westwhere | time doesn't love you anymore

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time doesn't love you anymore

WHO: Five and OPEN (with one closed starter)
WHEN: Early-to-mid September
WHERE: All Around Taravast
WHAT: September Catch-All: Obsessions, Curses and Family Meetings
WARNINGS: Language and... whatever Five-related things come up

i. Southern (Artist ) Areas (open)

It's been a while since Five took a walk to get some fresh air. Tensions have been escalating again, and despite his best efforts to claim otherwise, his thoughts have been too erratic to feel like he has anything under control any more. It's an incredibly inconvenient time to be staving off the effects of a curse that he's stubbornly against prioritizing, and refuses to think about now. He's well accustomed to dealing with anguish; acknowledging it just makes it more insufferable and he has too many other things to worry about.

He needs a clear head if he's going to avoid another gaffe like they had at the masquerade. Hence the outing. He gives himself an errand or two — find a more secluded meeting location, procure more coffee — if only to get away from all of them before he snaps and murders someone else just because he's frustrated and running on fumes. As he makes his way through the streets, he thinks bitterly that his thirteen-year-old body could probably use the exercise.

When they first arrived in Taravast, he had been vaguely insulted by the identity he'd been assigned. That was before he'd learned it could be much worse. He's largely left alone, and when he's approached by anyone who seemed to have gotten his description from who-knows-where, he can make them disappear in relatively few words. Just drop a comment about their staggering irrelevance and they walk away shocked and offended. Temperamental artists are apparently common enough to play on assumptions. He barely cares.

All this time he hasn't actually bothered to look at any of the actual art in the city, because why would he? It's all useless decoration that doesn't serve any purpose, and mostly makes him think of the Academy and those terrible portraits his father had done of them as kids. That was his closest point of reference; nothing really survived in the apocalypse and he certainly didn't spend any time looking at it during his years at the Commission. — So it's strange that in the middle of his hike through the citadel, he finds himself facing an unfamiliar statue in the middle of an alcove. It's only half-finished, the form just starting to emerge from the stone, and he stares for full ten minutes before he realizes where he is. They have plenty of paintings on display and jewelry stands stretched along the alleyway, but not a single one of them sells coffee.

Fuck, he's tired. He nearly blinks away instead of walking back to where he made a wrong turn, but it's quiet here and all he really wanted was somewhere to think. So he wedges himself into the small space between the stone and the wall while he tries to do the math to get him to where he meant to go.

Moments later he's fast asleep where the statue's feet would be.

ii. Necromancer District (open)

Five went back to that same location where they'd picked up a cure for the poison a few days later. So far they hadn't heard any grief about what they did to obtain the blood; no one so much as questioned any recent murders, but he does think enough to stay away from certain incriminating areas to avoid the hassle. He wanted to see if he could find this particular house again by memory, and he feels some satisfaction that he manages to, even if it had been an entirely different time of day.

It seemed strange to him back then, and he said as much, that the necromancers had a cure for the poison almost before they asked. Not until later did he find out that Lady Vannozza has ties here. There's an almost too-obvious link between her and the attempt on their lives, and looking into it actually feels useful in a way he hasn't been lately. It's straightforward enough to investigate, and something productive he can share with his family later if he gets any leads.

A shorter route would have been to ask Allison to rumor Vannozza to tell them exactly what her involvement was, but he knows his sister will want more than his paranoia to go on. The other solution involves having them conjure the man responsible for delivering the poison, but Lan Wangji was acting strange about it after he was the one who suggested it. Five still doesn't understand his great moral objection, but he rarely does, and spends far too much time trying to. Several of the necromancers here could do it, if he really wants to pursue the idea.

That doesn't mean he won't also try and get more information about how the necromancers work while he's poking around. He pays careful attention whenever he spots their customers coming and going, and if his timing is good enough, he might teleport in to see what their healing rituals entail. For curiosity's sake.

