2 Selene 15:6

Moreover, these Tags—they are obviously organizational tools, yet I have seen several of you using them for notes and commentary.

And I see you have also come to rack your brain over the linguistics of this website. I understand it will take a while for it to come naturally to you.

The majority of it seems to be akin to a public forum. You type something. You sent it into the void like a toy boat on the waves. If it lands, it lands! As far as the tags, yes it seems a bit strange. I will admit that. Since they do not persist through reblogs, it feels a bit like a comment you whisper to a friend. This is sometimes how I treat them.

Sol and Lua, we are not that similar, are we?

Monsieur Loid, this is Father Lyon.

As for this list of users you've proposed, yes, that would be quite helpful. Thank you kindly.

I will set it up with haste, given I remember the exact names of course... There are some in here that I am... Well, I am not terribly close with many of this servers inhabitants. I may have to go around and ask directly.

It has been surprisingly calm for me, actually. One of the "Hex" here is able to pop in and out of our system. Through her magic, we have been able to get our own glimpse of their... abode. It is very bright. And very loud. But they have cultivated a small indoor garden that I have been allowed to retreat to when it all gets a bit much.

Moreover, these Tags—they are obviously organizational tools, yet I have seen several of you using them for notes and commentary.

And I see you have also come to rack your brain over the linguistics of this website. I understand it will take a while for it to come naturally to you.

The majority of it seems to be akin to a public forum. You type something. You sent it into the void like a toy boat on the waves. If it lands, it lands! As far as the tags, yes it seems a bit strange. I will admit that. Since they do not persist through reblogs, it feels a bit like a comment you whisper to a friend. This is sometimes how I treat them.

Sol and Lua, we are not that similar, are we?

Monsieur Loid, this is Father Lyon.

As for this list of users you've proposed, yes, that would be quite helpful. Thank you kindly.

I will set it up with haste, given I remember the exact names of course... There are some in here that I am... Well, I am not terribly close with many of this servers inhabitants. I may have to go around and ask directly.

It has been surprisingly calm for me, actually. One of the "Hex" here is able to pop in and out of our system. Through her magic, we have been able to get our own glimpse of their... abode. It is very bright. And very loud. But they have cultivated a small indoor garden that I have been allowed to retreat to when it all gets a bit much.

Moreover, these Tags—they are obviously organizational tools, yet I have seen several of you using them for notes and commentary.

And I see you have also come to rack your brain over the linguistics of this website. I understand it will take a while for it to come naturally to you.

The majority of it seems to be akin to a public forum. You type something. You sent it into the void like a toy boat on the waves. If it lands, it lands! As far as the tags, yes it seems a bit strange. I will admit that. Since they do not persist through reblogs, it feels a bit like a comment you whisper to a friend. This is sometimes how I treat them.

Sol and Lua, we are not that similar, are we?

Monsieur Loid, this is Father Lyon.

Moreover, these Tags—they are obviously organizational tools, yet I have seen several of you using them for notes and commentary.

And I see you have also come to rack your brain over the linguistics of this website. I understand it will take a while for it to come naturally to you.

The majority of it seems to be akin to a public forum. You type something. You sent it into the void like a toy boat on the waves. If it lands, it lands! As far as the tags, yes it seems a bit strange. I will admit that. Since they do not persist through reblogs, it feels a bit like a comment you whisper to a friend. This is sometimes how I treat them.

Shuffling of fabric. Clinking of chains. The smoke of his thurible twists and sways like grasping hands stretching towards the ceiling. Fluorescent lighting humming in his ears like a swarm of flies. And even with the many distractions around him, Lyon is foot first into the mall's tavern. Hands clasped behind his back. Posture stiff and formal. A nod to the counter's keeper as he is further drawn into the room.

Split gaze wandering towards the explorative chords strummed nearby...

Some days more than others, though, it feels a lot less like peace and quiet and a lot more like isolation. Like there's some invisible barrier between them and the rest of the people around them. They try not to take it too personally, of course. Things were... Different. When they'd first arrived.

After all, they're never truly alone. Not anymore.

Conversing with Lizzie is a lot easier, anyway. She's right there with them, watching them think and responding before the thoughts are even finished forming. It's easy to just... Let it sweep them up, and get lost in thought altogether. Only barely present. Sometimes, if they let their eyes unfocus, they feel like they can almost see flickers of something. Pillars of flesh and sinew, like massive trees, illuminated from within, clustered together as if sprouting from a single point. Whispering amongst themselves, but they can never understand what they're hearing. If only they could just get closer --

Someone is talking to them.

Flare blinks, and reality swims back into focus. They can feel Lizzie in the back of their head, chittering, giggling. The ghost of an affectionate pat on the head and lips on their cheek. Sssssssomeday, maybe... but Not yet.

The bar is the same as ever around them, save for a particularly out-of-place visitor. The priest is back. Flare can't help but smile, watching him cautiously carry a chair over to the edge of the stage. It's all so ridiculous, on the grand scale of things. A washed-up-rockstar mutant and a nineteenth century Gaullique priest of Lua walk into a bar...

Flare thinks about setting Lizzie down, but can feel her eagerness to greet this New Friend, like a persistent cat sticking its paws under a closed door, and thinks better of it. They return his nod, taking extra care to hold Lizzie a little tighter where she is. She's content now, but there's no telling when she might get bored and jump down off their lap to see what sort of funny noises Lyon might make if she pounced on him...

"It's usually quiet in the mornings, honestly. You picked a good time."

There's no way for him to know what she's thinking, but the sideways glances he keeps shooting at her are making it very clear that he still hasn't forgiven her for the last time, and she finds that just hilarious. Her emotions bleeding over are making it a bit hard to concentrate on greetings and formalities, and despite all best efforts, a chuckle slips out, followed immediately by a wince and a marked effort to change the subject.

"That's, uh. Yeah. Don't worry about it. We-- I get it." They tighten their grip around the neck of the guitar for a second. It's almost imperceptible. Just a quick squeeze across the frets, and then they visibly relax.

Lyon grants Flare a genuine smile, something rare. And then his eyes meet the guitar again. The smile tightens. Taut and strained. Yes, he remembers. Leaping and bounding up his legs like an untrained hound. He can still feel the shrillness of his yelp on his throat and the chains in his hands as he had tried to beat her back.

Ah. Right. They still aren't quite used to how blunt he can be sometimes. For a second, they stiffen, hair bristling, unsure of what he's trying to say but willing to hear him out...

"And jusssst What is THAT supposed To mean?!"

Lizzie, however, is not quite so patient.

Lyon jolts in his seat. His entire body stiffens on reflex, but his expression is surprisingly blank. Maybe a slight clench in his jaw, but that's it. It's the rest of him that responds. His relaxation gone as he sits upright. Legs squeezed tighter. Hands gripping themselves with the cadence of an eagle's talons.

He takes a deep breath of sandalwood and sighs.

Every time they move, some part of their carapace shimmers or glitters or shines in the light. Lizzie makes a small affectionate noise, something between a purr and a coo. Between that, Flare's apparent unbotheredness, and the smell of the smoke wafting out of the thurible, she seems to have lost interest in the conversation entirely. Like a cat stretched out in a sunbeam, she hums, lulled into a sense of lazy contentment in her lover's arms. It's hard not to relax when she does, and Flare feels the uneasiness that came with the question ebb away in turn.

"It's... Well. It's a good question, honestly." It was something they'd been trying not to think too hard about for the past few loops. What are they doing here?

"I mean, it's a safe place to be. We're in good company. And Lizzie knows how to spit out blueprints that the drifters can plug into their bullshit, so that's always in demand." What she does with the bits and pieces of techrot that she demands in return aside from eating them, they still aren't quite sure. Something about building up biomass for later. Still, it's something to do. Keeps people talking to them, keeps them busy. But aside from that...

They shrug. "I first came here looking for something specific, but now I don't really need it anymore. That problem's solved..." They can't help but feel a twinge of guilt indirectly referring to Lizzie as a 'problem' -- But if she heard them, she doesn't seem to mind. She's far too comfortable to care, frankly. If she gets any cozier, she feels like she might forget how to be a guitar altogether and melt in their arms.

It takes Flare a moment to realize that they've completely trailed off, staring rather incriminatingly at Lizzie as they stew in thought. It's fine, they remind themself as they shake the cloud off. We worked it out. She's not holding it against you. Not worth dwelling on.

