ẂᾋἿҬἝƉ ҬὋὋ ĿὋƝƓ. ]

   It's hard to speak against the voice that tries to lull him into security.  "i didn't give you a time... cour..tesy says..."  He weakly pushes against the door frame─ it doesn't even acknowledge a weight there.

   As if he isn't there at all.    ...shit.

   [ ƇὋȖȒҬἝṨὛ ṂἝᾋƝṨ ƝὋҬἬἿƝƓ ẂἬἝƝ ἿҬ ἿṨ ƉἝᾋĿ ᾋƝƉ ẂὋȒƉ. ὛὋȖ ἬᾋVἝ ƝὋ ȒὋὋṂ ҬὋ ƤὋṨҬƤὋƝἝ ҬἬἿṨ. ҬἿṂἝ ҬὋ ȖƤἬὋĿƉ ὛὋȖȒ ẂὋȒƉ, ĿὋṨҬ ṨὋȖĿ. ]

   He takes a few steps back, feeling living darkness coil from his shadow.  It displaces the two way mirror connection between mother and son by a single Shade.  It mutes the call to safety and to a home no longer from the sway of blue within the purple.  It muffles the sounds and feelings of a constant presence, gentle yet fierce, keeping him steady.  He realizes how reliant he has become on such things the moment he loses them.  Feh, you really don't know how much you need something or someone until they're gone huh?

   Living darkness forces his body to take off his coat.  His necklaces are removed and tossed onto a bed that barely registers the new items.  His watch comes next, as do his boots that keep him making sound.  The darkness tries to grasp at something precious something gold at his arm but hisses in pain when the little Monstrosity's growling (whimpering) magic sinks teeth and claw into it, warning it not to.  Such a fiery Soul.  They thought they broke that out of him.  This would train him again to be obedient, no doubt.

   The fight against his magic gets him to take a breath and terror swells in his chest.  He knows the name he needs to call.  Now to see if they'll let him speak.

   "IAN--"

   [ ὛὋȖ ĿὋὋḰ ṨὋ ҬἝȒȒἿϐĿὛ ṨἿƇḰ, ṨὋ ἬὋȒȒἿϐĿὛ ṨҬᾋȒVἝƉ. ]

   Darkness deeper than the dark overtakes him.

   [ ṨὋ ẂἬὛ ƉὋƝ'Ҭ ὛὋȖ ҒἝᾋṨҬ, ĿἿҬҬĿἝ ẂὋĿҒ? ]

   The words repeat in his head until he’s singing them, a dirge and a promise, the final toll of a bell that no one else hears.  He’s exhausted himself, the last echoes of his display of strength and power burning down the street.  Name emblazoned in golden glow and crimson flame, it’d take more than magic to put it out until he wishes for it to go out.

   Car crashes, helicopter explosions.  Jets burning, engines failing.  Jammed guns, terrible mishaps.  Chaos, bloodshed.  Abnormality, what even is normal anymore?

   He’s staring up at the sky, ignoring the glowing colors of his heart shaped glasses.  It wouldn’t matter up here, he’s too high up for most to see him.  Let the sun and the moon be the only witnesses to his fall from grace.  Let the sky and the sea be the only testimonies to his resignation.  It’s downhill from here, isn’t it?

   He’s so tired of this game.  Always so tired.  He can hear the whispering in his head that isn’t hers or his.  The whispering is from things not of this world, things that promised to leave the world he built alone if he played along.  He has been.  He’s been keeping himself as low a priority as possible.  That way it’ll be fine when it’s all done.  The whispering makes it hard for him to look down and know that his work is scrawled into the ground, prideful and loud. 

   He wishes he could recognize his own name.    But he knows the reason why he can’t.

   He wishes he could sleep just once more.

   He makes no rush to the front, but neither does he dwaddle on anything in particular.  Customers are customers, and in this world, work is particularly hard to come by.  And for him, most of his work is made rather short.  Nothing substantial, not until he got pestered repeatedly by not just Lost but by a select few others who refuse to let him go for specific things.  He’ll never get another break, will he?  He can only sigh as he closes the door behind him.

   “...i didn’t know you smoke.”

   Left eye twitches.  He recognizes the voice immediately.  It’s the kid’s legal guardian, and his soulmate.  Rare to come across those these days, back a couple centuries ago it was rather common across the spectrum... but eh, not the point.  Shane huffs.  “I most certainly do not smoke.”  A quipped correction as he locks the door and steps away from it.  It’s bad luck to burn things like that within spaces like these.  It’s why he’s both irked and curious as to why that irritating trespasser decided to do that, when he didn’t before.  Hmm... a thought to ponder later.

