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THE REGENT'S ADDRESS [OPEN TO ALL]
[It comes on fast, once the Regent has your spirit in their hold. Around you, you may see other Aions stumble in the same moment, as if shaken by the same tectonic motion. An inexorable darkness claws at your senses, and you have only a few moments, hard fought, to reposition yourself so that you don't simply drop to the ground when it overtakes you. It has similarities to Communion, to the way another entity's thoughts and words reach out to your mind, but by the same token it's entirely foreign.
This presence is not like another person, it is like a raging, screaming cacophony that drowns out everything else in its path. Whether you be Kenoma or Pleroma, the Regent's presence in this metaphysical realm is staggering. To the Pleroma, though, it also feels caustic, as if the movement of their aura is enough to erode your own, with time.
Gradually, a new world forms. Unlike other Communions, where you are ultimately grounded in reality, here you can been dragged to what seems to be its own distinct psychic realm. A vast, void-filled courtroom, where only the throne at its front has a defined form. Around you, you see shadows of other people, other Aions, that have summoned along with you... but for the moment they seem spectral and unclear, their identities obscured by the realm's aggressive focus on its master.
The Regent sits at their throne, their body swathed in dark fabrics that drift and flutter like smoke. They have no face to be seen, only a faceted silver mask, without any markings or the barest indication of what might be beneath it. Their size is indistinct, maybe a bit taller than you are. They at first sit reclined, but straight up as their 'guests' arrive.]
It's been a long time coming, my subjects.
[At first, they are the only one that can be heard. Though you feel as if you have some physical presence here, a shadowy body of your own, if you attempt to speak no sound emerges.]
To the Pleroma: well done surviving thus far. Granted, I feel as if my Kenoma have made things easy for you. How strange, that most of you were allowed to wander a city within my empire without recourse. Able to summon that wretched creature to your side, even.
I hope you've enjoyed yourself, in the time you've had, because this will be no more. You've spread your infection in Venera, in Godsblood, and it is only necessary that these wounds be cleansed by the touch of the Kenoma. Your presence gives the people ideas... ideas that would disrupt the fragile peace they've come to enjoy, after so many years of suffering. As a kindness, I will only trim the vine, rather than burn the vineyard. What Venerans have taken up your cause, I will see shorn from my empire. And in Godsblood... an example will be made, as of the Sovereign's moon.
My Kenoma will do this for me. Fight them, if you want. But know that I am no longer asking for your fealty. I am demanding it.
[As if opening their court for questions, you will find yourself more able to act. Those that speak or take action will find their physical forms taking shape, standing in the court as people rather than shadows. If you want to question the Regent, now is the time to do so.
OOC: This post is a free for all! We will try to response as the Regent to people who directly engage with them, but you are also allowed to threadjack and interact with each other if you like. Please note that we will not be responding to tag ins done later than the 12th.]
This presence is not like another person, it is like a raging, screaming cacophony that drowns out everything else in its path. Whether you be Kenoma or Pleroma, the Regent's presence in this metaphysical realm is staggering. To the Pleroma, though, it also feels caustic, as if the movement of their aura is enough to erode your own, with time.
Gradually, a new world forms. Unlike other Communions, where you are ultimately grounded in reality, here you can been dragged to what seems to be its own distinct psychic realm. A vast, void-filled courtroom, where only the throne at its front has a defined form. Around you, you see shadows of other people, other Aions, that have summoned along with you... but for the moment they seem spectral and unclear, their identities obscured by the realm's aggressive focus on its master.
The Regent sits at their throne, their body swathed in dark fabrics that drift and flutter like smoke. They have no face to be seen, only a faceted silver mask, without any markings or the barest indication of what might be beneath it. Their size is indistinct, maybe a bit taller than you are. They at first sit reclined, but straight up as their 'guests' arrive.]
It's been a long time coming, my subjects.
[At first, they are the only one that can be heard. Though you feel as if you have some physical presence here, a shadowy body of your own, if you attempt to speak no sound emerges.]
To the Pleroma: well done surviving thus far. Granted, I feel as if my Kenoma have made things easy for you. How strange, that most of you were allowed to wander a city within my empire without recourse. Able to summon that wretched creature to your side, even.
