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I see... That's good to know. Thanks, Uncle Marco.
I am. I'm looking into a few options. If you can feel things like normal, that's really promising...but I'm not sure if Elias would help.
Do you think it would be possible for monsters to recreate it somehow?
I am. I'm looking into a few options. If you can feel things like normal, that's really promising...but I'm not sure if Elias would help.
Do you think it would be possible for monsters to recreate it somehow?
I was afraid of that...
This person doesn't trust Mana.
There are others working on mechanical limbs, so I'm not worried about that.
This person doesn't trust Mana.
There are others working on mechanical limbs, so I'm not worried about that.
Because he hasn't yet.
I took my friend to the Arcade when they got hurt.
[Did Marco know she had renounced the Fog god and changed sides? Well, now he does.]
It's possible that helped keep them alive, but they were still bleeding and in a lot of pain.
I think maybe until I do more for him, even if he wanted to try to earn my favor, it might not be possible.
It didn't get better during the fog, either.
I don't know why.
I took my friend to the Arcade when they got hurt.
[Did Marco know she had renounced the Fog god and changed sides? Well, now he does.]
It's possible that helped keep them alive, but they were still bleeding and in a lot of pain.
I think maybe until I do more for him, even if he wanted to try to earn my favor, it might not be possible.
It didn't get better during the fog, either.
I don't know why.
Ah
[Was he supposed to know that? Well, one way or another, he knows now.]
Well...
It could be that the Arcade can't heal him unless your friend joins Elias too.
[Or it could, indeed, be a matter of favor. As much as Marco insists his title is nothing more than that - a title, a formality - he has to admit that the perks are real.]
Wait,
The fog didn't help either?
That's strange.
Maybe it hasn't been long enough yet?
[Was he supposed to know that? Well, one way or another, he knows now.]
Well...
It could be that the Arcade can't heal him unless your friend joins Elias too.
[Or it could, indeed, be a matter of favor. As much as Marco insists his title is nothing more than that - a title, a formality - he has to admit that the perks are real.]
Wait,
The fog didn't help either?
That's strange.
Maybe it hasn't been long enough yet?
[There likely isn't a need to be secretive -- if anyone saw Leo at night, it was within the realm of reason to assume he was aligned with Elias, thanks to his glowing neon markings, and even in this place, a missing arm is fairly obvious. Still, she wants to be careful. For whatever reason, Leo had make his query about the fog not healing him through a different username than normal, and anyone knowing anything about who was aligned to who could be dangerous. See: later in the month when she messages Atem to ask about which Foggies she would be allowed to kill without ruining their friendship. Yay, Fidds made the list of off-limits people!]
It happened on the 1st.
Maybe I shouldn't have expected it to heal completely, but it didn't do anything.
They didn't mean to, but they did it themself...
Would Miss Fog really do nothing for them just because of that?
All I can do for them now is look for future options. Or possess them, if they're in bad pain, but...I don't think they'll tell me if they are.
It happened on the 1st.
Maybe I shouldn't have expected it to heal completely, but it didn't do anything.
They didn't mean to, but they did it themself...
Would Miss Fog really do nothing for them just because of that?
All I can do for them now is look for future options. Or possess them, if they're in bad pain, but...I don't think they'll tell me if they are.
I wouldn't think so.
I haven't really seen her punish anyone before, even when she's feeling more violent.
But...even with her being weakened, it should have worked.
I can't think of any other reason why it wouldn't.
I haven't really seen her punish anyone before, even when she's feeling more violent.
But...even with her being weakened, it should have worked.
I can't think of any other reason why it wouldn't.
I'm sort of asking you that, since you've been here longer.
But I doubt it.
But I doubt it.
Yeah.
Would you let me know if you hear anything like that?
Would you let me know if you hear anything like that?
[Javert spent a very busy day bustling about the city, gathering up as much information as he can about the early-morning explosion (which he, as a vampire, was already awake for) and the new puncture wound he spotted in the Moon. Naturally, his first stop was the Astrological Society; simple enough to extract a few key facts with eye contact and a bit of a mental nudge. His questioning eventually brought him circling around to the humans at so-called mission control, in which he extracted a short list of monsters involved in a certain idiot Space Journey, monsters which contributed everything from direct participation in the journey to simple safety calculations.