Darting along the glittering sword-steel and committing itself to memory. Along the lazy beast fattened off its own delight dangling in their arms. He surely is an observant man.

"But it's not a huge deal. Nobody's perfect, y'know?" That's what they've got to keep telling themself, anyway.

At Lyon's next question, Flare hesitates. Their face twitches a bit as they seem to consider it.

"Am I content with...? No. Gods, no!" They're hoping that laughing about it could help break up the knot in their gut, but hearing themself, they just sound like they're at the end of their rope. Which wouldn't be incorrect.

"Drives me a little crazy, honestly. Sometimes I wish I could just be anywhere but here, you know? But I have to..." I have to stay put until it happens. Which could be fucking any loop now, for all we know. "...I don't really have anywhere else to go. Nothing that'll stick, at least."

"I mean, it's not-- I guess it's not terrible, really." They know that's just his default expression, but the way the priest seems to stare right through them makes them feel like they might as well keep talking. "If I don't think about it, I get by alright." Which is perfectly healthy, surely. "I don't hate it all the time. It could be a lot worse."

It's just the waiting around that's killing them. Not knowing when the other shoe is gonna drop. Not knowing which loop they're going to start off with Kaya shaking them awake because the sky is starting to line up with her charts and it's really happening this time, no more waiting. Not knowing if the transformation is going to happen before or after they leave. Not knowing if one day they'll just wake up and find swordsteel and leatherskin where their face used to be, and then that's it. No more Flare. No more Lizzie. Just... Temple.

They feel something squeeze their hand, and the pressure snaps them out of... Whatever that was. Hopefully he doesn't ask them to explain.

Lyon bites the bullet and finally returns their eye contact, the lights of the stage casting harsh shadows against the chiseled lines of his face. He has hopes that doing such a thing would... calm the musician. Would cease the strange shuffles of their weight and brief expressions of worry when he looks away. Perhaps they desired this. The unchanging gaze of his polycoria, amaranth in hue and both pricks of black just as intimidating as the other. Perhaps they desired it...

Gods, all of that worry, and not even accounting whatever fucking Entrati had in store for them all. They hadn't even thought of that, not in this context, anyway. Where had he even gotten the samples to make the serum he gave to them? What would have happened if Kaya had never figured out where Temple came from -- Why leave it all up to chance like that? How many other things are there that need to happen for the future to turn out right? What happens if they miss one? Will they ever even know, or will the loop just keep them in the dark forever? What if they've already missed their chance, what happens then? What if--

Wait. This whole time, he's been speaking, and they haven't been paying attention to a word of it -- and he's still staring at them, clearly expecting some sort of response. Flare blinks. Maybe Lizzie heard-- no, she's asleep. She must have dozed off a while ago.

"Um..." Better come up with something. Something non-committal enough to be applicable to whatever he might have said, but without letting them agree to something unfortunate. Instinctively, they chew on their lip, a longstanding nervous habit -- one that's a lot less harmless now that their teeth are made of metal and razor-sharp. Ouch. Well, at least their blood still tastes... Sorta-human. Small victories.

Lyon's brows furrow as he watches the other protoframe. Had he spoken out of turn? Was relation to one's misery not the custom here? In this place and this time? Had he misread something? Misheard something?

They'd been expecting concern, sure, but what they see now is confusion. Flare's eyes widen as the realization sets in.

"Oh-- Oh, no! No, you're--" Relief manifests as laughter, though it's far less exasperated and much more genuine this time. You dumbass! Doubled over, waving their hands apologetically, as if they could dispel the miscommunication if they just tried hard enough. Lizzie is grumbling in their ear, having been so rudely awoken from her nap. "Shit, you're fine. I'm sorry, I--" Clearly feeling left out from whatever's so funny, she's chittering insistently, trying to get their attention, and that only makes the whole thing feel more ridiculous.

"I think I just-- You're so serious all the time, I thought--!" Okay, okay, maybe it's not that funny. "I just got carried away thinking about it, I guess. Thought this was going to be a totally different conversation..."

Under any other circumstances, if this had happened a few loops earlier, even, they would be so mortified that they wouldn't know what to do with themself. Probably make some lame excuse and escape to go hide. But right now, with Lizzie curled up and purring in the back of their mind -- You are Just sssssssssoooo Cuuute when You're embarrassed~!! -- it doesn't really feel that serious. They relax almost immediately, like nothing even happened. It's almost like they became an entirely different person for a few minutes.

Lyon averts his gaze and gives a brief, light laugh. "Ah, don't take this as me being averse to heavy topics however." He shrugs. "I had assumed we were being casual about this until you... Well, never mind that."

"I mean, we'll help out with missions when we're needed, and we hang around with the others here and there..." Not as often lately, though. Nothing against anyone here, but ever since things started getting complicated with Aine, they've found themself falling into the habit of just... Sitting around, waiting to hear from her. Everything else sorta fell by the wayside. It came in handy whenever things escalated, yeah, but lately everything is quiet. Not much going on on either end.

"I... I could probably be doing a lot more, yeah." It's obvious from his tone that he's not trying to scold or lecture them, but they feel a bit bashful about it all the same. "I guess I'm just, I dunno. Not really adjusted yet? I mean, we've been here for this long, yeah, but..."

Never really had to worry too hard about what to do with their free time, because something's always happening. Always something to worry about or prepare for or avoid thinking about. Too busy to think about the several gaping fucking holes in their life, let alone bother to fill them with anything... Gods, am I depressed?

"Mmmmmaybe A little Bit depressed, Beloved..."

"Hm." They can't tell if Lizzie said that out loud or not, although they doubt Lyon of all people would begrudge them a little bit of talking to themself if she hadn't... But that's something they'll probably have to unpack later. Maybe.

"I mean. Not to get heavy, but none of the people I came out here with are... Here. Anymore." Still hard to say out loud. "Guess I'm not really sure what else to do with myself without them. Doesn't feel right, y'know?" Opening this line of conversation was a mistake. The man's a priest, not a fucking therapist -- not that they would be any more comfortable doing this if he was. So far, not thinking about it has been working. Why fix what isn't broken?

"You've got a point, though. Probably not healthy. Could use some more hobbies..." Something in the back of their mind perks up at that.

When Lizzie speaks up again, he bristles. The whine of guitar strings in the back of her voice. The hiss of feedback. Even unplugged, she was an assault to his ears.

The priest keeps a smile on his face, taut and only with the ghost of friendliness he once observed, as he dutifully listens. “A bit of melancholy… Again, something I am not unfamiliar with.”

At the mention of loss however, he softens. Lets that forced half-grimace half-smile melt down into a frown. Hesitation in his fingertips.

“How long..?” It’s past his lips before he can swallow it again.

How long has it been since… The priest pries away his gaze and frowns, fingers gripping each other tightly now. “Ah… What am I saying. I suppose it would be hard to remember now.”

Lyon gives a soft sigh before uncrossing his legs. Before pushing himself to his feet, hand on the edge of the stage as he does so. "Do not take this as me tiring of our conversation, but..." Dusting off the leather strips of his skirt, he tucks an arm behind his back before offering one to Flare. "The rush for Monsieur Nightingale's concoctions must have ceased for now and I would like to scavenge what I can before interest in second helpings arises. Would you-?"

His gaze flickers away for a moment. Long enough for Flare's inevitable rise and response.

"OOOOoohhhhhh!!! Snacktimeee!!"

"Easy, you." They roll their eyes, but when Lizzie stretches a tendril over and across their shoulder, they swing her around to their back all the same. As they stand and dust off their jacket in a fruitless attempt to dislodge some of the flaky, glittery outer layer that accumulates on their carapace, the growth snakes down across their chest and around to Lizzie again -- an organic guitar strap. Snug and secure in her second-favorite place in the whole world, Lizzie only giggles in response.

"Sounds good to me, though! Might've skipped breakfast..." Okay, maybe technically they ate, but coffee filters don't count as a proper breakfast in their book.

They're more than happy to jump right down off the stage and get moving, but Lyon's concern confuses them. "What-- Oh, these? Ha!" Aw, that's hilarious. And sweet! Sweet of him to worry. But mostly hilarious.

Lyon's attention diverts towards the musician's stilettos, scoffing and shaking his head. "Taller and thinner than the shoes of a noble woman. Divinités, I don't understand how you manage." His wayward hand joins its sibling at the small of his back, fingers clasping themselves to stay in place.

