casualry no more

1. Why did you choose the character you play?

2. Do you associate yourself with this character in any way?

3. What do you like most about the character you play?

4. What do you dislike about your character?

5. Has your character grown/changed in any way since being brought to the Hive?

6. Are you confident in this muse?

7. Do you have role models among the muns?

8. Do you see yourself keeping this muse?

9. How do you deal with writer’s block?

10. Are there any songs you associate with your muse?

11. If you could tell your character something right now what would it be?

1st person gets a rose

2nd person gets a kiss on the cheek

3rd person gets to sleep in my bed

4th person gets a kiss on the lips

L͝u̸͠cif̷ȩ͠r҉̛ ̧͢͜gr̢ab̸b́͞ì͜n͝g h͘í͡m.̨́́

The glitch seemed to become more apparent. Sometimes one Wing came into focus, the other distorted, or not even there at all before flickering into existence. He knew that Walter was only grabbing him in earnest - wracked with worry — trying to h̀ú̸̶͘r̢t̨͜͜͢͡ him.

Hands reached out, reacting quickly to the tight grip. Fingers encircled that throat. He touched both material of the scarf around the other’s neck, as well as the flesh it defended. Squ͏èez҉e͞.̕ C̨͠hok҉̛e̵.̸҉ K̨̢̡͢ì̴͘͝l͏͜l̶͘͟͢-́͏̕͞-҉̨͟—

Jonathan physically flinched at the corruption echoing in his head. So much noise, so many things at once he didnt know what way was up anymore. His grip on Walter’s throat faltered, and Jonathan tore away from the son of Chaos’ grip, stumbling back and clutching at his head.

“̶͜Ļ̷͞u͏-̷̧-̸c̷̨if͡ ̴̡͠ ̡͘er̨,” His voice crackled, sights wavering, form glitching and jumping from one image to another. Traces of Merkabah appearing and vanishing and altering with each glitch. He could not longer tell. Was he still Jonathan? Was he the Charriot of God? Or was he something else? Something worse and evil that even Lucifer would wish to dispose of?

Walter's breath hitched in his throat at the feel of smooth fingers--colder than he remembered, far too cold--encircling his neck. Walter trembled, but his hold on Jonathan's shoulders did not falter. It was strange, the way his mind seemed to clear with the other's fingers coiling around his neck. You would think his thoughts would become murkier with the lack of oxygen flowing through his system. His trachea felt as though it had been sealed off by Jonathan's strong--too strong--and yet Walter felt his strange glitching cease. There was no distant repetition of "Merkabah" in the corners of his mind, even as he met Jonathan's unwavering golden gaze. He could see the wings flickering in and out of view on the other, and Walter deliberated for a moment. The pads of Jonathan's fingers were soft, no matter how hard their grip. Their gentle texture reminded Walter of how he had thought the wings of an angel might feel against his skin...

He watched with careful eyes as Jonathan flinched, hard, before releasing his grip on Walter's throat and stumbling backward, out of Walter's hands. The samurai choked, breathing deeply in between the coughs that racked his chest, lurching his body forward in some desperate effort to retain lost oxygen. Gripping for something, anything, he tugged hard at the blue scarf around his neck. After his lungs settled, he glanced upward at the other samurai before him. The way Jonathan's fingers trembled, flying to grip at his own head hurt Walter. He felt his feet begging to step forward so that his itching hands might be able to reach the other samurai and offer some sort of soothing-- ＭＥＲＫＡＢＡＨ

Damn it all! He had only just freed himself of these thoughts, and here he was, once again in that foreign fog with that voice, far too reminiscent of his own for comfort, ringing in his ears.

"Wal͟t̸̴ę͘r̴̢?”

No, that wasn’t right. That’s not who he was. That was a foolish notion. It wà̡̢ş — ẁ͟͡a͠s͏͡n͜͝t Walter, was it? His head hurt, was it him? Was it the corruption? What ç̨or̕͢r҉u̷̶p̴͘͞t͠͞͡iò̕n̢? 