I hope you've enjoyed yourself, in the time you've had, because this will be no more. You've spread your infection in Venera, in Godsblood, and it is only necessary that these wounds be cleansed by the touch of the Kenoma. Your presence gives the people ideas... ideas that would disrupt the fragile peace they've come to enjoy, after so many years of suffering. As a kindness, I will only trim the vine, rather than burn the vineyard. What Venerans have taken up your cause, I will see shorn from my empire. And in Godsblood... an example will be made, as of the Sovereign's moon.
My Kenoma will do this for me. Fight them, if you want. But know that I am no longer asking for your fealty. I am demanding it.
[As if opening their court for questions, you will find yourself more able to act. Those that speak or take action will find their physical forms taking shape, standing in the court as people rather than shadows. If you want to question the Regent, now is the time to do so.
OOC: This post is a free for all! We will try to response as the Regent to people who directly engage with them, but you are also allowed to threadjack and interact with each other if you like. Please note that we will not be responding to tag ins done later than the 12th.]
here for all your aion thread-hoppity needs
Here in the realm of communion, it doesn't seem entirely safe to have stray thoughts. Matt works to smother the sub rosa as soon as it arises: This isn't what I signed up for. This isn't what I signed up for--
He's gone very still in his mind, like the Regent is some kind of terrible lizard who won't see him if he doesn't move. That said, you know when someone's trying so hard not to be noticed that they actually become more conspicuous? Fellows Aions may catch him briefly taking on color and delineation before he fades back into shadow. ]
sorry
This is bad, knock it off, please. ]
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[ Matt, now standing out bright and clear against the shadows, clutches his cheek and regards Childe with a look that's somewhere between wounded and exasperated.
But good news, he's definitely been startled out of any moral quagmires he might have entertained. ]
What the fuck happened to hello?
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[ because honestly he's concluded the Regent is incredibly bored and
feels like Twitter fighting the Pleroma more than anythinglooking for an outlier here. ]no subject
Yeah, it's great, [ he huffs. ] Normally I like people to buy me dinner before they hit me.
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[ despite his friendly expression he will get a bit more serious (not that he was joking about dinner technically) and speak a little quieter. ] ...If you still aren't feeling well mentally, you should disconnect from this ASAP, okay? This is definitely a poor space.
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[ His lofty amusement begins to drain away as Childe reminds him of how they started this tangent in the first place. He hesitates.
Attending this meeting--this holding of court--did not feel optional. So Matt had sort of assumed that he should wait until they were all dismissed. But on the other hand, if even outside parties can sense that he's not having a great time right now, that lends some credence to his worry that it's dangerous to linger. A touch ruefully, he notes: ]
I guess I wouldn't want to make us look bad in front of our mortal enemies.
[ Don't worry, I'm sure the Pleroma are rightfully intimidated by your all-terrain flirting abilities. ]
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They're completely harmless at the moment since they're too busy letting the Regent pull their strings. Nevertheless, your mind is your own, and there's no value here for suffering through letting others see into it because that's when they start getting ideas. They start thinking they know you and how to control you one way or the other.
[ he doesn't outright say it, but he's worried about Matt's confidence being hit by others or them attempting to take advantage by manipulation regardless of side.
Childe's opinion is firm on the privacy of ones thoughts: No one should be allowed in anyone else's head. ]
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[ There's no value here for suffering. It's like what Paul said--what Matt believes at bottom, through the balking of his vestigial impulses. Suffering isn't inherently bad; but it should have a point. He hadn't thought that he might be vulnerable in ways that rippled past this moment. But then, Matt's never been much good at deducing the motivations of others. ]
I see what you're saying. That makes a lot of sense.
[ Matt's communion-self flickers a bit closer to Childe. He lifts his (right) hand, fingers waggling in a small wave. ]
In that case, I'll see you at dinner.
[ And he fades away, the connection severing. ]
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But Matt's an ally he's entrusted a lot of himself to, and one he deeply wants to protect, so this is troubling.
He makes his way over, puts a firm hand where his shoulder should be, like maybe that'll be enough to get him back under control. It's the kind of thing that's seemed to work well in the past, at least; that steady, physical(...ish) presence.
Get it together, dude. You'll be fine. ]
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Still, he can appreciate what Amos is going for here. If Matt doesn't focus too hard, the contact feels nearly like it would if they were in person. ]
Thanks, [ he murmurs. And then, his mental voice feathering to a whisper, he adds, ] We can talk later.