It is blunt, but he turns and strides towards the bar's exit. Even as he walks, his hands remain clasped. The only time he pauses the motion was to grip a railing or open a door. Well, the doors were propped open already... He waits for Flare to catch up before continuing, thankfully.

And as they walk, the heady smoke trails behind him. Sandalwood. Charcoal. His entire body is bathed in the scent, as if prolonged exposure has baked it into his very being. And it is something quite a few of the residents take note of as they make their way along the mall. Glances. Hushed conversations. Craned necks and focused eyes.

"I admit, I... do not actually know what he made today." Lyon rolls his shoulders, frowning. "Too... crowded."

Thankfully, the food court is significantly less packed than usual. Although, there are still quite a few groups here and there. A wayward Drifter or a famished protoframe. Regulars to the mall, certainly. People Flare knew, even if some were mere acquaintances.

And yet Lyon holds back. Hesitates, the chiseled marble of his brow furrowing under the whining lights and harsh shadows of their concrete home. He is wringing his hands behind his back, gaze darting over the many groups gathered in the public area. Back and forth, he observes the available seating, as if trying to judge which table would be worth it.

Shuffling of fabric. Clinking of chains. The smoke of his thurible twists and sways like grasping hands stretching towards the ceiling. Fluorescent lighting humming in his ears like a swarm of flies. And even with the many distractions around him, Lyon is foot first into the mall's tavern. Hands clasped behind his back. Posture stiff and formal. A nod to the counter's keeper as he is further drawn into the room.

Split gaze wandering towards the explorative chords strummed nearby...

Some days more than others, though, it feels a lot less like peace and quiet and a lot more like isolation. Like there's some invisible barrier between them and the rest of the people around them. They try not to take it too personally, of course. Things were... Different. When they'd first arrived.

After all, they're never truly alone. Not anymore.

Conversing with Lizzie is a lot easier, anyway. She's right there with them, watching them think and responding before the thoughts are even finished forming. It's easy to just... Let it sweep them up, and get lost in thought altogether. Only barely present. Sometimes, if they let their eyes unfocus, they feel like they can almost see flickers of something. Pillars of flesh and sinew, like massive trees, illuminated from within, clustered together as if sprouting from a single point. Whispering amongst themselves, but they can never understand what they're hearing. If only they could just get closer --

Someone is talking to them.

Flare blinks, and reality swims back into focus. They can feel Lizzie in the back of their head, chittering, giggling. The ghost of an affectionate pat on the head and lips on their cheek. Sssssssomeday, maybe... but Not yet.

The bar is the same as ever around them, save for a particularly out-of-place visitor. The priest is back. Flare can't help but smile, watching him cautiously carry a chair over to the edge of the stage. It's all so ridiculous, on the grand scale of things. A washed-up-rockstar mutant and a nineteenth century Gaullique priest of Lua walk into a bar...

Flare thinks about setting Lizzie down, but can feel her eagerness to greet this New Friend, like a persistent cat sticking its paws under a closed door, and thinks better of it. They return his nod, taking extra care to hold Lizzie a little tighter where she is. She's content now, but there's no telling when she might get bored and jump down off their lap to see what sort of funny noises Lyon might make if she pounced on him...

"It's usually quiet in the mornings, honestly. You picked a good time."

There's no way for him to know what she's thinking, but the sideways glances he keeps shooting at her are making it very clear that he still hasn't forgiven her for the last time, and she finds that just hilarious. Her emotions bleeding over are making it a bit hard to concentrate on greetings and formalities, and despite all best efforts, a chuckle slips out, followed immediately by a wince and a marked effort to change the subject.

"That's, uh. Yeah. Don't worry about it. We-- I get it." They tighten their grip around the neck of the guitar for a second. It's almost imperceptible. Just a quick squeeze across the frets, and then they visibly relax.

Lyon grants Flare a genuine smile, something rare. And then his eyes meet the guitar again. The smile tightens. Taut and strained. Yes, he remembers. Leaping and bounding up his legs like an untrained hound. He can still feel the shrillness of his yelp on his throat and the chains in his hands as he had tried to beat her back.

Ah. Right. They still aren't quite used to how blunt he can be sometimes. For a second, they stiffen, hair bristling, unsure of what he's trying to say but willing to hear him out...

"And jusssst What is THAT supposed To mean?!"

Lizzie, however, is not quite so patient.

Lyon jolts in his seat. His entire body stiffens on reflex, but his expression is surprisingly blank. Maybe a slight clench in his jaw, but that's it. It's the rest of him that responds. His relaxation gone as he sits upright. Legs squeezed tighter. Hands gripping themselves with the cadence of an eagle's talons.

He takes a deep breath of sandalwood and sighs.

Every time they move, some part of their carapace shimmers or glitters or shines in the light. Lizzie makes a small affectionate noise, something between a purr and a coo. Between that, Flare's apparent unbotheredness, and the smell of the smoke wafting out of the thurible, she seems to have lost interest in the conversation entirely. Like a cat stretched out in a sunbeam, she hums, lulled into a sense of lazy contentment in her lover's arms. It's hard not to relax when she does, and Flare feels the uneasiness that came with the question ebb away in turn.

"It's... Well. It's a good question, honestly." It was something they'd been trying not to think too hard about for the past few loops. What are they doing here?

"I mean, it's a safe place to be. We're in good company. And Lizzie knows how to spit out blueprints that the drifters can plug into their bullshit, so that's always in demand." What she does with the bits and pieces of techrot that she demands in return aside from eating them, they still aren't quite sure. Something about building up biomass for later. Still, it's something to do. Keeps people talking to them, keeps them busy. But aside from that...

They shrug. "I first came here looking for something specific, but now I don't really need it anymore. That problem's solved..." They can't help but feel a twinge of guilt indirectly referring to Lizzie as a 'problem' -- But if she heard them, she doesn't seem to mind. She's far too comfortable to care, frankly. If she gets any cozier, she feels like she might forget how to be a guitar altogether and melt in their arms.

It takes Flare a moment to realize that they've completely trailed off, staring rather incriminatingly at Lizzie as they stew in thought. It's fine, they remind themself as they shake the cloud off. We worked it out. She's not holding it against you. Not worth dwelling on.

Darting along the glittering sword-steel and committing itself to memory. Along the lazy beast fattened off its own delight dangling in their arms. He surely is an observant man.

"But it's not a huge deal. Nobody's perfect, y'know?" That's what they've got to keep telling themself, anyway.

At Lyon's next question, Flare hesitates. Their face twitches a bit as they seem to consider it.

"Am I content with...? No. Gods, no!" They're hoping that laughing about it could help break up the knot in their gut, but hearing themself, they just sound like they're at the end of their rope. Which wouldn't be incorrect.

"Drives me a little crazy, honestly. Sometimes I wish I could just be anywhere but here, you know? But I have to..." I have to stay put until it happens. Which could be fucking any loop now, for all we know. "...I don't really have anywhere else to go. Nothing that'll stick, at least."

"I mean, it's not-- I guess it's not terrible, really." They know that's just his default expression, but the way the priest seems to stare right through them makes them feel like they might as well keep talking. "If I don't think about it, I get by alright." Which is perfectly healthy, surely. "I don't hate it all the time. It could be a lot worse."

It's just the waiting around that's killing them. Not knowing when the other shoe is gonna drop. Not knowing which loop they're going to start off with Kaya shaking them awake because the sky is starting to line up with her charts and it's really happening this time, no more waiting. Not knowing if the transformation is going to happen before or after they leave. Not knowing if one day they'll just wake up and find swordsteel and leatherskin where their face used to be, and then that's it. No more Flare. No more Lizzie. Just... Temple.

They feel something squeeze their hand, and the pressure snaps them out of... Whatever that was. Hopefully he doesn't ask them to explain.

Lyon bites the bullet and finally returns their eye contact, the lights of the stage casting harsh shadows against the chiseled lines of his face. He has hopes that doing such a thing would... calm the musician. Would cease the strange shuffles of their weight and brief expressions of worry when he looks away. Perhaps they desired this. The unchanging gaze of his polycoria, amaranth in hue and both pricks of black just as intimidating as the other. Perhaps they desired it...

