westwhere | sa-hareth | arrival (mingle log)

"It's deeper than that," Mingyu murmurs, distracted briefly by his own tumultuous thoughts on the matter. It would be far more reassuring for him to believe it all maps over cleanly with what he knows. That all of this is just the magic he is familiar with in another form, utilized differently. It would give him more solid footing, more confidence in his ability to use what he finds here to his own ends.

That's precisely why he doubts it would be so convenient, why he leans into his discomfort and uncertainty. Comfort and optimism breeds tragedy. Mingyu will not make that mistake again.

"It's not about how advanced the civilization is or not, there's just—" Mingyu makes a vague gesture in the air one-handed, expression edging on frustration. "It's just different. On a basic, fundamental level, nothing here works as it should, as I expect it to."

But nothing to be done about that except gather more information. Mingyu sighs, shaking his head.

"...it's incredibly messy. Time travel. Dangerous when you get it right, catastrophic when you don't. Heavily regulated, largely illegal." He looks over at Archeval again. "You get any time travelers yourself?"

Not that I'm personally aware of, but then would I know if we did?" Arche drawls out with another raised brow. He seems to warm to the conversation a bit as Mingyu turns the subject toward, more or less, talking shop.

"Hard to truly say, though, altering laws of physics is not my field. Studying life and death is complicated enough by itself. As I said, though, the Force is capable of many things. I could imagine some insane sorcerer out there choosing to open up that bag of mynocks, I suppose," he sniffs. Stitch, stitch, stitch, then a careful knot.

"But I take it you've at least been able to try and perform your own 'magic', or however you term it? To no avail, though? And you're sure it's a property of this planet, not something you've been dosed with? Gods help us if somehow this place really is cut off from the Force entirely," he contemplates with a brief, grim purse of his lips. "I suppose it would explain why I was dumped here. But such a thing would be unheard of."

"You would know," Mingyu remarks dryly, lips briefly pulling thin as he levels Arche with an unimpressed stare. "When someone inevitably fouls it up and leaves a barren crater where a city block used to be."

Then he shrugs, feeling a headache coming on which he tries to fend off by briefly shutting his eyes, pinching at the bridge of his nose. There's too much to wrap his head around here, and there's all that going on no sleep.

"I'm not sure of anything, I just know the way things work feel different from what I know. Like a sports stadium where everyone is playing a slightly different game, following slightly different rules. And that my own magic is out of my reach, but... I haven't given up on making it work just yet."

"It's early days to simply give up on anything," Arche agrees quietly, directing a dark stare down at his sewing for a moment. "Those who have perpetrated all this still have a great deal to answer for, after all."

His next stitch through with the needle is a bit more of a stab.

"But is that how it works, then? Do enlighten me." The look on his face is still a little cool as he raises his brows again, but his body angles toward Mingyu in a way that suggests he might be genuinely interested to know.

"The theories I've read seem to lack consensus. Would I remember that the city block was ever there, or that something out of the ordinary had happened? I suppose you will probably tell me in addition to the corpses you are not used to waking up to the next block over suddenly turned into a crater either," he posits dryly.

"Temporal magic is far from my specialty," Mingyu starts off with the shifty-eyed gaze of someone who has definitely made a nonzero amount of effort towards it as a specialty but simply isn't there yet. Anyway. "But my understanding is the bigger stuff— Erasing timelines, changing the past, that sort of thing. No, you wouldn't know. At least not for the most part, with exceptions for proximity, specific variables of what's changed in that specific instance, the caster's intent, that sort of thing. But all that is extremely advanced, highly unstable, and largely theoretical. Likely there's entire dead timelines out there collapsed due to someone fucking about with what they shouldn't."

Mingyu pauses to let the information settle before moving on.

"More common is small scale, localized time magic. People pausing time in a small radius around them, or maybe rewinding the last five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes. That's as much influence even fairly talented practitioners can exert on time, and it can go bad fast. When time is destabilized locally like that, you can end up with a time loop where temporal integrity continues to deteriorate as the time repeats itself. And if the loop isn't safely disengaged, eventually it grows so unstable it collapses on itself and disintegrates all matter within it. That's how you end up with the crater, and yeah you'd remember it wasn't always there."