[ He kind of means "never." He's used to having people not check up on him--at home, at school, in the cities where he's rented and then moved on. Here, too. Like for real, who around here actually stops their day to see whether he's alive or dead? Hopefully, Amos will be distracted with the Regent's chess moves and Matt can just ... keep his misgivings to himself. ]
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If that's what you want. [ There's a promise to his words. He'll come and find him when this is all over. ] It'll be okay, though. We just gotta do what they say. We got nothing to worry about.
[ Remember their chat after the feast, Matt? The first time they'd met the Regent? They'd both fucked up. They'd both gotten second chances. This is that; time to hold up their end of the bargain. ]
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He doesn't say any of that, though. Instead, he says: ] Right.
[ When it seems safe to do so, Matt departs the communion space. He doesn't actually expect Amos to come looking for him, but perhaps a piece of him suspects it might be coming, because he doesn't stick around the Citadel. Instead, he heads out into Achamoth: mask on, purple scarf in place to hide his shard. ]
>> real world(ish)
... Except then, after, Matt's nowhere to be found. Amos spends maybe half an hour looking for him, checking what he knows to be his usual haunts in the Citadel, before giving up and requesting their own, private communion, tinged with a what-the-fuck level of annoyance, still with that undercurrent of concern there.
He said they'd talk later. Just how much later did he actually mean?? ]
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He knows he should answer.
He really should.
Instead, he keeps wandering the streets, his feet leading him to a part of the city he seldom visits. It's populated with rundown book and curio shops, most shuttered for the night--or possibly for good.
It's another hour before the pressure of politeness overwhelms Matt's foreboding. ]
Hey.
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Hey.
[ —you're just relieved to be hearing from them, though Matt probably has a better understanding of that emotion coming from Amos than he himself does. ]
So, you're not okay. [ He heaves a sigh. ] Where are you?
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[ Well, Matt really can't say he's fine, can he? That ship sailed some days back. Unconsciously, he echoes Amos' sigh. ]
I've just been walking. I'm out in this random part of town.
[ Matt glances around himself, trying to pluck recognizable landmarks from the street. Then he remembers there's a more convenient way to convey his location. After a moment, an image comes through their connection of the intersection he's on--its bedraggled storefronts, the fading bookshop signage.
Matt hesitates. ]
You don't have to come all the way out here. But if you do ...
I look a little different, so. Don't be surprised.
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And yet. When Matt says that he doesn't have to go out there, even though he's clearly not okay — everything back in the Regent's courtroom, plus, who just goes walking like that — then that steels his resolve. ]
I'm coming out there.
[ Sorry, dude. You befriended someone of the Lover legacy; what did you expect.
And if Amos thinks about it, he can probably mentally map where this is. Or at least connect the dots between there and a part of the city he's actually familiar with. Still... ]
Gonna need a bit more from you. I mean, I can guess where the entertainment district ends and where wherever you are begins, but that still leaves a lot of options. [ And, tone indicating there's really no room for argument, why would anyone event think that, ] But I'm coming out there.
[ He's already on his way out the Citadel. He doesn't even know what look a little different means. That seems secondary right now. ]
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Okay, [ he answers. ] Um, let's see ...
[ A few more images come through: the last turn Matt took, and the one before that. His voice intrudes, ] And this one is around where I noticed the streets changing ...
[ Another image, this time from the edge of the entertainment district. ]
Let me know if that's enough.
[ In the real world, Matt finds an abandoned storefront and sits against the sill of its boarded-up window. He wiggles the fingers of his right hand, then glances down to the stump of his left. It's wrapped in dark cloth that approximates a compression garment, and is very clearly ... you know, not there.
God. Matt's been embarrassed, in a noblesse oblige kind of way, to have a retainer. But now, he doesn't think he could get by without one. ]
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As are the additional snapshots Matt provides him with, the last one being somewhere he knows the exact location of. He nods to himself. ]
Thanks. See you soon.
[ And then the connection is cut off, Amos replacing his shard as he ventures out into greater Achamoth.
Between weaving his way through the more populated streets and taking the wrong turn every now and then it takes Amos a bit longer than he'd like to get there, but when the entertainment district fades away and he can recognize he's standing in spots where Matt had been not too long ago, he slows down from a brisk walk to a more standard pace. Still with purpose, still with his shoulders squared and head held high, looking for the intersection where Matt actually is—
There.
