kenoscomm | communion | stargazer-focused but ota

[ at least he isn't deliberate in prying – isn't one of those well-meaning bastards who keep reaching, as if they can comfort her with stubbornness alone. because of that, she doesn't flee or bristle, though she stays curled up in her corner of Communion. it isn't targeted fear of him. but trust is the exception, not the rule.

as gratitude for his restraint, she puts on a brighter, more friendly character. ]

Spirits? Wow, that sounds so interesting! [ ignore that there isn't a speck of curiosity in her mind. ] Was it as close a connection as this is?

[ invasive, she means. ]

[ Matt's reminded of a candy shell. Sweet and impenetrable surface. Naturally, it makes him voraciously curious to figure out this person's deal, but equally and oppositely, his sense of enthusiastic consent keeps him from prying any further.

Good thing he's spent so long working on himself in that regard, because apart from ingrained habits, his psychic motor skills are approximately those of a loose-limbed foal. Case in point: ]

Oh yeah, a lot of the time closer.

[ Pause. Backtrack! ]

I'm Matt, by the way. Did I say that yet? It's really nice to meet you.

[ it's really nice to meet her...? christ. if that's actually how he feels then he must have been in a truly desperate state, wherever he came from. or he's an idiot? he'll learn soon enough, if that's the case. it shouldn't be nice to meet anyone in this rotten place, perhaps least of all her. ]

[ his clumsy words aren't endearing exactly, but they're—a relief? no slyness or sharp edges she needs to watch herself around. in return, there's a brief visual impression: a petite figure with long, golden hair, somehow reminiscent of a toy ballerina in a wind-up music box as she performs a curtsey with aristocratic poise. ]

The pleasure is all mine, Matt. I'm Rudbeckia, High Priestess of Set. Most people just call me Ruby!

[ that's a lie; most people don't call her by name at all. she could probably count on one hand the number of Shard-Bearers that she's heard speak her name in the past year. it's a depressing thought, but not a bad situation for her. better to be an insignificant speck than have her name be known by infamy as it was before.

whatever darkness lingers around her mind, she seems to ignore it. ]

How are you settling in? Have you found a place to stay, or... do you have any questions?

Edited 2024-01-31 14:13 (UTC)

High Priestess of Set. That's impressive.

[ Matt's awareness catches curiously on the impression of golden hair, a perfectly delicate curtsey. He tries to offer back a projection of his own, and it's ... a decent enough oil painting of him. His dark hair is a little messier than it is in real life, his limbs a bit more noodlesome, the scar on his left cheek more pronounced. ]

I'm settling in as well as can be expected, I guess, given the circumstances. I actually have a friend here, so I've been spending a lot of time with him. [ The situation with Amos, and the others who've met some other version of him, is both spatially and temporally complicated, so he moves on to: ] What would you like me to call you?

[ Light emphasis on like. The answer to the riddle is that Matt's lonely, and in that sense, "desperate" probably fits the bill. But he is also an idiot. ]

[ he receives a faint sense of gratitude, in return for the approximate visual—Rudbeckia really hates not having faces to put to observations, when it comes to Communion. she needs to know who it's safe to approach and who to avoid if she sees them. ]

Either one is fine! It truly doesn't bother me.

[ it's not her name, anyway. ]

That's wonderful that you've already found a friend of yours. It's hard, when you don't know anyone here. But you seem like a good person, so I'm sure it wouldn't have taken very long for you to make new friends!

Ruby, then. [ Matt likes to call people what they prefer to be called. But left to his own devices, after enduring a stuffy WASP childhood, he thrives on informality. With a sense of smiling ruefully, he says, ] That's kind of you to presume. I do try my hardest.

I have one question I've been asking most people I meet here, actually. With the caveat that if it's too personal or you don't want to answer, no worries. But I was wondering if you'd tell me what led you to choose the way you did?

[ their shared space goes very still, all of a sudden – the prey instinct spiking once more. like she has been cut open, Ruby's impressions bleed out beyond her control: Meridian and its seething hatred, Zenith and its cold cruelty. even with Meridian's energy coursing through her, she cringes away equally from the thought of both, curling up to make herself small, to protect herself from harm.

it is clear in that instant that she despises both factions alike with breathless intensity. ]

[ —the sound of laughter, bright and sweet as birdsong. ]

I'm not the best person to ask about that, to be honest. In the first place, I only chose because there really wasn't anything else I could do... It's dangerous not to be aligned to a side, here.