Today it seems noticeably less crowded in the district, which is... not ideal and throws off his plan slightly. If he stands out too much they might start to recognize him as a kid who keeps hanging around here, and he'll have to put more effort into hiding in the shadows. It also might mean he's missing something again, which just makes him feel more out of sorts. He doesn't abandon the methods, but he keeps an extra eye out for anyone he recognizes that might fill him in.

iii. Academies (open)

Five comes around eventually. He really hadn't needed any magic curse to break his fragile grip on sanity. But when he keeps confusing the anguish he's stubbornly holding onto with memories of the apocalypse, he knows that pretty soon people will start noticing what's wrong with him. At some point he's going to need to make it stop. The unfortunate truth is that there's no way in hell he can trust that the easiest solutions available to get rid of it, and his other idea isn't any guarantee.

Under normal circumstances, he would have learned enough about magic to handle his own problems, but there's just so many different types and languages that he doesn't know where to begin. The research he left to Fox came to a halt after the masquerade, because of course they try to murder the one person he had chosen to tell about his problem, which left him largely on his own. (While Fox presumably recovers. He's sure he would have heard from Mingyu otherwise.)

The academies are easy enough to break into for someone like him, but without a guide, he's less sure of which books to disappear with that might have something worthwhile in them. He ends up with one that looks questionably promising, and others he grabbed simply because they were near it on the shelf. While he's waiting for his personal translator, he flips through the pages and tries to make sense of them.

Almost immediately he starts to write notes in the margins, which quickly devolve into something more familiar to him. Soon he's sitting in the courtyard working the equations he hasn't touched in weeks, trying to work backward to the earliest he could alter the timeline without jeopardizing his family, what events he could change by eliminating various people, and ways to predict where and when they might find his remaining siblings. The mask they insist that he carry around is beside him and he seems intensely focused and oblivious to anyone who might have noticed that he isn't a student.

In hindsight, he should have brought a different notebook with him, but it helps him for a time to slip into the world of time travel and probability equations to remember that he's actually smart about some things. Eventually he'll return to the palace and try to track Fox down to explain what he was originally trying to do. When he does finally hand off these books to him, he's sure he might even have the math worked out and not need him any more.

iv. Undisclosed Location (closed to Hargreeves)

The meeting is, frankly, long overdue. Playing political games for the sake of the group at large has only left them out of touch and ill prepared. They weren't ready for the attempted murder at the masquerade, and he was blindsided by Allison's trip to see the necromancers, purely because he hadn't kept a close enough eye on his family. They need a better system.

Fortunately, securing a suitably discrete location wasn't all that difficult once he started looking, and his ability makes it easy to get around any onlookers who might catch on that he's in cahoots with his family. Before arriving, Five had made at least some effort to splash water on his face and put on a less rumpled set of clothes to disguise the exhaustion that makes him feel every bit of his actual age. He does a passable job. He won't admit that the nap he had earlier might have done some good.

They haven't been together in the same space since the masquerade, and he takes time to assess all of them as he paces around the room. The wolves are still hanging around, apparently. Five takes a moment to look at each one of them before narrowing his eyes at Diego. He's already made it clear what he thinks about his new coping mechanism, but that doesn't mean he won't bring it up again. The only one of them to stay out of trouble is Vanya, and thank god for that.

"Alright. To start with, great job all around at not getting stabbed or poisoned." Really, it's a low bar, but they've managed to cross it. As far as he knows, he's the only one who screwed up anything major, and he's fine with delaying that news until the end. "We don't have a lot of time, but I thought we should get on the same page."

v.

Wildcard for whatever else. Additional starters available on request.

Action spam or prose idc/will match format/~~I swear I will use less words one day (I will forget I said this)~~.

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"Usually," he repeats, the word distasteful.

Eleven's eyes narrow, still on Five's hand, but after a few silent moments, can't find any more shards to pry loose. He abandons the tweezers and reaches for a cloth he stains with water and disinfectant.