Gods, all of that worry, and not even accounting whatever fucking Entrati had in store for them all. They hadn't even thought of that, not in this context, anyway. Where had he even gotten the samples to make the serum he gave to them? What would have happened if Kaya had never figured out where Temple came from -- Why leave it all up to chance like that? How many other things are there that need to happen for the future to turn out right? What happens if they miss one? Will they ever even know, or will the loop just keep them in the dark forever? What if they've already missed their chance, what happens then? What if--

Wait. This whole time, he's been speaking, and they haven't been paying attention to a word of it -- and he's still staring at them, clearly expecting some sort of response. Flare blinks. Maybe Lizzie heard-- no, she's asleep. She must have dozed off a while ago.

"Um..." Better come up with something. Something non-committal enough to be applicable to whatever he might have said, but without letting them agree to something unfortunate. Instinctively, they chew on their lip, a longstanding nervous habit -- one that's a lot less harmless now that their teeth are made of metal and razor-sharp. Ouch. Well, at least their blood still tastes... Sorta-human. Small victories.

Lyon's brows furrow as he watches the other protoframe. Had he spoken out of turn? Was relation to one's misery not the custom here? In this place and this time? Had he misread something? Misheard something?

They'd been expecting concern, sure, but what they see now is confusion. Flare's eyes widen as the realization sets in.

"Oh-- Oh, no! No, you're--" Relief manifests as laughter, though it's far less exasperated and much more genuine this time. You dumbass! Doubled over, waving their hands apologetically, as if they could dispel the miscommunication if they just tried hard enough. Lizzie is grumbling in their ear, having been so rudely awoken from her nap. "Shit, you're fine. I'm sorry, I--" Clearly feeling left out from whatever's so funny, she's chittering insistently, trying to get their attention, and that only makes the whole thing feel more ridiculous.

"I think I just-- You're so serious all the time, I thought--!" Okay, okay, maybe it's not that funny. "I just got carried away thinking about it, I guess. Thought this was going to be a totally different conversation..."

Under any other circumstances, if this had happened a few loops earlier, even, they would be so mortified that they wouldn't know what to do with themself. Probably make some lame excuse and escape to go hide. But right now, with Lizzie curled up and purring in the back of their mind -- You are Just sssssssssoooo Cuuute when You're embarrassed~!! -- it doesn't really feel that serious. They relax almost immediately, like nothing even happened. It's almost like they became an entirely different person for a few minutes.

Lyon averts his gaze and gives a brief, light laugh. "Ah, don't take this as me being averse to heavy topics however." He shrugs. "I had assumed we were being casual about this until you... Well, never mind that."

"I mean, we'll help out with missions when we're needed, and we hang around with the others here and there..." Not as often lately, though. Nothing against anyone here, but ever since things started getting complicated with Aine, they've found themself falling into the habit of just... Sitting around, waiting to hear from her. Everything else sorta fell by the wayside. It came in handy whenever things escalated, yeah, but lately everything is quiet. Not much going on on either end.

"I... I could probably be doing a lot more, yeah." It's obvious from his tone that he's not trying to scold or lecture them, but they feel a bit bashful about it all the same. "I guess I'm just, I dunno. Not really adjusted yet? I mean, we've been here for this long, yeah, but..."

Never really had to worry too hard about what to do with their free time, because something's always happening. Always something to worry about or prepare for or avoid thinking about. Too busy to think about the several gaping fucking holes in their life, let alone bother to fill them with anything... Gods, am I depressed?

"Mmmmmaybe A little Bit depressed, Beloved..."

"Hm." They can't tell if Lizzie said that out loud or not, although they doubt Lyon of all people would begrudge them a little bit of talking to themself if she hadn't... But that's something they'll probably have to unpack later. Maybe.

"I mean. Not to get heavy, but none of the people I came out here with are... Here. Anymore." Still hard to say out loud. "Guess I'm not really sure what else to do with myself without them. Doesn't feel right, y'know?" Opening this line of conversation was a mistake. The man's a priest, not a fucking therapist -- not that they would be any more comfortable doing this if he was. So far, not thinking about it has been working. Why fix what isn't broken?

"You've got a point, though. Probably not healthy. Could use some more hobbies..." Something in the back of their mind perks up at that.

When Lizzie speaks up again, he bristles. The whine of guitar strings in the back of her voice. The hiss of feedback. Even unplugged, she was an assault to his ears.

The priest keeps a smile on his face, taut and only with the ghost of friendliness he once observed, as he dutifully listens. “A bit of melancholy… Again, something I am not unfamiliar with.”

At the mention of loss however, he softens. Lets that forced half-grimace half-smile melt down into a frown. Hesitation in his fingertips.

“How long..?” It’s past his lips before he can swallow it again.

How long has it been since… The priest pries away his gaze and frowns, fingers gripping each other tightly now. “Ah… What am I saying. I suppose it would be hard to remember now.”

Lyon gives a soft sigh before uncrossing his legs. Before pushing himself to his feet, hand on the edge of the stage as he does so. "Do not take this as me tiring of our conversation, but..." Dusting off the leather strips of his skirt, he tucks an arm behind his back before offering one to Flare. "The rush for Monsieur Nightingale's concoctions must have ceased for now and I would like to scavenge what I can before interest in second helpings arises. Would you-?"

His gaze flickers away for a moment. Long enough for Flare's inevitable rise and response.

Shuffling of fabric. Clinking of chains. The smoke of his thurible twists and sways like grasping hands stretching towards the ceiling. Fluorescent lighting humming in his ears like a swarm of flies. And even with the many distractions around him, Lyon is foot first into the mall's tavern. Hands clasped behind his back. Posture stiff and formal. A nod to the counter's keeper as he is further drawn into the room.

Split gaze wandering towards the explorative chords strummed nearby...

Some days more than others, though, it feels a lot less like peace and quiet and a lot more like isolation. Like there's some invisible barrier between them and the rest of the people around them. They try not to take it too personally, of course. Things were... Different. When they'd first arrived.

After all, they're never truly alone. Not anymore.

Conversing with Lizzie is a lot easier, anyway. She's right there with them, watching them think and responding before the thoughts are even finished forming. It's easy to just... Let it sweep them up, and get lost in thought altogether. Only barely present. Sometimes, if they let their eyes unfocus, they feel like they can almost see flickers of something. Pillars of flesh and sinew, like massive trees, illuminated from within, clustered together as if sprouting from a single point. Whispering amongst themselves, but they can never understand what they're hearing. If only they could just get closer --

Someone is talking to them.

Flare blinks, and reality swims back into focus. They can feel Lizzie in the back of their head, chittering, giggling. The ghost of an affectionate pat on the head and lips on their cheek. Sssssssomeday, maybe... but Not yet.

The bar is the same as ever around them, save for a particularly out-of-place visitor. The priest is back. Flare can't help but smile, watching him cautiously carry a chair over to the edge of the stage. It's all so ridiculous, on the grand scale of things. A washed-up-rockstar mutant and a nineteenth century Gaullique priest of Lua walk into a bar...

Flare thinks about setting Lizzie down, but can feel her eagerness to greet this New Friend, like a persistent cat sticking its paws under a closed door, and thinks better of it. They return his nod, taking extra care to hold Lizzie a little tighter where she is. She's content now, but there's no telling when she might get bored and jump down off their lap to see what sort of funny noises Lyon might make if she pounced on him...

"It's usually quiet in the mornings, honestly. You picked a good time."

There's no way for him to know what she's thinking, but the sideways glances he keeps shooting at her are making it very clear that he still hasn't forgiven her for the last time, and she finds that just hilarious. Her emotions bleeding over are making it a bit hard to concentrate on greetings and formalities, and despite all best efforts, a chuckle slips out, followed immediately by a wince and a marked effort to change the subject.

"That's, uh. Yeah. Don't worry about it. We-- I get it." They tighten their grip around the neck of the guitar for a second. It's almost imperceptible. Just a quick squeeze across the frets, and then they visibly relax.

Lyon grants Flare a genuine smile, something rare. And then his eyes meet the guitar again. The smile tightens. Taut and strained. Yes, he remembers. Leaping and bounding up his legs like an untrained hound. He can still feel the shrillness of his yelp on his throat and the chains in his hands as he had tried to beat her back.

Ah. Right. They still aren't quite used to how blunt he can be sometimes. For a second, they stiffen, hair bristling, unsure of what he's trying to say but willing to hear him out...

"And jusssst What is THAT supposed To mean?!"

