meadowlarklogs | ( OPEN ) pick a place and die there.

[ all of Tomoe's dreams come to the same place: Mikage Shrine, standing isolated and hidden away at the end of a long path up an overgrown hill. it isn't a large or impressive shrine, but the grounds are well-kept and spacious enough to accommodate visitors. to anyone who knows what they're looking at, the shrine is clearly prepared for worship. the torii gates are clear of any hanging branches. there is a chozuya out front, a water-filled basin for visitors to purify themselves. up the stairs of the main building is an offering box and a suzu, a large bell on a rope.

the setting is always the same. the mood, however, is not. ]

GOOD DREAMS.

[ some of the dreaming Displaced who cross paths with Tomoe will find Mikage Shrine lively and bright no matter the hour of day it is in the dream. there's laughter coming from inside the main building, whether a man's voice or a young girl's. the grounds are filled with the delicate sounds of leaves rustling, the trickle of water, small bells ringing. somehow, there is a sense of comfort blanketing the scene. everything feels right.

in these dreams, Tomoe is often found doing simple chores around the shrine. carrying laundry, pulling weeds, cutting branches to keep the torii clear. he works efficiently, and he seems content. he'll also show up if anyone pulls the rope and rings the suzu, but it comes with a scolding. ]

BAD DREAMS.

[ other dreams are cold and silent. the shrine stands in disarray, the main building old and dilapidated, but the grounds are still clean and cared for — like someone trying to keep a home tidy when it is well beyond repair. the world seems almost unnaturally still. there's no one else here.

ringing the suzu won't bring anyone out, but the front door of the main building is unlocked and slightly ajar. inside is a modest, old-fashioned Japanese home fallen into disuse. there's very little evidence of anyone living here, other than one small furnished bedroom. it's towards the back of the building that Tomoe can be found at last. he's laid out on the wooden floor, staring through the open shouji at the garden behind the shrine, empty sake tokkuri bottles scattered around him. he still has a sakazuki cup filled with sake in his hand.

he drinks, and he doesn't move. ]

[ when things are in disarray, he knows what to do. there's been someone caring for the outside, but there are some repairs that still need to be made. while he's not the most skilled at carpentry, he figures that it's worth a try, right?

that's probably where the sounds start coming from as Ren begins his renovation, trying to move a few things here and there to identify what needs to be done. it's time to work!! ]

[ that rouses him. those sounds don't belong anywhere in this old shrine, but he isn't thinking that; he is thinking just let me sleep, you bastards. he doesn't want to be awake. his dreams are warm, and they pass the time. Tomoe drinks the rest of the sake in one quick gulp, tosses the sakazuki aside, and storms through the house to slam the shouji open, bristling: ]

Onibi, I told you not to disturb—

[ he freezes up at the sight of Ren.

this isn't... right. not just Ren being here, in this place, but— there's no one here. no one is supposed to be here. this is a cold, empty home where Tomoe spends his days in a half-asleep haze because he cannot bear the loneliness of years spent waiting for Mikage to return. unless Mikage has come back, that shouldn't change. so then what the hell is this? ]

You... What are you doing here?

[ no, this isn't exactly right. he knows it's not right, but there's something about the desolation that leaves him unnerved. it makes him want to stay. ]

There are some repairs to do. [ quiet and firm, in that tone that Ren uses when he's intense. the jacket he's wearing is shrugged off of his shoulders, beneath it are suspenders. it's a school uniform, and Ren is rolling up the sleeves of the shirt below from wrist to elbow. ] You have tools, right?

[ even if he doesn't belong here, he can't leave things the way they are. ]

[ for a long moment, Tomoe is stunned. it is such a human thing. he isn't so clear on the picture of humanity here, in a place far removed from human lives, where Tomoe only hears the occasional prayers of those asking for Mikage's blessing — but he knows this is not something any spirit would do. he stays because he is the shinshi, and he would remain even if there was nothing left but ashes. there's no reason for anyone else to care about the state of this shrine. it's pointless, and meddlesome, and... he cannot understand it.

he shakes his head, ears pinned back. ]

It doesn't matter. [ he doesn't sound like he's just dismissing Ren. it's bitter, instead, and weighed down with despair. ] There is no god here. You may as well be laying down tatami on rotting wood.