Um, and I'm a bad Meridian. [ he'll surely hear much worse from the others, if it ever comes up, so she might as well just say so now. ] So... I'm sorry, but I'm just not very helpful when it comes to that!

[ Matt's psychic presence goes very quiet, and likewise nearly immobile. He doesn't seem alarmed--rather, he's observing so intently, trying to soak in all the sensation available, that he forgets to project anything at all.

Then, like a candle in the dark, yellow flame just enough to illuminate itself: satisfaction.

It's not an I knew it kind of feeling. Whenever Matt thinks about Cyrus' and Yima's voices in his dream, he can't think of them as anything but utterly sincere. But still: the sun can scorch; the moon doesn't reflect enough light to make anything grow. He's been so uneasy with this choice. Seeing someone else react to it with such hostility is almost comforting. ]

I'm sorry, [ he says at last. ] That doesn't sound like much of a choice at all.

[ More of a protection racket. Aren't their circumstances bad enough without piling pressure on? ]

[ yeah, she understands that feeling. it would have been nice if anyone had said as much to her when she first arrived in Kenos; not just wariness or mistrust, but acknowledgement of the unfairness of it all, in a real sense, rather than because they simply wanted her to suck it up and choose already. she acknowledges the satisfied flicker, just a light touch, even as she responds with a non-committal: ] Mmh.

[ a flash of something dark and wry, bitter-tasting on his tongue. of course it's not much of a choice. but why would she ever expect anything else? ]

... I won't have a good answer for you about my choice, but I have been on both sides, if there's anything you want to know.

[ Matt seems ever so slightly easier now. Maybe it's a virtue of his, or maybe it's pure selfishness, but he always likes knowing the truth of another person's heart. No matter what that truth is. ]

I hadn't thought about people switching sides, [ he muses. What has he be thinking of instead? Some endless Sisyphean conflict, he supposes: toil and toil, hoeing the same row for whatever's left of eternity. ] Um. Yes. I want to know ...

If you-- [ A delicate pause, as his brain skips over a lacuna. ] --don't like either one, was there something about Zenith you disliked more? About Yima?

Something I disliked about Zenith? Ah...

[ her feelings about Meridian are rooted more in experience here, things she has been through in Kenos; although there are fears entirely her own she carries with her, about good people and how they will inevitably come to treat her—there are also specific memories she can point to, when illustrating why she despises the Meri so.

that isn't the case for Zenith. when she thinks of Zenith, Ruby's mind goes somewhere dark and familiar but not here. ]

In Meridian, people argue. I don't like that either, but Zenith... it feels like a cult. You should just listen to the Matrona and do as you're told. [ something disquieting underlies those words, the hum of a discordant note. ] And Yima—she promises to love you.

[ without having to explain herself, it's clear that this is infinitely more frightening to Ruby. the fear is smothering, that promise of "love" like a tightrope strung over a yawning chasm. she knows – and because she knows, with such unshakeable certainty, carved into her body by whip and by cane, so too does Matt know – exactly what will happen when she proves unworthy of that love. ]

... Besides, I don't think it makes sense. Why would a new world be any different from every world before it? It's always going to be the same.

[ the types of people that Zenith welcomes, in particular, are going to create a living hell. ]

[ Matt's psychic presence has taken on an attitude of sitting down and just listening. Someplace comfortable and open, without too much direct sunlight--under a tree in a meadow, maybe, in one of the national parks back in Cascadia. Fresh, invigorating air, and soft earth holding you up.

He's not thrilled to hear like a cult. The fact that he hasn't heard any Zenites describe things that way doesn't surprise him; if she's right, it's not like cults advertise themselves with the c word, or nobody would join. But despite the bright red flags of that description, that's not what really chills him in Ruby's answer.

She promises to love you.

As Ruby descends to a dark place within herself, Matt sinks to meet her. The terrible knowledge, the encyclopedia of pain--those things make him ache for her, but not purely from the outside. Matt knows about love too. If he were better able to distinguish the divide between him and another person over Communion, he wouldn't load his baggage onto her. But the link of a shared Aspect is too strong, and his heart too bruised for her--so there's an impression of sharp, sharp teeth at his throat, and a tiny voice going, oh, this is how I die. Walls of someone else's apartment bearing down on him like forever. ]

People are always going to be the same, I guess. Have the same tendencies. And beautiful things come out of that.