Lizzie, however, is not quite so patient.

Lyon jolts in his seat. His entire body stiffens on reflex, but his expression is surprisingly blank. Maybe a slight clench in his jaw, but that's it. It's the rest of him that responds. His relaxation gone as he sits upright. Legs squeezed tighter. Hands gripping themselves with the cadence of an eagle's talons.

He takes a deep breath of sandalwood and sighs.

Every time they move, some part of their carapace shimmers or glitters or shines in the light. Lizzie makes a small affectionate noise, something between a purr and a coo. Between that, Flare's apparent unbotheredness, and the smell of the smoke wafting out of the thurible, she seems to have lost interest in the conversation entirely. Like a cat stretched out in a sunbeam, she hums, lulled into a sense of lazy contentment in her lover's arms. It's hard not to relax when she does, and Flare feels the uneasiness that came with the question ebb away in turn.

"It's... Well. It's a good question, honestly." It was something they'd been trying not to think too hard about for the past few loops. What are they doing here?

"I mean, it's a safe place to be. We're in good company. And Lizzie knows how to spit out blueprints that the drifters can plug into their bullshit, so that's always in demand." What she does with the bits and pieces of techrot that she demands in return aside from eating them, they still aren't quite sure. Something about building up biomass for later. Still, it's something to do. Keeps people talking to them, keeps them busy. But aside from that...

They shrug. "I first came here looking for something specific, but now I don't really need it anymore. That problem's solved..." They can't help but feel a twinge of guilt indirectly referring to Lizzie as a 'problem' -- But if she heard them, she doesn't seem to mind. She's far too comfortable to care, frankly. If she gets any cozier, she feels like she might forget how to be a guitar altogether and melt in their arms.

It takes Flare a moment to realize that they've completely trailed off, staring rather incriminatingly at Lizzie as they stew in thought. It's fine, they remind themself as they shake the cloud off. We worked it out. She's not holding it against you. Not worth dwelling on.

Darting along the glittering sword-steel and committing itself to memory. Along the lazy beast fattened off its own delight dangling in their arms. He surely is an observant man.

"But it's not a huge deal. Nobody's perfect, y'know?" That's what they've got to keep telling themself, anyway.

At Lyon's next question, Flare hesitates. Their face twitches a bit as they seem to consider it.

"Am I content with...? No. Gods, no!" They're hoping that laughing about it could help break up the knot in their gut, but hearing themself, they just sound like they're at the end of their rope. Which wouldn't be incorrect.

"Drives me a little crazy, honestly. Sometimes I wish I could just be anywhere but here, you know? But I have to..." I have to stay put until it happens. Which could be fucking any loop now, for all we know. "...I don't really have anywhere else to go. Nothing that'll stick, at least."

"I mean, it's not-- I guess it's not terrible, really." They know that's just his default expression, but the way the priest seems to stare right through them makes them feel like they might as well keep talking. "If I don't think about it, I get by alright." Which is perfectly healthy, surely. "I don't hate it all the time. It could be a lot worse."

It's just the waiting around that's killing them. Not knowing when the other shoe is gonna drop. Not knowing which loop they're going to start off with Kaya shaking them awake because the sky is starting to line up with her charts and it's really happening this time, no more waiting. Not knowing if the transformation is going to happen before or after they leave. Not knowing if one day they'll just wake up and find swordsteel and leatherskin where their face used to be, and then that's it. No more Flare. No more Lizzie. Just... Temple.

They feel something squeeze their hand, and the pressure snaps them out of... Whatever that was. Hopefully he doesn't ask them to explain.

Lyon bites the bullet and finally returns their eye contact, the lights of the stage casting harsh shadows against the chiseled lines of his face. He has hopes that doing such a thing would... calm the musician. Would cease the strange shuffles of their weight and brief expressions of worry when he looks away. Perhaps they desired this. The unchanging gaze of his polycoria, amaranth in hue and both pricks of black just as intimidating as the other. Perhaps they desired it...

Gods, all of that worry, and not even accounting whatever fucking Entrati had in store for them all. They hadn't even thought of that, not in this context, anyway. Where had he even gotten the samples to make the serum he gave to them? What would have happened if Kaya had never figured out where Temple came from -- Why leave it all up to chance like that? How many other things are there that need to happen for the future to turn out right? What happens if they miss one? Will they ever even know, or will the loop just keep them in the dark forever? What if they've already missed their chance, what happens then? What if--

Wait. This whole time, he's been speaking, and they haven't been paying attention to a word of it -- and he's still staring at them, clearly expecting some sort of response. Flare blinks. Maybe Lizzie heard-- no, she's asleep. She must have dozed off a while ago.

"Um..." Better come up with something. Something non-committal enough to be applicable to whatever he might have said, but without letting them agree to something unfortunate. Instinctively, they chew on their lip, a longstanding nervous habit -- one that's a lot less harmless now that their teeth are made of metal and razor-sharp. Ouch. Well, at least their blood still tastes... Sorta-human. Small victories.

Lyon's brows furrow as he watches the other protoframe. Had he spoken out of turn? Was relation to one's misery not the custom here? In this place and this time? Had he misread something? Misheard something?

They'd been expecting concern, sure, but what they see now is confusion. Flare's eyes widen as the realization sets in.

"Oh-- Oh, no! No, you're--" Relief manifests as laughter, though it's far less exasperated and much more genuine this time. You dumbass! Doubled over, waving their hands apologetically, as if they could dispel the miscommunication if they just tried hard enough. Lizzie is grumbling in their ear, having been so rudely awoken from her nap. "Shit, you're fine. I'm sorry, I--" Clearly feeling left out from whatever's so funny, she's chittering insistently, trying to get their attention, and that only makes the whole thing feel more ridiculous.

"I think I just-- You're so serious all the time, I thought--!" Okay, okay, maybe it's not that funny. "I just got carried away thinking about it, I guess. Thought this was going to be a totally different conversation..."

Under any other circumstances, if this had happened a few loops earlier, even, they would be so mortified that they wouldn't know what to do with themself. Probably make some lame excuse and escape to go hide. But right now, with Lizzie curled up and purring in the back of their mind -- You are Just sssssssssoooo Cuuute when You're embarrassed~!! -- it doesn't really feel that serious. They relax almost immediately, like nothing even happened. It's almost like they became an entirely different person for a few minutes.

Lyon averts his gaze and gives a brief, light laugh. "Ah, don't take this as me being averse to heavy topics however." He shrugs. "I had assumed we were being casual about this until you... Well, never mind that."

Shuffling of fabric. Clinking of chains. The smoke of his thurible twists and sways like grasping hands stretching towards the ceiling. Fluorescent lighting humming in his ears like a swarm of flies. And even with the many distractions around him, Lyon is foot first into the mall's tavern. Hands clasped behind his back. Posture stiff and formal. A nod to the counter's keeper as he is further drawn into the room.

Split gaze wandering towards the explorative chords strummed nearby...

Some days more than others, though, it feels a lot less like peace and quiet and a lot more like isolation. Like there's some invisible barrier between them and the rest of the people around them. They try not to take it too personally, of course. Things were... Different. When they'd first arrived.

After all, they're never truly alone. Not anymore.

Conversing with Lizzie is a lot easier, anyway. She's right there with them, watching them think and responding before the thoughts are even finished forming. It's easy to just... Let it sweep them up, and get lost in thought altogether. Only barely present. Sometimes, if they let their eyes unfocus, they feel like they can almost see flickers of something. Pillars of flesh and sinew, like massive trees, illuminated from within, clustered together as if sprouting from a single point. Whispering amongst themselves, but they can never understand what they're hearing. If only they could just get closer --

Someone is talking to them.

Flare blinks, and reality swims back into focus. They can feel Lizzie in the back of their head, chittering, giggling. The ghost of an affectionate pat on the head and lips on their cheek. Sssssssomeday, maybe... but Not yet.

The bar is the same as ever around them, save for a particularly out-of-place visitor. The priest is back. Flare can't help but smile, watching him cautiously carry a chair over to the edge of the stage. It's all so ridiculous, on the grand scale of things. A washed-up-rockstar mutant and a nineteenth century Gaullique priest of Lua walk into a bar...

Flare thinks about setting Lizzie down, but can feel her eagerness to greet this New Friend, like a persistent cat sticking its paws under a closed door, and thinks better of it. They return his nod, taking extra care to hold Lizzie a little tighter where she is. She's content now, but there's no telling when she might get bored and jump down off their lap to see what sort of funny noises Lyon might make if she pounced on him...