Jonathan held his head in his hands, staggering forward. What was reality and what was simply his own errors due to whatever was happening with this town? Not even Burroughs seemed capable of responding to him. Even his wings seemed to flicker and distort with the data corruption that was messing with his head. But when he stopped it wasn’t the Jonathan that Walter knew - it was Merkabah.

Who was it, again? JonathＭｅｒｋａｂａｈＭｅｒｋａｂａｈＭｅｒｋａｂａｈＭｅｒｋａｂａｈＭｅｒｋａｂａｈＭｅｒｋａｂａｈ

No, no, this glitching figure had his voice it was him it could only be him. "Jonathan..." The name fell off Walter's tongue without a thought and yes, of course, it was him.

Walter's eyebrows knit together in frustration and clouded confusion. 'Sow the seeds of Chaos and lead the sons of man away from their righteous path.' Walter snarled. What in hells bells did that mean? Jonathan was clearly not himself, but this was so much more.

And what was is that Jonathan had called him? That name had seemed so familiar, but where had he ever heard it before then? He was Walter, just Walter, nothing but Walter Walter WaＬＵＣＩＦＥＲ

"There is something terribly wrong here."

Jonathan wasn’t feeling quite himself. The announcement that had crackled throughout the city earlier had him worried, not to mention the sudden changes in the surrounding area. He’d been just leaving his home, only to barely escape the reaching vines of various plants in the elevator. The ride up felt like it took forever. The elevator grew more stuffy and crowding by the second. Jonathan felt feverish, his head throbbed as if his heartbeat was in his head. 

"What is Ḥ̼̼̭̰̟̤̊a͖̼̩̮̯̚ppening? My hͥ͒̿͊e̩͕͢a̻͓̗͕̳ͪ͒̋̽̓̾͂d̜͚̻̤̽̈— “

It was as if the entire elevator had stopped now, 

Glitch- Ǧ͓͖̠̈́̿̋ͬ̂́l͙̥̯̥̲̞̉ͦͪͮ̔i̦̦̥͗ͪẗ͉̜̤͉͎̬̗́̇c̾ͨ̽ͥh̥͉͎̻͎̋̓-͖̹̟ͥ͆͑̑̂̓͢

He could faintly see it in the reflection of the closed doors. It wasn’t the elevator glitching, it was him. Feathers in his hair, coming from his back — were those wings.

Ǧ͓͖̠̈́̿̋ͬ̂́l͙̥̯̥̲̞̉ͦͪͮ̔i̦̦̥͗ͪẗ͉̜̤͉͎̬̗́̇c̾ͨ̽ͥh̥͉͎̻͎̋̓-͖̹̟ͥ͆͑̑̂̓͢

Of course they were. What else would they be? His form was incomplete, but it seemed in this current state there was nothing more that could be done. He would have to clean out the corrupted filth suppressing his holy form. Suddenly it seemed as if the doors opened, or had they been opened this whole time, simply waiting for him to realize it. He stepped out into the cooler air up top, the flickering image of wings stretching out from his back as a look of almost bliss seemed to come to his face. 

Outside was nice, outside was w͕̤̲̫͒r̢̠̗̹̝o̽͑ͬ͂̅͢nͦ̿́̀̾̐ğ̸̜̣̮͗. It was all w͕̤̲̫͒r̢̠̗̹̝o̽͑ͬ͂̅͢nͦ̿́̀̾̐ğ̸̜̣̮͗ and c̴̱̈́̿͑o̫̹͓͙̬̣̾̒̂̆̅ṙ̦͈̘̮͂ͪ͘r̸̲͕̪͉ͬ̓͋̍͌ͬͅu̲̖̱̪̫̮̿̂̇͊͋p͑͗҉̝̪̙t̊̃̿͌̐͏e̹̤̞̠̜̊͑͒d̼͕̦͙͎̘ͤ̓̿̏͜. Why had he not seen all this filth earlier? All these sinners and unclean ones. They must be judged in the name of the lord and cleansed, wiped out. He had to find those who walked in the light of God and protect them form the taint of Lucifer.