[ Sojiro had told him not to meddle in the affairs of others, but it couldn't be helped. when Arsene awakened and he burned with rage over the world's injustice, a question was posed to him: was he wrong at that time? was he wrong to feel that need to help other people? to fight for it?

he still felt it. that burn had never subsided, but instead he had sharpened it as he had grown. ]

You're still here, so it matters to me.

[ gods be damned. he wasn't here for any god. ]

[ that isn't fair. the feeling surges up in him and slices through his lethargy cleanly as a blade — all of a sudden, Tomoe slams his fist against the wall, tail lashing behind him. those words don't mean anything from anyone but Mikage. it's not fair that he hears them from someone else while the one person who matters left him alone here. ]

That's not enough! I'm a shinshi! Without Mikage, I—!

[ whatever he was going to say catches in his throat and dies with a pitiful noise, a fox's whine. the anger that had briefly flared dies out just as quickly, smothered by cold and silence. it would be one thing if Mikage had disappeared from the world, as gods sometimes do. Tomoe isn't sure what would happen to him in that case, but something would change. instead, Mikage is alive. he just isn't here. he said he was going into town and hasn't come back, hasn't said a word to Tomoe in two decades. the only thing Tomoe can do is wait. ]

A shrine is empty without a god. [ a shinshi is nothing without a god. unsaid, but it's there in the defeated slump of his body, his head hanging forward. his tail curls low between his ankles. ] You can patch up the holes in the roof, do whatever you want, but it won't matter. This place won't recover. I'll still—

[ he shivers, and curls in on himself. his voice is small: ]

... It will still be cold, here.

[ the sudden rush of rage as it cracks against the wall doesn't seem to jar him. he knows that anger well: it comes from being left alone. he had seen it in his friends when their fear and loneliness welled up through the cracks made in their hearts, and they tried desperately to reach out to hold onto something solid to pull themselves upright. bad things happened, and people fell apart. what happened after that was important—healing was important. Tomoe talks so flippantly about how different they are, but Ren can't help but see how they're the same.

he witnessed what long stretches of loneliness had done to Akechi, broken him to pieces while he tried desperately to fit them back together into some semblance of a person.

his expression is quiet, the more intense lines softening. ]

Tomoe, hey.

[ very carefully, he reaches out to put a hand on one shoulder, and then the other. he pulls him in. ]

I know I'm not Mikage, and I might not be able to stay for long, but I'll be here as long as I can.

[ none of this is merely memory. perhaps Tomoe hadn't realised yet that he has been adrift, that there is so much lonely fear lurking in the pit of his stomach, but this is his mind as of late manifest. he is dimly aware that this can't really be Mikage's shrine, or those twenty years spent waiting. the connection doesn't quite make it to the waking world. but he doesn't need to be aware of the mirror now for the weight of all this to hit him just the same.

when he's pulled, he goes, stumbling but without resistance, to the solid warmth of Ren's presence. he curls, instinctively, towards that warmth; he clings to the very edge of Ren's sleeve with just his fingertips, this fragile, desperate point of connection. there is an ache in him like Ren has put one finger on a bruise and pressed down hard. there is fear in his heart that won't settle. not for long? what sort of flickering instant of time does that mean for a human? and if it isn't forever, then what would be the point of it? he means to pursue those doubts, but instead the one that rises to the surface is— ]

... Why? [ Tomoe's forehead rests on Ren's shoulder, and the words are spoken to the space between their bodies. even without any manner of binding, to stay is a promise not made lightly. youkai take from each other. when they make vows, they do so with a sword to each other's throats. ] What reason would you have to stay? If you're just pitying me—

[ the venom in that warns of violence, fangs bared. his pride could never allow it. ]

[ being close to people was one of those things that came easily to him. when Tomoe curls in, Ren takes the invitation and rests an arm around his shoulders, and another loose around his waist. he offers what he can. Tomoe was in pain, and while he's never felt loneliness to this depth, he has felt it before. he knew it in the others that he had met because he had been the same.

when he shakes his head, Tomoe can feel it more than see it. ]

...