"It's usually quiet in the mornings, honestly. You picked a good time."

There's no way for him to know what she's thinking, but the sideways glances he keeps shooting at her are making it very clear that he still hasn't forgiven her for the last time, and she finds that just hilarious. Her emotions bleeding over are making it a bit hard to concentrate on greetings and formalities, and despite all best efforts, a chuckle slips out, followed immediately by a wince and a marked effort to change the subject.

"That's, uh. Yeah. Don't worry about it. We-- I get it." They tighten their grip around the neck of the guitar for a second. It's almost imperceptible. Just a quick squeeze across the frets, and then they visibly relax.

Lyon grants Flare a genuine smile, something rare. And then his eyes meet the guitar again. The smile tightens. Taut and strained. Yes, he remembers. Leaping and bounding up his legs like an untrained hound. He can still feel the shrillness of his yelp on his throat and the chains in his hands as he had tried to beat her back.

Ah. Right. They still aren't quite used to how blunt he can be sometimes. For a second, they stiffen, hair bristling, unsure of what he's trying to say but willing to hear him out...

"And jusssst What is THAT supposed To mean?!"

Lizzie, however, is not quite so patient.

Lyon jolts in his seat. His entire body stiffens on reflex, but his expression is surprisingly blank. Maybe a slight clench in his jaw, but that's it. It's the rest of him that responds. His relaxation gone as he sits upright. Legs squeezed tighter. Hands gripping themselves with the cadence of an eagle's talons.

He takes a deep breath of sandalwood and sighs.

Every time they move, some part of their carapace shimmers or glitters or shines in the light. Lizzie makes a small affectionate noise, something between a purr and a coo. Between that, Flare's apparent unbotheredness, and the smell of the smoke wafting out of the thurible, she seems to have lost interest in the conversation entirely. Like a cat stretched out in a sunbeam, she hums, lulled into a sense of lazy contentment in her lover's arms. It's hard not to relax when she does, and Flare feels the uneasiness that came with the question ebb away in turn.

"It's... Well. It's a good question, honestly." It was something they'd been trying not to think too hard about for the past few loops. What are they doing here?

"I mean, it's a safe place to be. We're in good company. And Lizzie knows how to spit out blueprints that the drifters can plug into their bullshit, so that's always in demand." What she does with the bits and pieces of techrot that she demands in return aside from eating them, they still aren't quite sure. Something about building up biomass for later. Still, it's something to do. Keeps people talking to them, keeps them busy. But aside from that...

They shrug. "I first came here looking for something specific, but now I don't really need it anymore. That problem's solved..." They can't help but feel a twinge of guilt indirectly referring to Lizzie as a 'problem' -- But if she heard them, she doesn't seem to mind. She's far too comfortable to care, frankly. If she gets any cozier, she feels like she might forget how to be a guitar altogether and melt in their arms.

It takes Flare a moment to realize that they've completely trailed off, staring rather incriminatingly at Lizzie as they stew in thought. It's fine, they remind themself as they shake the cloud off. We worked it out. She's not holding it against you. Not worth dwelling on.

Darting along the glittering sword-steel and committing itself to memory. Along the lazy beast fattened off its own delight dangling in their arms. He surely is an observant man.

"But it's not a huge deal. Nobody's perfect, y'know?" That's what they've got to keep telling themself, anyway.

At Lyon's next question, Flare hesitates. Their face twitches a bit as they seem to consider it.

"Am I content with...? No. Gods, no!" They're hoping that laughing about it could help break up the knot in their gut, but hearing themself, they just sound like they're at the end of their rope. Which wouldn't be incorrect.

"Drives me a little crazy, honestly. Sometimes I wish I could just be anywhere but here, you know? But I have to..." I have to stay put until it happens. Which could be fucking any loop now, for all we know. "...I don't really have anywhere else to go. Nothing that'll stick, at least."

"I mean, it's not-- I guess it's not terrible, really." They know that's just his default expression, but the way the priest seems to stare right through them makes them feel like they might as well keep talking. "If I don't think about it, I get by alright." Which is perfectly healthy, surely. "I don't hate it all the time. It could be a lot worse."

It's just the waiting around that's killing them. Not knowing when the other shoe is gonna drop. Not knowing which loop they're going to start off with Kaya shaking them awake because the sky is starting to line up with her charts and it's really happening this time, no more waiting. Not knowing if the transformation is going to happen before or after they leave. Not knowing if one day they'll just wake up and find swordsteel and leatherskin where their face used to be, and then that's it. No more Flare. No more Lizzie. Just... Temple.

They feel something squeeze their hand, and the pressure snaps them out of... Whatever that was. Hopefully he doesn't ask them to explain.

Lyon bites the bullet and finally returns their eye contact, the lights of the stage casting harsh shadows against the chiseled lines of his face. He has hopes that doing such a thing would... calm the musician. Would cease the strange shuffles of their weight and brief expressions of worry when he looks away. Perhaps they desired this. The unchanging gaze of his polycoria, amaranth in hue and both pricks of black just as intimidating as the other. Perhaps they desired it...

Gods, all of that worry, and not even accounting whatever fucking Entrati had in store for them all. They hadn't even thought of that, not in this context, anyway. Where had he even gotten the samples to make the serum he gave to them? What would have happened if Kaya had never figured out where Temple came from -- Why leave it all up to chance like that? How many other things are there that need to happen for the future to turn out right? What happens if they miss one? Will they ever even know, or will the loop just keep them in the dark forever? What if they've already missed their chance, what happens then? What if--

Wait. This whole time, he's been speaking, and they haven't been paying attention to a word of it -- and he's still staring at them, clearly expecting some sort of response. Flare blinks. Maybe Lizzie heard-- no, she's asleep. She must have dozed off a while ago.

"Um..." Better come up with something. Something non-committal enough to be applicable to whatever he might have said, but without letting them agree to something unfortunate. Instinctively, they chew on their lip, a longstanding nervous habit -- one that's a lot less harmless now that their teeth are made of metal and razor-sharp. Ouch. Well, at least their blood still tastes... Sorta-human. Small victories.

Lyon's brows furrow as he watches the other protoframe. Had he spoken out of turn? Was relation to one's misery not the custom here? In this place and this time? Had he misread something? Misheard something?

Shuffling of fabric. Clinking of chains. The smoke of his thurible twists and sways like grasping hands stretching towards the ceiling. Fluorescent lighting humming in his ears like a swarm of flies. And even with the many distractions around him, Lyon is foot first into the mall's tavern. Hands clasped behind his back. Posture stiff and formal. A nod to the counter's keeper as he is further drawn into the room.

Split gaze wandering towards the explorative chords strummed nearby...

Some days more than others, though, it feels a lot less like peace and quiet and a lot more like isolation. Like there's some invisible barrier between them and the rest of the people around them. They try not to take it too personally, of course. Things were... Different. When they'd first arrived.

After all, they're never truly alone. Not anymore.

Conversing with Lizzie is a lot easier, anyway. She's right there with them, watching them think and responding before the thoughts are even finished forming. It's easy to just... Let it sweep them up, and get lost in thought altogether. Only barely present. Sometimes, if they let their eyes unfocus, they feel like they can almost see flickers of something. Pillars of flesh and sinew, like massive trees, illuminated from within, clustered together as if sprouting from a single point. Whispering amongst themselves, but they can never understand what they're hearing. If only they could just get closer --

Someone is talking to them.

Flare blinks, and reality swims back into focus. They can feel Lizzie in the back of their head, chittering, giggling. The ghost of an affectionate pat on the head and lips on their cheek. Sssssssomeday, maybe... but Not yet.

The bar is the same as ever around them, save for a particularly out-of-place visitor. The priest is back. Flare can't help but smile, watching him cautiously carry a chair over to the edge of the stage. It's all so ridiculous, on the grand scale of things. A washed-up-rockstar mutant and a nineteenth century Gaullique priest of Lua walk into a bar...

Flare thinks about setting Lizzie down, but can feel her eagerness to greet this New Friend, like a persistent cat sticking its paws under a closed door, and thinks better of it. They return his nod, taking extra care to hold Lizzie a little tighter where she is. She's content now, but there's no telling when she might get bored and jump down off their lap to see what sort of funny noises Lyon might make if she pounced on him...