Edited 2021-03-30 00:41 (UTC)

Arche gives a thoughtful hum at this information, pausing in his sewing to better pay attention as he listens with a stroke of his chin and an intent stare.

"Interesting," he says after a moment, once Mingyu has finished.

"I find myself infinitely glad my colleagues--" he pronounces the word with infinite derision-- "--have yet to discover a widespread interest in time manipulation. Next thing you know some idiot in high command would be demanding we start waltzing into war zones to blow ourselves up on purpose."

The light in Mingyu's eyes glints bright as the implications of Archeval's statement click into place, a cold flush of hatred washing through him. At least there seems no love lost between Archeval and the kind of people who would commit such thoughtless, senseless atrocities, but that distaste could come frm anything. Archeval might just find being marched to his death extremely inconvenient. When Mingyu speaks again, his words come a bit stiffer.

"Small blessings," he murmurs, feigning attention on his work though he is now regarding Archeval with deep scrutiny.

"Sounds like interesting company to keep."

"I expect everyone is interesting in wartime, but none so much as the Sith," Archeval drawls out, finishing up another bit of mending before he reaches over to hold up to the light... someone's lacy underthings, apparently. Of course this would happen to be his lot in life today. At least it's not the lace itself that's ripped, he notes with a brief grimace--

"So is this Canada of yours so far out that you've been spared talk of the war or the Sith Empire? If so, count yourself lucky. We might be in your people's backyard in another decade or so, but perhaps the whole thing will have collapsed under the weight of its own overwhelming hubris by then. One can hope."

As much as he still hates everything about this Sa-Hareth, it's... pretty refreshing to be someplace where he feels able to say this sort of thing out loud. Company that isn't involved and doesn't care, a location where it's vanishingly unlikely that anyone is spying on him -- both are rather rare luxuries in the galaxy these days.

"Oh, yes. We're a little backwater cut off from everything. Almost third world. All that keeps us going is our syrup exports," Mingyu replies, voice bone-dry. He drops his voice into a low stage whisper to add, "...and the underground cheese smuggling cartels."

He manages to prick himself once more on his sewing in his fit of amusing himself at Archeval's behalf and stops to wince, sighing. No, this won't do. He can't just sit around doing the mending in this damnable light. He'll leave that to the professionals, like very edgy and important Sir Grumpypants here. He's going to find something else to do, something he's actually good at and has the patience for these days.

Giving up, he sets his sewing aside, giving his sore muscles a stretch before curling up sideways in his seat like a very beautiful, very long-suffering cat, more liquid than man.

"So, involved in a war are you? Who's murdering who up there in space? Is it a 'both sides are equally bad and make no attempt to hide it' scenario, a 'our holy empire versus their barbaric heathens' situation, or more of a 'self righteous purists up against self absorbed narcissists' type deal?"

Edited 2021-03-30 01:45 (UTC)

"Offhand I would say the third one sounds about right," Arche drawls out. He glances over at the movement only to give Mingyu a pointedly derisive stare, setting down those lacy underthings in favor of immediately snatching up the other man's unfinished work. Catch him scowling down at it a second. Hmph, shoddy.

"With a side order of the Republic and their Jedi kidnapping small children to raise them up into soldiers in their little cult, and the Sith nabbing those of us the Jedi missed. At the very least, I'm given to understand the self-absorbed narcissists on this side pay much better." It's the same deadpan drawl still as he pulls some of Mingyu's stitches right out to redo them. No shame.

Well, if you want to do his share of the work for him as well, then by all means. Mingyu just continues to try to melt comfortably into some of the most uncomfortable seating known to man, starting to infringe a bit on Archeval's personal space.

"Oh, excellent, a war between child-nappers. ...honestly sounds like most wars. People are fundamentally awful, aren't they?" he asks mildly, then shrugs. "Sounds like a rough time. I suppose being a surviving child soldier doesn't leave you with a lot of life prospects?"