That's not it.

[ it's quiet, thoughtful, as if he's sorting out his own thoughts. ]

We made a deal.

[ not just for Ren to help with Nanami—it was more than that. Ren's deals were always more than that. he understood what he had been told in the Velvet Room that day. the connections he had with others were his strength, and even here, without the power of Persona to gain the benefit of those close to him, it seemed more important than ever. ]

[ it's the right answer. a reason grounded in empathy that required some sort of emotional understanding would have failed; a reason grounded in selfishness that lacked any conviction whatsoever would have likewise been rejected. what Ren provides is the one explanation Tomoe can allow without question. and it's easier for Tomoe to accept it in this place, with the weight of his loneliness hanging in the air, the haziness of a dream making all other concerns seem distant and unreal. intuitively, he knows that Mikage is not coming back; that Nanami, who found him here before, is not coming either. he could wait here forever, alone. he's not sure he could allow someone to leave him again.

Mikage never became any less important to him just because Nanami had appeared. surely Nanami is made no less important by Ren's promise. and there are other concerns — Ren is an ordinary human, and Tomoe is more youkai than shinshi now; the two are incompatible. there's no binding to make him feel secure, to tell him when he's needed. he lacks the power to keep Ren safe. he worries about mortality, about human fickleness, about his nature not being understood. but those thoughts are for waking. here, now, all he can think about is the sleeve clutched in his fingers. ]

If I find out that you mean that lightly, I'll bite you. Severely. [ it's petty grumbling into the crook of Ren's neck, rather than a threat meant in any seriousness, though the sentiment itself is not in jest. he turns his head to the side, resting his head more fully on Ren's shoulder, and sighs. ] How low have I sunk... A familiar of my level getting involved with a human who doesn't even hold divinity. Honestly, it's embarrassing.

[ more people to get close to never left the others any less important. it was what he had learned during his time heading to Tokyo alone, abandoned by his community and his family, when he started building up something new.

things never lasted forever, and even his time in Tokyo came to an end.

loss was something that he knew intimately: the losses that his friends and confidants had experienced at the hands of a corrupt society, the loss of Akechi, and the potential loss of Morgana.

he had told Clarke that it was their pain that helped band them together. ]

Divinity?

[ ... ]

I was asked once.

[ he had declined at that time, of course. ]

[By now, Akechi is all too familiar with Tomoe's work ethic. Their apartment would be clean without the fox because of Akechi and Ren's sensibilities, but the two of them are allowed to be somewhat lax, relying on their fox-eared companion to keep their apartment clean.

So, when he comes across him at work here, he's unsurprised.

Akechi comes to a halt before a tree, leaning languid against it, arms loosely looped across his chest.]

Are you a creature of routine, then?

[ it should be surprising to find Akechi here. this should seem out of place, two pictures overlapping that don't match up. but although he startles for a moment, it's only a glance — and then he simply accepts Akechi's presence. he is home, and he can hear his master's laughter. it's easy to feel as though things are exactly the way they should be. ]

I wasn't, before the contract. [ he sets down his basket of laundry and pulls out a bright, colourful dress to hang on the rustic clothesline. ] But I find routine the best way to keep the house in order, and that is my purpose as a shinshi.

Interesting, [he says, but there's a note to his tone that says he doesn't think it's interesting in the least. Despite what he knows culturally, there's a part of him that bristles at the ideas of contracts and being bound. He had a routine in his life as the Detective Prince, but it was a show. It served a purpose.