Jonathan Jonathan Jonathan Ｍｅｒｋａｂａｈ

Walter's breath hitched in his throat, his entire body screeching to an abrupt halt. He could feel his heart pound against his chest. Merka--what...? Was he glitching, too?

No--No, surely not. He frowned deeply, pulling himself into a run.

The elevator--if he could reach the elevator, he could reach Jonathan, and then he could be certain the other was safe. It came into sight before he had realized it, and in but an instant, Walter felt his feet cease to move, his body going rigid at the familiar form before him. He had heard only a piece of the other's words but...

Walter blinked. That voice--that voice he knew that voice. It was Jonathan, but...

He blinked again. Were those... wings? Walter exhaled, realizing his fists were clenched tightly at his sides. He felt something akin to anger welling within him, but why? What was--

ＭＥＲＫＡＢＡＨ

He flinched. Had he glitched again? Inhaling deeply Walter desperately attempted to settle himself before speaking.

"W-Walter I am fine, I assure you," he protested, brows furrowing ever so slightly from the pressure on his arm. Any harder and those fingers would leave bruises against his skin. Walter had such strong hands - callous too, though to be expected of the son of a fishermen.

Jonathan slowly nodded his head, letting out a soft breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding with how close Walter had come. Now that the other had taken a step back… Jonathan seemed less tense. “I am well, Walter, you needn’t worry about me so,” he assured his fellow. “I have taken proper precaution. My illness has indeed passed and I am healthy again.”

"Some of the actions I took were not..." He paused, scowling while the proper words escaped him. "They were acts of impulse and desperation." He clarified. Shakily, he took in a breath. "I know what I resorted to could be considered... strange, and I apologize if I made you uncomfortable..."

"I…thought so as well," he answered, composing himself. "Along with the matter that since I received access to Burroughs, then surely soon enough you shall have yours returned as well." The lingering hand was, sadly, more of a focus of his mind than the words he actually spoke. Cheeks tainted a light, dusty pink upon Walter’s withdrawal of it. 

Master, are you feeling all right? I've noted a sudden increase in heart rate.

"Hoy, hold a moment, Jonathan. Don't pass it off so lightly. It could be some lingering effect from that illness--"

He stopped himself short, realizing his rather close proximity with the other. His grip softened, eyes narrowing in self-irritation. Walter knew he was more brash than most, but since when did he get so worked up over something so small? Especially with Jonathan. It wasn't that he did not think the other could take care of himself--no, he was certain the other was fine by his lonesome. So the question begged on; why was he acting this way?

Realizing the prolonged silence that he had hung in the air, Walter coughed, withdrawing himself from his thoughts.

"I have some good news, Walter," Jonathan answered, shutting the door after his fellow had entered. "I’d thought it best to share with you. My friend Morgan had explained to me that after an amount of time, we receive some of our items back. And though it may be restricted…" Jonathan lifted his left arm, showing his returned gauntlet with pride. "I must have reached the first milestone, because my Gauntlet and Burroughs have been returned to me."

The image... Followed by that familiar feminine voice...

"Burroughs?" Walter felt a smile tugging at the edges of this lips while he struggled to hide the excitement in his voice. True, this was not his Burroughs. It was Jonathan's. But even so, a warm feeling of reunion began to stir in the samurai's stomach.

Jonathan had been most elated to have gotten his gauntlet and Burroughs back that he had nearly forgotten the events of his prior illness from days before. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind when there came a knock at his door. It had to have been Walter. Jonathan was rather eager to show him that he’d gotten Burroughs back, and therefore, it wouldn’t be long until he had his back and they could keep in touch with each other easier. 

"Don't get me wrong, I am relieved to see you doing so well, but..."

He laughed under his breath while he ducked ever so slightly and stepped into the room.