Marco Evangelisti, Fourth Priest, stood out amongst them. As someone who really ought to have known better than to toy with the cosmic unknown in Ryslig Peninsula.
And so, late at night on the fourth of August, Javert pulls up to the House at Clipperhead Lake in a rickety, rusted-out truck, his red-haired thrall manning the driver's seat. The thrall tips his hat to Javert, who ignores the pleasantry, and patiently parks amongst the trees and bushes, cutting the lights and awaiting his master's return.
Javert, face inelegantly bruised and cravat tied quite high around a still-healing neck, approaches the door with his steady, even march. He sets his jaw, hefts his cane, and gives it a generous, thunderingcop knock.]
Evangelisti! Are you in there? Open up!
Marco Evangelisti, Fourth Priest, stood out amongst them. As someone who really ought to have known better than to toy with the cosmic unknown in Ryslig Peninsula.
And so, late at night on the fourth of August, Javert pulls up to the House at Clipperhead Lake in a rickety, rusted-out truck, his red-haired thrall manning the driver's seat. The thrall tips his hat to Javert, who ignores the pleasantry, and patiently parks amongst the trees and bushes, cutting the lights and awaiting his master's return.
Javert, face inelegantly bruised and cravat tied quite high around a still-healing neck, approaches the door with his steady, even march. He sets his jaw, hefts his cane, and gives it a generous, thundering
Evangelisti! Are you in there? Open up!
[It's been a day.
Marco had been awake for the explosion, too - which is only natural, because he'd made it his personal duty to see the crew off. Other things he had made his personal responsibility include: their safety, their continued survival, etcetera.
It's funny. He remembers telling himself last month not to beat himself up if something went wrong. He remembers being aware that his true level of responsibility on the matter would be limited. But he was a demon then, and now he's not anymore, and frankly it's a good thing he feels too bad about what happened to concern himself with the fact that he voluntarily changed into a demon and went so far as to relish four weeks of freedom from guilt and he even lied about why he did it--
The point is, it's been a day. Fiddleford has helped. He always does, even when there are bumps on the road. Marco knows he should probably be getting some rest, but it's not coming easy.
Then there's a knock that can only just barely be called a knock.
Marco opens the door only slightly, at first. But he's quick to resume opening it all the way; once he confirms that this is, indeed, Javert, it strikes him as incredibly unwise to hesitate.]
Javert. Can I help you?... Good evening.
Marco had been awake for the explosion, too - which is only natural, because he'd made it his personal duty to see the crew off. Other things he had made his personal responsibility include: their safety, their continued survival, etcetera.
It's funny. He remembers telling himself last month not to beat himself up if something went wrong. He remembers being aware that his true level of responsibility on the matter would be limited. But he was a demon then, and now he's not anymore, and frankly it's a good thing he feels too bad about what happened to concern himself with the fact that he voluntarily changed into a demon and went so far as to relish four weeks of freedom from guilt and he even lied about why he did it--
The point is, it's been a day. Fiddleford has helped. He always does, even when there are bumps on the road. Marco knows he should probably be getting some rest, but it's not coming easy.
Then there's a knock that can only just barely be called a knock.
Marco opens the door only slightly, at first. But he's quick to resume opening it all the way; once he confirms that this is, indeed, Javert, it strikes him as incredibly unwise to hesitate.]
Javert. Can I help you?... Good evening.
[Javert was poised to beat on the door again when Marco draws it open. He pauses, club held cocked and ready, his eyes glittering beneath his cap. Though there is little light between the too-bright stars and the ever-present swirl of fog stroking his sides, Marco ought to notice that Javert looks considerably ... degenerated... since the last time they met in the flesh.
Or, well, degenerated isn't quite the right term. He looks frigid, yes, and carries himself with the same stock-straight military bearing he always wore. But there are far too many marks scarring his face, deep bruising creeping up from beneath a thick necktie, discoloration near his whiskers that cannot be attributed from burn scars alone. That, combined with the first turn of his lip, a glitter of canine, and the lightless, glassy sheen of his undead red eyes makes for a rather unsettling glance.
Javert lowers the cane, tucking it tightly beneath the crook of his arm.]