But ...

[ any gesture of compassion or sympathy would have made Ruby's mind slam shut on itself. she couldn't bear to have her wounds touched, not even in an attempt to soothe them. but – whether he means to or not – Matt sinks with her to the depths of that awful, dark place, and in some way, he is able to understand it, to recognise it.

so she does not recoil. she does try to staunch her own bleeding, but there is no use panicking over what has already been spilled. ]

... But, how can those same people believe the world they make will be perfect? Isn't the height of arrogance for Man to think he can recreate the Garden of Eden?

And—I don't think even Zenith itself agrees on what that looks like.

[ what she wants to say is far less charitable. that none of those people have any right to design paradise; that a paradise cannot even exist with people like that living in it. she thinks of Silco, and his gleeful cruelty; Sebastian, eyes flat and cold as the serpent itself.

she thinks, most strongly, of Amos. the zealot of Zenith, champion of its beliefs. when Rudbeckia had been new to Kenos, scared out of her mind, she had pleaded for mercy from the other Shard-Bearers. long before this conflict began in earnest, before there was any goal to reach. Amos had offered that mercy under his wing, Zenith's wing.

his own mind had shown, in terrible clarity, that if she did not take that offer – if she didn't fall in line – then, to Amos Burton, she didn't deserve to live. she was worth nothing at all.

Ruby says nothing, but she allows Matt to see these things. this is what Zenith is, to her. ]

[ It's strange. As Matt lets Ruby's impressions wash over him, he realizes--every one of these people stinging her mind like nettles. Every single one. They all recognized him, that other Matt Jamison from another world. He doesn't know what that means. Maybe it doesn't mean anything.

He'd like it if it didn't mean anything.

Her interpretation of Amos is hardest to take, but Matt doesn't doubt her. He feels a sinking sadness, the gut-plunge he always feels when someone he's let too close shows a more dangerous facet of themselves, and is quiet for a time in turn. ]

I don't think they know either. The ones I've talked to have been pretty upfront about that, at least.

[ A sigh, soft summer breeze turning regretfully towards the cold. ]

I don't think a perfect world is possible. Even the gods can't seem to get it right the first try. [ It seems cruel of Yima, as cruel as any of the false hope she decries, to let any Zenites think differently. ] I do think what comes next could be better than what came before, though. And that could be worth it.

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appeale - 2024-02-12 02:43 (UTC) - Expand

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semicharmed - 2024-02-12 05:42 (UTC) - Expand

— from your mind to mine... d!

[ Even without the fanfare, the collision of the god of war's mind with Matt ( and Ruby's, so nearby! ) is perhaps like being t-boned by a hurricane. He does not shelter others from the sheer size and density of his soul, his mind, arriving as the desert itself — a cape of red hair fading into the boundless horizon of equally red sands.

The beaming, sharp-toothed agent of all things wild and independent. Set is just pleased to hear his name, most of the time, and throws his arms wide. ]

Hello, untried blood! "Ma'tt" was it? Similar to my old aunt Ma'at, how delightfully convenient on the tongue!

[ wHOA

Matt feels like he's had the wind knocked out of him, possibly across the length of several football fields. When he gets his bearings, he still feels a bit like a firefly in the ocean: pinprick of light going glug, glug, glug. But he's far too curious about this new mind to even think of retreating.

In fact, his brain is busy spinning associations. The nexus of Ma'at and Set yields a flicker of images and words: a scale, a feather, hail thou lotus and o beautiful youth, come to thy house. ]

That's so interesting, [ his mind-voice murmurs, intently. And then, as if rousing from a reverie: ] Uh, in the spirit of clarity, by "untried blood" do you mean my mettle has yet to be tested, or that you literally haven't tried my blood?

Yes!

[ Wait, that sounds like he's saying 'yes' to both matters. NO! ]

I mean, yes! To your mettle being untested. You have not yet survived an Oracle battle, ergo you are untested. It matters not to me which side you pledge to, provided you give it your all and perish properly if your choice means you are in the way of what I want. I will never want your blood, because I am a "vegetarian"!