"This will sting a little." Not that he expects Five to mind, after he didn't so much as wince while he plucked sharp edges out of his skin. Eleven presses the cloth into Five's hand and breathes an aggrieved sigh, meeting his unwitting patient's eyes once more.

"What happened, then? If attacking her hadn't been your intention."

Yes, usually. When he says intention, he means that he likes to be able to plan these things, not attack someone at random because he's having a mental breakdown. Usually he doesn't fail. It's rare that he would attempt to murder someone and they'd still be around to hold a grudge about it.

His hand twitches when Eleven presses the cloth to his palm, but his expression barely shifts. When he asks another question, he just stares at him for long moment. Five has being generous with his answers and allowed this interrogation to continue because he feels that he owes it to Eleven. He admitted to his mistake. That should be enough to satisfy him.

"It's like you said, I wasn't in my right mind." He wonders briefly, if Eleven remembers him mentioning curses and telling him about the body in the lake, or if he'd imagined having that conversation. Maybe he can put it together himself. "I have it under control now. It's nothing you need to be concerned about."

Eleven breathes a sigh, discontent but recalling how difficult it had always been to receive a straight answer from Five about more innocuous things. But at least Five had admitted to something, and he hopes that brief reassurance means something.

Another, more sympathetic part of him hearkens back to Archeval's own difficulties, but that isn't a bond he shares here.

"If you're sure," he says finally, still frowning. He looses Five's fingers, then dabs at lingering touches of blood before he sets the cloth aside. His marked hand returns to hover over the injury with a faint green light as the skin begins to mend.

"I don't have a habit of sleeping people against their will, but if they're a danger to others, I believe it's best."

Five watches the light with increasing intensity. The pain in his hand slowly fades, and it feels so vaguely like reversing time that he's momentarily fixated on the sensation. He only lifts his gaze when Eleven brings up 'sleeping' people. A creeping paranoia seeps into his hardening expression, thinking of how he woke up on the street. But that had been exhaustion, hadn't it? Eleven wasn't anywhere near him.

It's difficult to tell what he's thinking. If it were coming from someone else, that would sound like a threat. The boy has seen him at his weakest, shouldering a curse that he refuses to mention, so he probably thinks he's free to make them. Five isn't even sure if he's still absorbing anguish from anyone he comes in contact with, but it's obviously a risk being near someone who sees him as a possible danger.

"I forgave you for that, the first time." He was actually very understanding back then, because he knew he'd been out of his head. And too tired to put up a fight. He won't just let that happen again.

"I don't want to hurt you."

Eleven's brows draw together as the wound mends and the healing light fades. He meets Five's eyes with some consternation. The words are obviously meant as a vague threat, but it's a curious thing.

"Then don't."

He drops Five's hand after a final inspection to ensure the newly healed skin hadn't stretched over a missed shard.

"We don't have to be friends, but it's better that we all work together."

He turns his hand over to look at the unbroken skin and flexes his fingers like he's testing his work; silently contemplating.

It was more of a warning than a threat. The last time, Eleven had the benefit of him being exhausted and out of his mind. He was weak. If he tried to use magic on him while he was more aware of what was happening, he'd stop him. Despite whatever impression he's made, he'd rather not.

The moment he says 'we don't have to be friends', he sighs and gives him a withering look.

"First time I've heard that." Even his family gives him a hard time about refusing to trust people. Like he hasn't made allowances or gone along with this entire trek. None of them know what that took for him, but they're all too young to understand much of anything. (Of course, as Dolores would have pointed out, part of that is because he hasn't let them.)

"I am trying to fix it." He already said he had it under control, but he purposely never said what it was. He still doesn't want it getting out more than it already has, so he's careful when he continues. "What happened, before the siege. There's more to it than you know about."

Eleven watches Five inspect his work, then sets about tucking away the handful of bits he'd pulled from his bag.