This is concerning the damn foolish turn with a sky-vessel this morning, [he growls.] May I enter, [he commands, more than he asks.] Or shall we speak of this outside on your stoop like exhibitionists, for the forest creatures to overhear.
Or, well, degenerated isn't quite the right term. He looks frigid, yes, and carries himself with the same stock-straight military bearing he always wore. But there are far too many marks scarring his face, deep bruising creeping up from beneath a thick necktie, discoloration near his whiskers that cannot be attributed from burn scars alone. That, combined with the first turn of his lip, a glitter of canine, and the lightless, glassy sheen of his undead red eyes makes for a rather unsettling glance.
Javert lowers the cane, tucking it tightly beneath the crook of his arm.]
This is concerning the damn foolish turn with a sky-vessel this morning, [he growls.] May I enter, [he commands, more than he asks.] Or shall we speak of this outside on your stoop like exhibitionists, for the forest creatures to overhear.
[Javert does look like he's seen better days, but between everything else on Marco's mind and the fact that this is the first he's seen him in person since his return, he's not sure if this is the time or the place to ask. Not to mention... Javert will be the one asking questions here, evidently.]
The-- The rocket. Of course, come in. [Marco steps back, gestures in invitation.] Can I get you anything? We, ah, might not... might not have your favorite.
[Apparently Marco is in this very specific threshold of anxiety where he will make jokes, but he will do so at the cost of immediate regret.]
The-- The rocket. Of course, come in. [Marco steps back, gestures in invitation.] Can I get you anything? We, ah, might not... might not have your favorite.
[Apparently Marco is in this very specific threshold of anxiety where he will make jokes, but he will do so at the cost of immediate regret.]
[Javert's shoulders loosen their vicelike tension almost imperceptibly, his nostrils flaring. He doesn't mutter a thanks or even offer the courtesy of a bow before squeezing his way past the threshold. Immediately, he begins to prowl the entry room, picking up a knicknack here, examining a piece of equipment there. Anything he touches he considers intently before moving on.]
Nothing to drink. I won't be long, [he says briskly.] I am told you were in charge of the -- [his brows knit, and he sears Marco with a singular, wry stare over the object in his hand,] safety calculations for the mission.
[That went well, didn't it? His eyes drop back to the trinket he's holding.]
Certainly a long-established Monster citizen such as you knew better than to encourage this thing. With a handful of irresponsible dunces. So. What convinced you to make this feeble attempt? What were you and the rest searching for up there?
Nothing to drink. I won't be long, [he says briskly.] I am told you were in charge of the -- [his brows knit, and he sears Marco with a singular, wry stare over the object in his hand,] safety calculations for the mission.
[That went well, didn't it? His eyes drop back to the trinket he's holding.]
Certainly a long-established Monster citizen such as you knew better than to encourage this thing. With a handful of irresponsible dunces. So. What convinced you to make this feeble attempt? What were you and the rest searching for up there?
[An interrogation is one thing; Marco isn't sure how it merits Javert's deep scrutiny of the house decor. Fortunately for the two of them, he knows better than to comment on it. Instead, he does his best to keep a courteous smile plastered on his face - though it falters when Javert poses his first question.]
I wasn't trying to encourage them. I was trying to keep them safe.
[So much for that. The exhaustion in his tone tells it all. Marco takes a deep breath. When he first messaged Fiddleford in a panic, a very pertinent observation came up - Marco supposes he might as well mention it, even if he's not sure Javert will understand.]
I knew it was incredibly risky, of course, but... Bavan today, the peninsula of today, it isn't too far removed from what my world looked like when mankind successfully landed on the moon. I... genuinely thought they had a chance. With Kaito being a trained astronaut, and with them actually having access to a functioning ship...
[Which, uh, turned out to be the Farmblaster. He misses it already.]
I wasn't trying to encourage them. I was trying to keep them safe.
[So much for that. The exhaustion in his tone tells it all. Marco takes a deep breath. When he first messaged Fiddleford in a panic, a very pertinent observation came up - Marco supposes he might as well mention it, even if he's not sure Javert will understand.]
I knew it was incredibly risky, of course, but... Bavan today, the peninsula of today, it isn't too far removed from what my world looked like when mankind successfully landed on the moon. I... genuinely thought they had a chance. With Kaito being a trained astronaut, and with them actually having access to a functioning ship...