[ imagine being the egyptian god of fucking war and violence and chaos and evil and you are

a vegetarian ]

Do not worry, though! You will be threatened by your powerless soon, and will decide to join a Faction.

[ Oh no ... he's ...

Adorable?

don'tlaughdon'tlaughdon't-- ]

That's what I hear. [ Matt frowns. The frowning definitely comes through, especially on the heels of his ripple of amusement. ] But I hope you'll forgive me saying, that feels like the worst reason to make a decision of any consequence.

Is it the worst reason? Without power of any type — physical, social, mental — you cannot accomplish anything. I cannot forgive anyone without conviction, Ma'tt.

[ He flows across Matt's mind, countless grains of shattered, decayed things drifting upon soft winds — the fate of all things, after all, is to break down into shimmering atoms. A god like him is both metaphor and proof of that.

He slips around the man in circles, shapeless but present in every minuscule mote. And from the sands he reforms, sweeping his fingers under Matt's chin with a quick motion. Like tickling under the jaw of a particularly eager puppy. ]

As long as you are true and steadfast to your reasons, you will be accepted by your chosen peers. Or, if you do not want to participate at all in this war: ask my darling priestess what route is available to you ~!

Edited 2024-02-01 15:13 (UTC)

[ Just when Matt thinks he's found his footing, Set shifts, his mental presence seeming to swell and swirl at once. Matt tries to follow him, but Set doesn't have a body to follow--not that he can detect. All Matt can think of is crystals broken down into finer and finer-grained pieces. Garnet and glass, silica and oxygen.

Then: here he is again. Matt can't remember feeling so conscious of his body during Communion, but evidently a play at touch will do that. His head tips back, slightly and instinctively. ]

I don't have a problem with power.

My convictions ...

[ Seem to be either too much or too little for most people here. Even here, surrounded by gods and epic clashes, Matt manages to be a weirdo. ]

Are mostly about balance. I want whatever's best for the universe. And that's why I don't want to make a decision out of fear, or deprivation.

[ The impression of Set's fingers, grasping at Matt's chin, twist to the grip he takes on the whole of his jaw. The broad of his palm butts up underneath his throat, and Set's face looms before him. Intent, intense, interested. The heavy red of his brow terse, the line of his mouth drawn and eyes narrowed as he tries to discern what Matt really means. What skeletons in his closet lead him to such a rationale. ]

There have been others here, who seek balance. The forces of Meridian and Zenith, outside of how we use them, are presumably natural to Kenos.

[ Like a curious animal, he tips his head and red hair flows over one pale shoulder, vanishing into the endless sands. Like the forces of the world, he is as natural an element as he is a man, a creature, a god. ]

Do you think you will interpret the will of the universe better than me, then?

[ At the abrupt press of Set's hand, Matt's breath--and he may as well call it that, his brain needs oxygen just like the rest of him--stutters on a stuck hm. His eyes are light, one of those messy hazels that can't seem to pick a lane. They return Set's narrow-eyed look with an expression of deep, wondering curiosity.

... He's not not afraid. But Matt's never seemed to feel fear the way he should. Or maybe it's just that his desire to know is always so much stronger. ]

Not better. Just different.

[ Speaking of cosmic forces in opposition. His mind's eye follows the red of hair, sand, time, blood. ]

I'm glad you're here. You have the kind of perspective I can't imagine. [ Even when he believes he speaks to the universe, touches its all-knowing heart, the feeling is maddeningly difficult to hang onto once spellcasting is over. Matt's never been able to put it into words, which he assumes is the natural result of being a very small container for a massive force. ] I have to believe there's a reason I'm here too.

[ — the elegance of his divinity is like watching a hurricane in motion. Terrifying, and awe-inspiring as he bends into the young man and seeks to — intimidate him? rattle him? press his fingers deep into his mind to learn of him? Who really knows! What happens next, is that Matt says something so strange that Set sputters. Falters. And the pale planes of his face redden a little, shocked and confused. ]

Glad.

[ SOMEONE'S GLAD HE'S HERE?????? BRO

he's gonna rattle matt around a little, completely blindsided by this ]

Glad?!

communion | stargazer-focused but ota

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2/2 combo of characters from me, here's the feral cat

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