"It's usually quiet in the mornings, honestly. You picked a good time."

There's no way for him to know what she's thinking, but the sideways glances he keeps shooting at her are making it very clear that he still hasn't forgiven her for the last time, and she finds that just hilarious. Her emotions bleeding over are making it a bit hard to concentrate on greetings and formalities, and despite all best efforts, a chuckle slips out, followed immediately by a wince and a marked effort to change the subject.

"That's, uh. Yeah. Don't worry about it. We-- I get it." They tighten their grip around the neck of the guitar for a second. It's almost imperceptible. Just a quick squeeze across the frets, and then they visibly relax.

Lyon grants Flare a genuine smile, something rare. And then his eyes meet the guitar again. The smile tightens. Taut and strained. Yes, he remembers. Leaping and bounding up his legs like an untrained hound. He can still feel the shrillness of his yelp on his throat and the chains in his hands as he had tried to beat her back.

Ah. Right. They still aren't quite used to how blunt he can be sometimes. For a second, they stiffen, hair bristling, unsure of what he's trying to say but willing to hear him out...

"And jusssst What is THAT supposed To mean?!"

Lizzie, however, is not quite so patient.

Lyon jolts in his seat. His entire body stiffens on reflex, but his expression is surprisingly blank. Maybe a slight clench in his jaw, but that's it. It's the rest of him that responds. His relaxation gone as he sits upright. Legs squeezed tighter. Hands gripping themselves with the cadence of an eagle's talons.

He takes a deep breath of sandalwood and sighs.

Every time they move, some part of their carapace shimmers or glitters or shines in the light. Lizzie makes a small affectionate noise, something between a purr and a coo. Between that, Flare's apparent unbotheredness, and the smell of the smoke wafting out of the thurible, she seems to have lost interest in the conversation entirely. Like a cat stretched out in a sunbeam, she hums, lulled into a sense of lazy contentment in her lover's arms. It's hard not to relax when she does, and Flare feels the uneasiness that came with the question ebb away in turn.

"It's... Well. It's a good question, honestly." It was something they'd been trying not to think too hard about for the past few loops. What are they doing here?

"I mean, it's a safe place to be. We're in good company. And Lizzie knows how to spit out blueprints that the drifters can plug into their bullshit, so that's always in demand." What she does with the bits and pieces of techrot that she demands in return aside from eating them, they still aren't quite sure. Something about building up biomass for later. Still, it's something to do. Keeps people talking to them, keeps them busy. But aside from that...

They shrug. "I first came here looking for something specific, but now I don't really need it anymore. That problem's solved..." They can't help but feel a twinge of guilt indirectly referring to Lizzie as a 'problem' -- But if she heard them, she doesn't seem to mind. She's far too comfortable to care, frankly. If she gets any cozier, she feels like she might forget how to be a guitar altogether and melt in their arms.

It takes Flare a moment to realize that they've completely trailed off, staring rather incriminatingly at Lizzie as they stew in thought. It's fine, they remind themself as they shake the cloud off. We worked it out. She's not holding it against you. Not worth dwelling on.

Darting along the glittering sword-steel and committing itself to memory. Along the lazy beast fattened off its own delight dangling in their arms. He surely is an observant man.

"But it's not a huge deal. Nobody's perfect, y'know?" That's what they've got to keep telling themself, anyway.

At Lyon's next question, Flare hesitates. Their face twitches a bit as they seem to consider it.

"Am I content with...? No. Gods, no!" They're hoping that laughing about it could help break up the knot in their gut, but hearing themself, they just sound like they're at the end of their rope. Which wouldn't be incorrect.

"Drives me a little crazy, honestly. Sometimes I wish I could just be anywhere but here, you know? But I have to..." I have to stay put until it happens. Which could be fucking any loop now, for all we know. "...I don't really have anywhere else to go. Nothing that'll stick, at least."

"I mean, it's not-- I guess it's not terrible, really." They know that's just his default expression, but the way the priest seems to stare right through them makes them feel like they might as well keep talking. "If I don't think about it, I get by alright." Which is perfectly healthy, surely. "I don't hate it all the time. It could be a lot worse."

It's just the waiting around that's killing them. Not knowing when the other shoe is gonna drop. Not knowing which loop they're going to start off with Kaya shaking them awake because the sky is starting to line up with her charts and it's really happening this time, no more waiting. Not knowing if the transformation is going to happen before or after they leave. Not knowing if one day they'll just wake up and find swordsteel and leatherskin where their face used to be, and then that's it. No more Flare. No more Lizzie. Just... Temple.

They feel something squeeze their hand, and the pressure snaps them out of... Whatever that was. Hopefully he doesn't ask them to explain.

Lyon bites the bullet and finally returns their eye contact, the lights of the stage casting harsh shadows against the chiseled lines of his face. He has hopes that doing such a thing would... calm the musician. Would cease the strange shuffles of their weight and brief expressions of worry when he looks away. Perhaps they desired this. The unchanging gaze of his polycoria, amaranth in hue and both pricks of black just as intimidating as the other. Perhaps they desired it...

Shuffling of fabric. Clinking of chains. The smoke of his thurible twists and sways like grasping hands stretching towards the ceiling. Fluorescent lighting humming in his ears like a swarm of flies. And even with the many distractions around him, Lyon is foot first into the mall's tavern. Hands clasped behind his back. Posture stiff and formal. A nod to the counter's keeper as he is further drawn into the room.

Split gaze wandering towards the explorative chords strummed nearby...

Some days more than others, though, it feels a lot less like peace and quiet and a lot more like isolation. Like there's some invisible barrier between them and the rest of the people around them. They try not to take it too personally, of course. Things were... Different. When they'd first arrived.

After all, they're never truly alone. Not anymore.

Conversing with Lizzie is a lot easier, anyway. She's right there with them, watching them think and responding before the thoughts are even finished forming. It's easy to just... Let it sweep them up, and get lost in thought altogether. Only barely present. Sometimes, if they let their eyes unfocus, they feel like they can almost see flickers of something. Pillars of flesh and sinew, like massive trees, illuminated from within, clustered together as if sprouting from a single point. Whispering amongst themselves, but they can never understand what they're hearing. If only they could just get closer --

Someone is talking to them.

Flare blinks, and reality swims back into focus. They can feel Lizzie in the back of their head, chittering, giggling. The ghost of an affectionate pat on the head and lips on their cheek. Sssssssomeday, maybe... but Not yet.

The bar is the same as ever around them, save for a particularly out-of-place visitor. The priest is back. Flare can't help but smile, watching him cautiously carry a chair over to the edge of the stage. It's all so ridiculous, on the grand scale of things. A washed-up-rockstar mutant and a nineteenth century Gaullique priest of Lua walk into a bar...

Flare thinks about setting Lizzie down, but can feel her eagerness to greet this New Friend, like a persistent cat sticking its paws under a closed door, and thinks better of it. They return his nod, taking extra care to hold Lizzie a little tighter where she is. She's content now, but there's no telling when she might get bored and jump down off their lap to see what sort of funny noises Lyon might make if she pounced on him...

"It's usually quiet in the mornings, honestly. You picked a good time."

There's no way for him to know what she's thinking, but the sideways glances he keeps shooting at her are making it very clear that he still hasn't forgiven her for the last time, and she finds that just hilarious. Her emotions bleeding over are making it a bit hard to concentrate on greetings and formalities, and despite all best efforts, a chuckle slips out, followed immediately by a wince and a marked effort to change the subject.

"That's, uh. Yeah. Don't worry about it. We-- I get it." They tighten their grip around the neck of the guitar for a second. It's almost imperceptible. Just a quick squeeze across the frets, and then they visibly relax.

Lyon grants Flare a genuine smile, something rare. And then his eyes meet the guitar again. The smile tightens. Taut and strained. Yes, he remembers. Leaping and bounding up his legs like an untrained hound. He can still feel the shrillness of his yelp on his throat and the chains in his hands as he had tried to beat her back.

Ah. Right. They still aren't quite used to how blunt he can be sometimes. For a second, they stiffen, hair bristling, unsure of what he's trying to say but willing to hear him out...

"And jusssst What is THAT supposed To mean?!"

Lizzie, however, is not quite so patient.