"I do all right." Arche's voice grows even more dry still as he leans in to squint at a particular spot in the fabric, tugging his needle carefully. "Some genius decided that I should be a ranking child-napper. If one rattles one's saber enough at the rest of them, occasionally they'll fall in line with less horrific plans. Occasionally." His lip curls as he gives a little sniff of distaste.

"And what of you? I expect that's the voice of experience I hear. Are the Force-users and cheese smugglers back home so terrible as--..."

He pauses mid-sentence as he notices Mingyu leaning more and more in his direction, glaring over forbiddingly.

"Move. I require at least fifty centimeters of personal space."

Edited 2021-03-30 02:46 (UTC)

"Hm?" Mingyu asks airily, not budging an inch. He smiles, arching one perfectly plucked eyebrow sharply. "Is that so? Whip it out then."

He pauses, gesturing vaguely midair. "Your ruler, since you're so specific."

At the very least, he does pause his approach, settling down about... five centimeters from Arche's lap.

"Why are you so prickly, Archeval? Your big, bad empire? Or something more recent...?"

"If you have a problem with my personality, you can go find someone else to do your work for you, and you're welcome by the way," scowls Arche darkly down at the man who's inching ever closer to having a really bad time. Out of sheer stubbornness, he doesn't move away from Mingyu's encroachment, but his hands on the sewing have grown very tense. Someone's beloved see-through robe is going to be left with a few unfortunate wrinkles.

"Don't touch me or you will regret it."

"As I recall, you're the one who stormed up to me," Mingyu points out, then waves his hand in the space still separating them, scant as it is.

"And we're not touching. Though if you keep flirting like that I may revise my decision to attempt to be good," he goes on, grinning faintly, apparently encouraged by the promise of pain.

He's about to snap something back but -- then Mingyu shifts where he's lying and briefly his bangs cover one eye just so, and the face is all wrong of course and there's no scarring -- but still, just-one-eye peers up all teasing and encroaching and insistent, and the words vanish right out of Arche's head as his mouth goes a little dry.

Rather than respond properly he just jerks his gaze away with the purse of his lips deepening, stabbing his needle unkindly into the fabric in front of him some more. Whoever gets this robe back is not likely to be pleased later.

"...just quit, would you?" he mutters at last, belatedly.

"I don't care that much. May as well leave the mending to the person who's not going to stab himself repeatedly."

"What is it I'm supposed to be quitting?" Mingyu asks with a slow blink. It's a genuine confusion, not feigning ignorance or innocence in this particular moment.

Then he laughs at Archeval's insistence that he 'doesn't care that much', turning on his side in his mirth, the top of his head very briefly bumping against Archeval's leg as he squirms. But he settles down again, visibly amused, shaking his head in Archeval's direction.

"You keep saying that but I'm pretty sure you just suffer from such an abundance of empathy that you don't even know what not caring actually means."

Arche's shoulders jump a little at the brief contact, his lips instantly thinning into a hard line, but -- he graciously and mercifully chooses to just reach over and shove Mingyu's head an additional inch or two away from him for now. His hand might come away with a hair or three, though.

"I meant that I will somehow live with doing another man's work for him if it means you're not over here splashing blood on all the employees' delicates," he grits out irritably.

"And you can find someone else if you want to be entertained. Honestly, the way out of this place cannot come soon enough," he grumbles, restlessly situating the garment in his hands again.

"Why should I do that when you're doing such a good job?" Mingyu asks, rubbing his sore scalp with one hand but making no complaint because, well. He probably had that coming. Okay, he definitely had that coming.

"So, what was life like back home for you? An average day in your big bad kingdom. Empire. Whatever," he goes on, mostly to fill the silence before Archeval tries to ask him anything about his life.

Archeval takes a deep breath only so he can let it back out in an expansively irritated sort of sigh, staring at the robe for a few moments to find his place again. Ah, he's definitely left a little hole along the hem. Oh well. Time for this particular courtesan to update their fashion.