[Which, uh, turned out to be the Farmblaster. He misses it already.]
[Javert doesn't hide his scoff.
If Evangelisti really wanted them safe and knew what was best for them, he would have stopped the operation before it could start crunching its first mathematical formula. No, there is something more at play here than meager curiosity. Javert feels certain. He skips past a framed photo of Fiddleford with Marco and continues his slow scrutiny of anything remotely mechanical in nature in the room.]
Yet you know few cosmic bodies here function as they do elsewhere, [he begins smoothly, his tone a slow, plodding, even keel.] You forget we reside on a peninsula where the mists belong to a tangible Madame and the oceans are stoppered by a human woman molded into a plug. There is at least one incident of a bestial whale descending from up on high. And you assumed a creature who wandered the stars in his now-meaningless dead life could do the same here? That is a grave error, a serious error. They would be very fortunate if their explosive deaths is the worst of what they'll suffer this month!
But you did not answer what I wanted. So tell me plainly.
[Let us pause for a moment, while Javert straightens his back and slowly pivots to take in the Fourth Priest full in the face.
Throughout Javert's monologue, though his tone remained unwavering and cold, whatever thin fog lingered outside started slipping through the cracks of Marco's home. They danced and they spun, drawn to the Priest like he were a magnet for the seeping damp; they hugged his hemlines, polished his boots. He breathed it in like a living man would heave air, and with it, his baleful speech gained momentum.
Now, in calling Marco out on quailing meekly in his presence, he lays an eerie, lurid red gaze on Marco, testing the waters, reading what sits behind his spectacled eyes. His irises brighten and dim with a palpable power, a promise of extracting the truth from Marco whether he is willing or not.
Is it overkill, when Marco is compliant? Perhaps. But Javert has endured several more deaths and stripped himself of even more layers of trust in anyone remotely connected to the false god. It'll take him a little more effort than, say, a year-or-so ago to judge Marco as genuine.]
Were they looking for an escape from this realm? [A heady pause. Even the swirling, thin veil of mist around him stills. He adds acridly,] I advise you not leave out Elias's hand in this. Don't hide key details from me.
If Evangelisti really wanted them safe and knew what was best for them, he would have stopped the operation before it could start crunching its first mathematical formula. No, there is something more at play here than meager curiosity. Javert feels certain. He skips past a framed photo of Fiddleford with Marco and continues his slow scrutiny of anything remotely mechanical in nature in the room.]
Yet you know few cosmic bodies here function as they do elsewhere, [he begins smoothly, his tone a slow, plodding, even keel.] You forget we reside on a peninsula where the mists belong to a tangible Madame and the oceans are stoppered by a human woman molded into a plug. There is at least one incident of a bestial whale descending from up on high. And you assumed a creature who wandered the stars in his now-meaningless dead life could do the same here? That is a grave error, a serious error. They would be very fortunate if their explosive deaths is the worst of what they'll suffer this month!
But you did not answer what I wanted. So tell me plainly.
[Let us pause for a moment, while Javert straightens his back and slowly pivots to take in the Fourth Priest full in the face.
Throughout Javert's monologue, though his tone remained unwavering and cold, whatever thin fog lingered outside started slipping through the cracks of Marco's home. They danced and they spun, drawn to the Priest like he were a magnet for the seeping damp; they hugged his hemlines, polished his boots. He breathed it in like a living man would heave air, and with it, his baleful speech gained momentum.
Now, in calling Marco out on quailing meekly in his presence, he lays an eerie, lurid red gaze on Marco, testing the waters, reading what sits behind his spectacled eyes. His irises brighten and dim with a palpable power, a promise of extracting the truth from Marco whether he is willing or not.
Is it overkill, when Marco is compliant? Perhaps. But Javert has endured several more deaths and stripped himself of even more layers of trust in anyone remotely connected to the false god. It'll take him a little more effort than, say, a year-or-so ago to judge Marco as genuine.]
Were they looking for an escape from this realm? [A heady pause. Even the swirling, thin veil of mist around him stills. He adds acridly,] I advise you not leave out Elias's hand in this. Don't hide key details from me.