He meets his gaze again with a slip of smile fading fast under the glare so out of place on a boy's face. But the rest.. it feels a bit like navigating the churn of tides, never quite sure where he stands. It's something of a surprise that he's even still there.

He looks him over, considering while he worries the inside of his lip between his teeth. There's something familiar about the ring of what Five isn't saying, and the source of that familiarity isn't difficult to place. There isn't a day he isn't worried about Archeval.

Anticipation wings through his chest on the edge of asking. Eleven glances off, checking for wayward ears, then breathes through a nervous question.

"You haven't.. absorbed an undead spirit, have you?"

Usually he would have been gone at least a dozen times before now. He stays because he's still so tired, physically and otherwise, and because he can't decide if it bothers him to be misunderstood when his explanation isn't any better. It doesn't matter what anyone thinks of him unless it harms his family, but if word spreads around too much that he's an unstable murderer, it could end up causing them trouble.

Nowhere in his reasoning is a hope that Eleven might be able to help, or provide any useful insight.

So at his question, Five tilts his head and gives him a strange look. That isn't a conclusion that he was expecting, so he can only assume there's some reference for it. While that isn't what happened, it's a closer guess than he would have given him credit for.

"I'm not possessed, if that's what you mean." It wouldn't be the first time he's had to clarify that he isn't a demon. But that doesn't seem quite the same as what he's asking. "...Is that what you mean?"

Eleven hesitates, already feeling like it's possible he's revealed too much under the look he's given- although there isn't any way for Five to know unless he'd been told.

"..Not quite."

But he does take the time to expand his senses. He can sense nearby undead without trouble now, though he hadn't been able to detect Archeval's problem until he focused enough to sort it out. Ruling out possession is some comfort as far as Five is concerned, however.

"But I also don't sense undeath about you, so nevermind that."

The way he brought it up and quickly dismissed it makes Five naturally suspicious, and he tenses when he does whatever it is he does to check that he's telling the truth. Five doesn't relax after he draws his conclusion, and he studies him silently. Wrath was able to sense his curse right away, but he's a demon. He wouldn't expect that kind of power from Eleven.

"What else can you sense?"

It's a fair question, given his observation. Eleven offers a mild shrug.

"Life and death energies, mostly." They're not particularly refined senses, but sufficient enough. "Power closely aligned with light or dark sources."

He attempts a smile. "Not a great deal else."

He keeps staring at him, like he's trying to decide what that means. Sensing undeath is one thing, but 'light or dark sources' sounds more abstract. The curse is apparently something else. After necromancers picked up on what's inside him, it should be a relief that it isn't directly related to the dead.

He has more questions about that, and about the other person Eleven knows who doesn't look their age, but he stays silent. The hand he healed clenches and unclenches at his side while he debates if he has the energy to teleport.

"It isn't...," he trails off, and just when it seems like he's not going to give him any more, he shakes his head. "It's a mirror."

A mirror.

Eleven hasn't thought about them in months and he remembers little detail about them. He doesn't at all understand how a mirror could manifest in a person, but Five isn't the sort of person to joke about anything.

His eyes lower as they search for what little he can recall.

"The undead wanted to be brought to a mirror. The lake acted as one. It.. killed the undead that waded into it."

He figured it wouldn't take a lot for him to piece that together. Five didn't know at the time. It took him months to really understand what was happening with him. Now that he knows, he's trying to learn how to remove it without ending up worse off. And hopefully without everyone figuring out that he has a weakness to exploit.

But he's said this much. He might as well fill in the blanks.

"It wasn't the lake, it was the body at the bottom of it. The curse on the mirror had apparently been put there." He hasn't discovered how much of what was going on around the lake was directly related, but he hasn't exactly gone back to check and see what changed. "Part of it was still alive, until I killed it."

Edited 2021-10-17 21:14 (UTC)

Chills broke out over his skin. So the body had acted as a mirror and leeched the undeath they'd brought to it. He shivered.

And then later, Five had killed it. There was something about that niggling at him. His eyes snapped to Five's as his mind finally made the connection.