And, on closer look, there's something off. He's used to his true sight by now, but the spot around Matt's left hand—
Wait no what the fuck.
That speeds him right back up and, as soon as he's within earshot, he calls out, ] What the fuck happened?
[ There's a tense edge to his voice, to his body language as he finally makes his way to Matt, coming to a crouch in front of him, staring down at the stump — at the frayed energy around it — before trying to catch Matt's gaze, imploring. No wonder he'd been acting so fucked up. Jesus christ. ]
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He's been avoiding people since he gave up his hand, obviously. There's been a lot of adjusting to do. Adjusting to pain, adjusting to the difficulty of doing basic tasks, adjusting to things as stupid as like, the fact that he has to reach across his body for communion now, right hand seatbelting for the crystal on the left side of his neck. Adding other Kenoma into this humiliating equation was a total nonstarter. He barely wants to look at himself right now, he's been in no hurry to watch other people's faces as they realize what's changed.
Now he sees everything he was afraid of in Amos. It feels weirdly like having the hand cut off again, only this time, the severing is taking place purely through the lens of Amos' perception. Matt can feel himself morphing in front of him, his silhouette wobbling for the worse. ]
I'm fine, [ he protests, which is all he can think to say despite how objectively untrue it is. ] I mean, it was--consensual. I wanted to do it.
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Everything he says after that is already too fucking weird for him to comprehend, anyway.
He looks back down at the stump. ]
At least it's not bleeding.
[ There's a forced casualness to his voice, like he's almost trying to make a joke, but he can't really hide his discomfort at the way things around it are fraying on a spiritual level. He didn't think he was signing up to perceive shit like that, but now that he can, it's so disconcerting—
Back up at Matt, even though, shit, whatever's going on there is putting him on edge. Not like he's never seen someone lose a body part. That part's normal. Not great, but normal. But—
Ah, fuck, he needs to get over it. If Matt's not freaking out about it then it's probably fine. ]
Why would you— [ He stops. He doesn't know how to word this, but he is trying to be supportive. Fuck, he really hopes that's coming across. Amos' voice is soft and sincere as he starts back up, like he's afraid he's going to say something that's gonna send Matt into hysterics. Last thing he wants to do is upset him. ] Why did you want to do it?
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Amos' tone and his bearing seem to soothe Matt sufficiently that he can actually contemplate the answer, which is good because he needs all the help he can get. It's less a matter of finding the why, more a matter of carving away the parts that wouldn't make sense. Like how can Matt explain how it felt to cut through the veil? To really transcend, the sharpness of the transgression stinging salt against his eyes? It'd be like explaining a seventh sense to someone who's only known five, a problem made thornier by the fact that once Matt leaves the hyper-clarity of these moments, his conscious mind can't really wrap around them.
He settles for the answer that's comparatively straightforward. ]
Xishen asked for my help with a spell to track down the Innocence.
The first time we tried it, she seemed to kind of shake us off. I asked Xishen if there was another way to try the spell, and she told me ... she has the ability to turn sacrifice into magic.
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Amos' eyes flash, gazing up at Matt from down in his crouch. And it's. He's glad he isn't fucking this up. Glad he did get Matt actually talking, eventually. But this is now, officially, so much bigger. And if Matt doesn't want condolences — not like Amos is the type to be able to offer them properly, anyway — then he can jump right into the practical, which is where this answer seems to have been headed, anyway. ]
Did you find it?
[ There's a... sort of hopefulness to his voice that should be out of place with this whole situation. Amos stands back up, rights himself. After a moment he decides to sit down next to Matt — on his left side, sure to keep at least some distance between his own body and whatever is going on with where Matt's hand used to be, but if Xishen had a part in this, then maybe it's okay.
And he searches his eyes again. He'd told Matt he'd wanted to kill that thing. If he knows where it is...
The sacrifice is weird. That part he'll never understand. But he gets the basic principles behind it — losing something to gain something — and this would be. This would be a good gain.
C'mon, man. Please. ]
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👁️
they're easy enough to find. if he didn't already suspect matt of a lily liver, it's easy enough to see now, both in his complexion and how he's trying to minimize his presence here.
makoto doesn't draw any attention to himself as he observes this. he simply observes it, and he marks it mentally for later. )