[Javert has a point, he'll grant that - if not in words, then in the way his lips purse at the monologue. Marco may have a propensity for paranoia, but not for cynicism. It doesn't come naturally to him; it only grows and festers in his wounds. No, despite what some might expect, Marco's paranoia has a way of coexisting with naiveté.
That's why he wanted to believe Kaito could have made it to space. That's why he's still with Elias, no matter whether he wants to admit it or not. And that's why, when he begins to notice the fog seeping into the room, he wonders for a moment if he's imagining it.
But he isn't. Wide and terrified green eyes follow the fog as it coalesces around Javert, then land on the man's intense gaze. Right now, Marco couldn't forget he's speaking to a Priest of the Fog if he tried.
And part of him very much wishes he would try.]
Elias had nothing to do with this. [His answer comes fast, breathless. He wonders if Javert can hear his accelerated pulse.] Nothing, I swear. I just-- This was about space.
That's why he wanted to believe Kaito could have made it to space. That's why he's still with Elias, no matter whether he wants to admit it or not. And that's why, when he begins to notice the fog seeping into the room, he wonders for a moment if he's imagining it.
But he isn't. Wide and terrified green eyes follow the fog as it coalesces around Javert, then land on the man's intense gaze. Right now, Marco couldn't forget he's speaking to a Priest of the Fog if he tried.
And part of him very much wishes he would try.]
Elias had nothing to do with this. [His answer comes fast, breathless. He wonders if Javert can hear his accelerated pulse.] Nothing, I swear. I just-- This was about space.
What about space? What about the stars and the moon?
[Javert's voice is somber, rumbling, and quiet, but it lashes out and seizes Marco like a roar. His grip on his cane tightens, knuckles whitening under the tension, the glow in his eyes flaring to an unspoken threat. He can squeeze out the truth. Don't make him.]
What powers backed this enterprise? What did they ever think to accomplish out there, where their hunger would never be sated except by one another?
[The only conclusion that makes sense to Javert is that they meant puncture to Sea of Stars, part the veil between worlds, and slip out, into the night, away from Ryslig, in some nonsense plan to get away from Madame Fog's inescapable grip. He could conceive that it might do something especially nefarious, with the False God's blessings and cunning mind; he could conceive that it has done something to chase the Fog's influence away from the night, as he's observed, himself. Perhaps it would marry the abominable land, Felfri, even more closely to Ryslig, as Elias and his army would want.
He cannot conceive that it was done for fun. For what the devil was fun about slowly letting oneself go mad aboard a tin can in the sky? Unbelievable.]
[Javert's voice is somber, rumbling, and quiet, but it lashes out and seizes Marco like a roar. His grip on his cane tightens, knuckles whitening under the tension, the glow in his eyes flaring to an unspoken threat. He can squeeze out the truth. Don't make him.]
What powers backed this enterprise? What did they ever think to accomplish out there, where their hunger would never be sated except by one another?
[The only conclusion that makes sense to Javert is that they meant puncture to Sea of Stars, part the veil between worlds, and slip out, into the night, away from Ryslig, in some nonsense plan to get away from Madame Fog's inescapable grip. He could conceive that it might do something especially nefarious, with the False God's blessings and cunning mind; he could conceive that it has done something to chase the Fog's influence away from the night, as he's observed, himself. Perhaps it would marry the abominable land, Felfri, even more closely to Ryslig, as Elias and his army would want.
He cannot conceive that it was done for fun. For what the devil was fun about slowly letting oneself go mad aboard a tin can in the sky? Unbelievable.]
What are you talking about?
[Javert seriously believes this had something to do with Elias; is anything he tells him going to convince him otherwise? There is a very real possibility that the answer is no, and that makes frustration bubble up alongside Marco's fear.
Fear, because what's going to happen if he can't get through to this man; frustration, because oh, so this is it, this must have been what others felt like when Marco marched in and accused them of being tainted by the Fog.
(Also, frustration because somehow in Javert's mind this all leads to cannibalism; also, frustration because Marco realises this makes no less sense than when he convinced himself one of the Fog's monuments was corrupting all who visited it.)]
Mana backed this enterprise. None of the gods did, as far as I'm aware, and if you'll pardon my presumption I like to believe I would be aware if one of them was. This was a matter of-- of pure scientific curiosity. But you won't believe me, will you?