"..Is that what you wanted the second sword for?"

It shouldn't surprise him that that's the thing Eleven focuses on. In retrospect, if he'd refused to make him that sword he might have been able to avoid what he's been dealing with these past few months.

"It had to be newly forged." He sighs, because he followed those instructions exactly and he still hasn't gotten what he asked for in return; at this point it barely seems relevant. He's thought about going back to stop himself from making that deal ever since.

Eleven hums a curious note, still wondering about that requirement, but it's a detail that isn't terribly relevant now. More importantly-

"..So when you killed it, the mirror transferred to you?"

Which, if he's understanding correctly, leaves him feeling ill at ease.

Five looks him over again, watching him try to understand. Even after he decided to tell him, he wonders if this was a mistake. It might shift the blame for him, but it doesn't change the danger he presents.

"Some of it." He's more or less said that already. "If I'd known, I wouldn't have done it."

Concern touches his brow. The obvious question is why he did it, but Eleven has a vague memory of Five telling him he'd made some sort of deal. But that too, matters less in the moment. It's been done, but the effects linger.

"What has it done to you?"

He knew that question was coming, but he doesn't like his phrasing. What it's doing to him isn't the entire reason for what happened, but it would clear things up. If he wants that. He's still deciding up until the moment he replies.

"I eventually figured out that it was absorbing anguish." He tries to say that without any kind of inflection, just to demonstrate how well he's gotten a handle over it. Not that it's getting worse. "During the siege, with all the undead, I wasn't prepared."

He nearly goes on, but he stops himself. Any other details about what he was experiencing aren't relevant, and Eleven can make his own conclusions from there.

Anguish. He knows more about that now than he did.

"Unhalad's undead were made up of the cold and starving.." It's a quiet observation, trailing off into a hum as Eleven shivers, expression softening. They'd attacked them at the warlord's behest, then. Had a directed rage fueled them?

He shakes his head. "I don't know how to help with something like that, but I will if I can."

He tilts his head at Eleven as he recalls what the undead were experiencing, wondering why he specified them as Unhalad's as if that made a difference. Five has carried their anguish with him for months, but he couldn't sort them out from the others any more. Trying to tends to make him focus too much on something he does his best to tune out.

As it turns out, he doesn't feel any better for telling him the truth about what's going on with him. Now it looks like he was asking for help, which he isn't, and he's quick to shake his head after Eleven implies that he'd try.

"I told you, I'm working on it." Whenever other shit doesn't get in the way, he works on it. In the meantime, he's managing fine. Aside from needing to be more mindful where he sleeps.

"Nobody needs to know," he adds, firmly, before Eleven can reply. Beyond the ones he's already told, or the ones who could sense it without him saying anything. He frowns, second guessing himself again. "You know because I chose to tell you after your part in it. I'll find out if it goes any further."

Eleven blinks, regarding Five with a matching frown. But he finds he isn't surprised that he has pride enough to refuse help and want to hide it- like someone else he knows.

"I won't tell anyone," he says with some weariness, the words flat with an undercurrent of disapproval. "So long as I don't find you possessed or dying somewhere."

Eleven doesn't have to like it, so long as he can keep it quiet. Five has too many obvious weaknesses on display as it is, and he still doesn't have a good answer for why he told someone who can't help him. Maybe because he knows he's not acting normally and he was tired of being looked at like he was crazy. Explaining how he's simply a cursed fifty-eight year old man definitely took care of that issue.

"Don't worry, I don't have time for that." He won't die before he gets his family home, and they already proved he wasn't possessed. They should be squared away. — He gives a small nod of affirmation and turns to leave. "Now that that's cleared up. I'm sure I'll be seeing you."

It's as polite as he ever is, since Eleven helped with his injury and all. If he can even remember what he originally set out to do, he's sure that he needs to get back to it. And hope the rumors haven't gotten too out of hand in the meantime.

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