   “then should i question why it smells vaguely of smoke in here?”  The tone of the yokai isn’t one that is condescending or scrutinizing.  Just curious.  Good, he’s always gotten weird looks from people.  Do people not believe that their gazes have weight?

   “It seems that I need to invest in Febreeze. Or perhaps something akin to bug spray for annoying bastards. Bastard-Be-Gone, if you will.”  It’s hard to tell if he’s joking or not.

   Though, Whisper can’t quite help the brief chortle that results.  It’s a silly notion, but one that may prove fruitful if followed.  Who knows?  He’s seen a lot of strange things lately.  “right, well, either way... i’ve actually come to talk business with you.”

   “I sure hope you’d come to a place of business in order to talk business.”  The only indication that he’s being playful is the brief twitch of his lips into a smirk.

   It still doesn’t stop him from rolling his eyes.  “ha-ha. anyway. feel free to stop me if i get anything wrong, i don’t want to make assumptions. it’s gotten me in trouble before, with many people.”

   “You know what they say about assumptions. But very well. Go for it.”

   Whisper clears his throat.  “so, the moon. it is─ actually like that, yes? looking like something right out of a science fiction slash deep fantasy dystopia novel?”  He’s not stopped, but there is a poorly muffled cough of laughter from Shane about it.  “okay... and, back when the original timeline was actually shown here. you were in your element. and nobody called you an immortal witch, like they do here. it almost looked like they were exasperated every time someone called you that? especially the few witches i actually did hear talk about that after it happened. so, if i’m right, that means that you’re able enough to pose as just about any type of─ caster? that you’d like. likely meaning that you’re none of them, closer to someone in the ability range of someone much much stronger, right?”

   Shane doesn’t respond, is that a smirk?

   “you were the one who helped fleur keep his voice after the timeline went away, weren’t you?”  Another lack of response.  “...thank you, shane. i don’t know why you did what you did, considering that you and fleur don’t seem to be on all that great of terms, but i’m glad that you did. i’ve never seen him that happy.”

   This time, the old Witch speaks.  “He wasn’t happy.”

   Blink blink.  “pardon?”

   Shane puts his hands in his pockets, shrugging up his shoulders.  “When he had his voice, he wasn’t happy. He’s capable of being his happiest when he doesn’t have his voice. If he could choose between having his voice, and not having his voice? Well, you know the answer to that one. Every single time, there would be no hesitation.”

   “i know that, but why?”  The yokai’s voice dips in volume at the end of the inquiry.  “why wouldn’t he be happy to have his voice back? that’s a part of him, a part of what makes him who he is. it grants him the ability to breathe and to talk and to remember things as they are.”

   It’s then that he leans in a bit close, expression splitting into a too-wide grin with a few too many teeth bared.  “If that’s what you think, then for all that you saw, you’re more blind than the scales.”

   “wh─”  He’s too close.  He wants to say that his cheeks are heating up, flushed with a faint blue, but that would be a lie.  Damn it, why do people like this always manage to get him flustered?!  “what do you mean?? i want to understand, shane. i want to help my son, no matter what it takes.”

   “... No matter what it takes, hmm?”  A pause.  He leans away again and cants his head, grin falling to a curious expression.  Eyes drifting over towards the side of the room where a coat rack lay suspiciously empty.  “What do you think? You think he’s really up for ‘no matter what it takes’?”

   There’s a glare of sunset moonlight off a trinket hung around a dark skinned neck.  A coat that usually hangs off the Immortal’s shoulders now being worn properly by a colorful character decorated in more than a few pins and indicators of his time at sea, including the start (or perhaps end) of a trail of birds peeking out of the collar of his shirt.  A grin that is unrepentant in its crookedness, riding high on some melody gone unheard, while his arms cross over his chest, pride and knowing in his posture.  / “Chatt’rin’ from others tell me ‘e boldly jumped inta th’ Depths to ‘elp th’ kid a while back. Far as m’ concerned, ‘e’s earned rights ta somma that. If only ta not repeat ‘is mistakes.~” /  There’s no punches pulled there.

   Whisper can’t say that was enjoyable, as a reminder.

   Shane seems to take that in stride, and nods.  “Well in that case,”  he goes over to the back room’s door and grins again, that same unhinged and wild grin of someone who is having perhaps too much fun in playing the game of which he was once forced to withdraw from.  “We’ve much to discuss, Shittakaburi. Care to join me for tea?”

   “don’t.”  His voice grows taut.  “please.”

   He just tilts his head, as if he knew already.  The grin hasn’t faltered.  “Green?”

   “...yes.”  He feels as if he’s walked into the lion’s den.