[Javert seriously believes this had something to do with Elias; is anything he tells him going to convince him otherwise? There is a very real possibility that the answer is no, and that makes frustration bubble up alongside Marco's fear.
Fear, because what's going to happen if he can't get through to this man; frustration, because oh, so this is it, this must have been what others felt like when Marco marched in and accused them of being tainted by the Fog.
(Also, frustration because somehow in Javert's mind this all leads to cannibalism; also, frustration because Marco realises this makes no less sense than when he convinced himself one of the Fog's monuments was corrupting all who visited it.)]
Mana backed this enterprise. None of the gods did, as far as I'm aware, and if you'll pardon my presumption I like to believe I would be aware if one of them was. This was a matter of-- of pure scientific curiosity. But you won't believe me, will you?
[Javert was thinking in the long term; if there were a hypothetical escape underway, how would Monsters eat, how long would they bank on being able to stay away? The longer they were out on that star-crossed journey, the hungrier the team would get. That was where cannibalism came in. Atrocious planning from top to bottom, and he would be hard-pressed to believe otherwise.
Elias's interference is another matter. The reason he questions Marco so intensely is because he has found no hard evidence to suggest the boy's involvement, even if a suspicion nags at him. He would like to either verify it as fact, or stamp out the possibility and move on to other angles, and this was his swiftest course to do so.
So what is it that he sees in Marco's eyes, now, with his harried answer, flush with irritation? Javert silently scrutinizes, sparks flying in his pupils. He takes in the ebbing wave of fear, the worry. He delves deeper, irises aflame, and recognizes the frustration mounting within them. He pushes and he nudges and he wrangles, just slightly, his mental hooks ready to take aim and commandeer Marco's faculties straight out from under him.
But then something remarkable happens. With frustration overriding the fear in Marco's heart, Javert's gaze withdraws. He listens, and he hears the message, and he judges it as true. His grip on his cane loosens, and he absently, thoughtfully twists it in his palms, the veil of fog slowly thinning and seeping straight back out of the room.]
There we are, that's good, [he says sententiously, chin held high.] I'm capable of reason, Evangelisti. I can see you speak honestly. [His brow arches, the corner of his mouth crimping in a strange cross between a smirk and a grimace.] And I can see that you went out of your way to allow a group of cads the tools to fly this foolish mission of theirs. With the Mana witch's name attached to this, it is no wonder it ended poorly. Her raison d'être may as well be sabotage, after all.
[Javert snorts, finally comfortable enough to turn away and scan the room for anything else of fervent interest. He refrains from handling anything else, contenting himself with committing the room to memory.]
What is so pressing about the stars that they paid her for the powers to get up there, anyway?
Elias's interference is another matter. The reason he questions Marco so intensely is because he has found no hard evidence to suggest the boy's involvement, even if a suspicion nags at him. He would like to either verify it as fact, or stamp out the possibility and move on to other angles, and this was his swiftest course to do so.
So what is it that he sees in Marco's eyes, now, with his harried answer, flush with irritation? Javert silently scrutinizes, sparks flying in his pupils. He takes in the ebbing wave of fear, the worry. He delves deeper, irises aflame, and recognizes the frustration mounting within them. He pushes and he nudges and he wrangles, just slightly, his mental hooks ready to take aim and commandeer Marco's faculties straight out from under him.
But then something remarkable happens. With frustration overriding the fear in Marco's heart, Javert's gaze withdraws. He listens, and he hears the message, and he judges it as true. His grip on his cane loosens, and he absently, thoughtfully twists it in his palms, the veil of fog slowly thinning and seeping straight back out of the room.]
There we are, that's good, [he says sententiously, chin held high.] I'm capable of reason, Evangelisti. I can see you speak honestly. [His brow arches, the corner of his mouth crimping in a strange cross between a smirk and a grimace.] And I can see that you went out of your way to allow a group of cads the tools to fly this foolish mission of theirs. With the Mana witch's name attached to this, it is no wonder it ended poorly. Her raison d'être may as well be sabotage, after all.
[Javert snorts, finally comfortable enough to turn away and scan the room for anything else of fervent interest. He refrains from handling anything else, contenting himself with committing the room to memory.]
What is so pressing about the stars that they paid her for the powers to get up there, anyway?
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