"...Well," he allows at last, if only because, speaking strictly honestly, he's probably just about as bored here as Mingyu is. How did he grow this unused to being alone, honestly--?

"It depends on the campaign. On my own time I do what I want, obviously. The last few months my crew and I spent traipsing back and forth across a jungle moon trying to prevent a madman and his little cult from unleashing a... superweapon, meant to terrorize half the galaxy." It makes more sense than the truth, honestly. Arche was physically there to watch the ghost of an ancient Jedi release the spirit of the sleeping Sith Emperor to escape off to do whatever evil life-devouring universe-hopping entities do, and he still doesn't completely believe his own eyes.

"If you're keeping track, that's three cults so far," he drawls, glancing over to raise his eyebrows at Mingyu for a moment.

"Get many on Canada? Or only the cheese smugglers?" His voice could not possibly be more dry.

Edited 2021-03-31 13:03 (UTC)

"Mm, it's always about a superweapon, isn't it?" Mingyu comments mildly, taking the information in stride. There's a flicker of something dark and cold in his eyes that's there and gone with the next blink, a smile overtaking his expression like an old florescent light flickering to life.

"Just the cheese smuggling, mostly. Our neighbors get the weird cults and militias, mass suicides and all. But up here it's all cheese. One-off kidnappings. Systemic racism. Whatever." Mingyu shrugs, though there's an audible grind of his teeth.

"Sounds like this is the most boring thing to happen to you in a while," he points out instead, batting lazily at Archeval's sewing like a misbehaving cat as he speaks.

Archeval finishes up fixing that hem and then, with a dubious stare down at present company, dumps the entire garment over Mingyu's head for the other man to fold and put away. It was his work originally anyhow.

"Getting dumped onto a strange primitive planet with no resources, drugged to the gills, left to fight my own way over miles through hordes of living corpses, only to find myself stranded in a local brothel sewing up dresses and unmentionables for the employees? Boring, surely not, but I suppose it does sound like any old Taungsday," he reflects with a little snort. Did the translator have a blip just now, or does it simply not know what to do with that word? Who knows.

"And what of you, magician?" He picks up another garment, grateful that the pile is at least starting to dwindle. "What will you be going back to when we make it off this rock?"

"Nothing," Mingyu replies, shrugging, and does not elaborate as he sits up to pull the garment off his face, though he folds it carefully enough so as not to completely spit in the face of Archeval's aid.

"And, I mean. There's no cults yet, at least? Most people find sewing pretty boring, even in a brothel. Perhaps you're just so riveted by my company you've been rendered incapable of assessing how bored you are."

Archeval rolls his eyes a little before turning his gaze down toward the mending work some more.

"Your hands just don't know what they're doing yet. It's a good way to clear the mind once you've had enough practice," he adds a little absently after a moment, as he squints at a couple different threads, picks the closest matching color, and starts in on someone's ripped dress sleeve. Honestly he never had minded the work itself too much growing up; just the... absolutely everything else. (Also, he's starting to think this establishment should invest in less elaborate bedposts.)

"But perhaps that's the same as 'boring' to you, for all I know. So is your 'nothing' some stripe of nobility back home? Planetary council? Holonet host? Courtesan yourself?" he guesses, voice bone-dry. "Since you seem so very confident in your riveting conversation." If he was going to guess where this guy came from sight unseen, based on this one interaction, the top of his list would definitely start with 'bored Alderaanian noble'.

Mingyu's eyebrows lift in surprise at being read as 'some stripe of nobility'. The press did like to call the Bai family's long reign a dynasty. The ruling magic families remain the closest thing to modern day aristocracy, and Mingyu certainly lived a comfortable life—at least financially—for a time.

Ah, fuck it. This guy thought Canada was a planet. It was probably fine.

"The first thing is close enough, I guess. My family is well off. Parents passed when I was a teenager, so it's just me and our buckets of money. Not particularly thrilling."

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darkeststars - 2021-04-05 23:29 (UTC) - Expand