Lyon jolts in his seat. His entire body stiffens on reflex, but his expression is surprisingly blank. Maybe a slight clench in his jaw, but that's it. It's the rest of him that responds. His relaxation gone as he sits upright. Legs squeezed tighter. Hands gripping themselves with the cadence of an eagle's talons.

He takes a deep breath of sandalwood and sighs.

Every time they move, some part of their carapace shimmers or glitters or shines in the light. Lizzie makes a small affectionate noise, something between a purr and a coo. Between that, Flare's apparent unbotheredness, and the smell of the smoke wafting out of the thurible, she seems to have lost interest in the conversation entirely. Like a cat stretched out in a sunbeam, she hums, lulled into a sense of lazy contentment in her lover's arms. It's hard not to relax when she does, and Flare feels the uneasiness that came with the question ebb away in turn.

"It's... Well. It's a good question, honestly." It was something they'd been trying not to think too hard about for the past few loops. What are they doing here?

"I mean, it's a safe place to be. We're in good company. And Lizzie knows how to spit out blueprints that the drifters can plug into their bullshit, so that's always in demand." What she does with the bits and pieces of techrot that she demands in return aside from eating them, they still aren't quite sure. Something about building up biomass for later. Still, it's something to do. Keeps people talking to them, keeps them busy. But aside from that...

They shrug. "I first came here looking for something specific, but now I don't really need it anymore. That problem's solved..." They can't help but feel a twinge of guilt indirectly referring to Lizzie as a 'problem' -- But if she heard them, she doesn't seem to mind. She's far too comfortable to care, frankly. If she gets any cozier, she feels like she might forget how to be a guitar altogether and melt in their arms.

It takes Flare a moment to realize that they've completely trailed off, staring rather incriminatingly at Lizzie as they stew in thought. It's fine, they remind themself as they shake the cloud off. We worked it out. She's not holding it against you. Not worth dwelling on.

Darting along the glittering sword-steel and committing itself to memory. Along the lazy beast fattened off its own delight dangling in their arms. He surely is an observant man.

Shuffling of fabric. Clinking of chains. The smoke of his thurible twists and sways like grasping hands stretching towards the ceiling. Fluorescent lighting humming in his ears like a swarm of flies. And even with the many distractions around him, Lyon is foot first into the mall's tavern. Hands clasped behind his back. Posture stiff and formal. A nod to the counter's keeper as he is further drawn into the room.

Split gaze wandering towards the explorative chords strummed nearby...

Some days more than others, though, it feels a lot less like peace and quiet and a lot more like isolation. Like there's some invisible barrier between them and the rest of the people around them. They try not to take it too personally, of course. Things were... Different. When they'd first arrived.

After all, they're never truly alone. Not anymore.

Conversing with Lizzie is a lot easier, anyway. She's right there with them, watching them think and responding before the thoughts are even finished forming. It's easy to just... Let it sweep them up, and get lost in thought altogether. Only barely present. Sometimes, if they let their eyes unfocus, they feel like they can almost see flickers of something. Pillars of flesh and sinew, like massive trees, illuminated from within, clustered together as if sprouting from a single point. Whispering amongst themselves, but they can never understand what they're hearing. If only they could just get closer --

Someone is talking to them.

Flare blinks, and reality swims back into focus. They can feel Lizzie in the back of their head, chittering, giggling. The ghost of an affectionate pat on the head and lips on their cheek. Sssssssomeday, maybe... but Not yet.

The bar is the same as ever around them, save for a particularly out-of-place visitor. The priest is back. Flare can't help but smile, watching him cautiously carry a chair over to the edge of the stage. It's all so ridiculous, on the grand scale of things. A washed-up-rockstar mutant and a nineteenth century Gaullique priest of Lua walk into a bar...

Flare thinks about setting Lizzie down, but can feel her eagerness to greet this New Friend, like a persistent cat sticking its paws under a closed door, and thinks better of it. They return his nod, taking extra care to hold Lizzie a little tighter where she is. She's content now, but there's no telling when she might get bored and jump down off their lap to see what sort of funny noises Lyon might make if she pounced on him...

"It's usually quiet in the mornings, honestly. You picked a good time."

There's no way for him to know what she's thinking, but the sideways glances he keeps shooting at her are making it very clear that he still hasn't forgiven her for the last time, and she finds that just hilarious. Her emotions bleeding over are making it a bit hard to concentrate on greetings and formalities, and despite all best efforts, a chuckle slips out, followed immediately by a wince and a marked effort to change the subject.

"That's, uh. Yeah. Don't worry about it. We-- I get it." They tighten their grip around the neck of the guitar for a second. It's almost imperceptible. Just a quick squeeze across the frets, and then they visibly relax.

Lyon grants Flare a genuine smile, something rare. And then his eyes meet the guitar again. The smile tightens. Taut and strained. Yes, he remembers. Leaping and bounding up his legs like an untrained hound. He can still feel the shrillness of his yelp on his throat and the chains in his hands as he had tried to beat her back.

Ah. Right. They still aren't quite used to how blunt he can be sometimes. For a second, they stiffen, hair bristling, unsure of what he's trying to say but willing to hear him out...

"And jusssst What is THAT supposed To mean?!"

Lizzie, however, is not quite so patient.

Lyon jolts in his seat. His entire body stiffens on reflex, but his expression is surprisingly blank. Maybe a slight clench in his jaw, but that's it. It's the rest of him that responds. His relaxation gone as he sits upright. Legs squeezed tighter. Hands gripping themselves with the cadence of an eagle's talons.

He takes a deep breath of sandalwood and sighs.

Shuffling of fabric. Clinking of chains. The smoke of his thurible twists and sways like grasping hands stretching towards the ceiling. Fluorescent lighting humming in his ears like a swarm of flies. And even with the many distractions around him, Lyon is foot first into the mall's tavern. Hands clasped behind his back. Posture stiff and formal. A nod to the counter's keeper as he is further drawn into the room.

Split gaze wandering towards the explorative chords strummed nearby...

Some days more than others, though, it feels a lot less like peace and quiet and a lot more like isolation. Like there's some invisible barrier between them and the rest of the people around them. They try not to take it too personally, of course. Things were... Different. When they'd first arrived.

After all, they're never truly alone. Not anymore.

Conversing with Lizzie is a lot easier, anyway. She's right there with them, watching them think and responding before the thoughts are even finished forming. It's easy to just... Let it sweep them up, and get lost in thought altogether. Only barely present. Sometimes, if they let their eyes unfocus, they feel like they can almost see flickers of something. Pillars of flesh and sinew, like massive trees, illuminated from within, clustered together as if sprouting from a single point. Whispering amongst themselves, but they can never understand what they're hearing. If only they could just get closer --

Someone is talking to them.

Flare blinks, and reality swims back into focus. They can feel Lizzie in the back of their head, chittering, giggling. The ghost of an affectionate pat on the head and lips on their cheek. Sssssssomeday, maybe... but Not yet.

The bar is the same as ever around them, save for a particularly out-of-place visitor. The priest is back. Flare can't help but smile, watching him cautiously carry a chair over to the edge of the stage. It's all so ridiculous, on the grand scale of things. A washed-up-rockstar mutant and a nineteenth century Gaullique priest of Lua walk into a bar...

Flare thinks about setting Lizzie down, but can feel her eagerness to greet this New Friend, like a persistent cat sticking its paws under a closed door, and thinks better of it. They return his nod, taking extra care to hold Lizzie a little tighter where she is. She's content now, but there's no telling when she might get bored and jump down off their lap to see what sort of funny noises Lyon might make if she pounced on him...

"It's usually quiet in the mornings, honestly. You picked a good time."

There's no way for him to know what she's thinking, but the sideways glances he keeps shooting at her are making it very clear that he still hasn't forgiven her for the last time, and she finds that just hilarious. Her emotions bleeding over are making it a bit hard to concentrate on greetings and formalities, and despite all best efforts, a chuckle slips out, followed immediately by a wince and a marked effort to change the subject.

"That's, uh. Yeah. Don't worry about it. We-- I get it." They tighten their grip around the neck of the guitar for a second. It's almost imperceptible. Just a quick squeeze across the frets, and then they visibly relax.

Lyon grants Flare a genuine smile, something rare. And then his eyes meet the guitar again. The smile tightens. Taut and strained. Yes, he remembers. Leaping and bounding up his legs like an untrained hound. He can still feel the shrillness of his yelp on his throat and the chains in his hands as he had tried to beat her back.