He told himself that it was nothing like that.]

It seems as if you're seeking a way to be bound. Restrained. Even when you're free of that. Why is it? Doesn't it get under your skin?

[ the question doesn't bother him. he thinks that it might have, were he anywhere else. but in this place he is certain of himself and his position, so nothing can threaten him. he considers it sincerely before he answers. ]

... Certainly, there are times when I miss the simple violence of my past. Those days were fun. But they were empty, too. [ his memories of that time are hazy, but he knows that it was a hollow existence. he could only be satisfied in a fight. it's difficult to explain to humans, with their short and overcomplicated lives, but: ] Youkai are only ever looking for the next bloodshed. I would have spent my immortal life that way.

[ although he's not sure he was ever aware of it in the moment. when did he change? he can't remember at all. ]

[Freedom but with mindlessness. Akechi can see the problem, but has given into that himself. When he drove himself mad, he had felt wild—free, unhinged, no longer driven by the need to appeal to those before him. It was all about the bloodshed. It was all about winning—once and for all!

(And so, he didn't win. Another point of failure.)

That he sees himself in what Tomoe has to say—it bothers him. He wants to believe that being free from the puppet strings would be better, but is it truly?

(Leave it to Akechi to also see being here, seeing this, as reflection of himself.)

As it is, Akechi's attempted to antagonize him—to provoke him further, but he can't.]

You gave up your freedom for the sake of complication. [An observation.] Most would fail to see the appeal to that.

[ it's clinical, not condemning, and so Tomoe doesn't bristle. honestly, though — what is it with humans, he wonders. this inability to accept things as they are, to understand that some matters are set in stone. so much to say about something that he doesn't believe needs to be questioned at all. ]

Only the simple-minded or the young. [ he shoots Akechi a pointed look over his shoulder when he says young. not like an adult to a child, because it's across a different sort of chasm, far wider: ] Give it another hundred years and perhaps you'll understand the feeling.

[ he'll always maintain that their kinds were never meant to mingle for exactly this reason. how can a mortal understand the feeling of a century passing? how can he make sense of a life lived hurriedly, trying to outpace death? they're simply too different. their paths shouldn't cross at all.

he thinks to leave it at that. but he pauses as he hangs up the last of the laundry. ]

... I chose to give up aimless freedom for a life that has purpose. It isn't any sort of debasement. I'm not less of what I was. Any fool who doubts that is welcome to put a sword in my hand and see for himself.

I wasn't criticizing you. [Mindlessness is just as horrible as being locked away. But he would prefer to keep his mind, prefer to keep the belief that he's in some kind of control. Then again, near the end of it all, he believed he had won and got nothing satisfying out of it. His death (or presumed death) came with the understanding that he was on puppet strings all along.

There was complication of thought and action, sure. But was he truly free? What does freedom even mean for him?]

You've found a direction that most people want. Some believe that it comes with freedom, but being bound to another can have its own freedom. You can think and recognize the passage of time. I can't object to that.

[ the expression on his face softens, not as warm as a smile, no less sincere for it. he's surprised, but— pleased. although he doesn't desire anyone's approval but his master's, it's not a bad feeling to be acknowledged in such a way. no one but a human would question his decision, and Nanami is the only human who was ever in a position to do so. she would never ask, he knows, because she doesn't think at all the way Akechi does. it's a strange experience, to hear a human reach the same conclusion as he did. ]

It's not without its downsides, but nor is any path in life, is it? [ that's universal, regardless of the world one lives in. he doesn't need to understand humans to see that. ] Really, I moved up in the world. Only divine-created spirits should be of my status, yet here I am, a despicable wild fox on sacred ground.

[ there's no self-consciousness in the way he says it. he's not actually ashamed about what he is, or insecure about the fact that he doesn't belong where he is; but it is a simple fact that he's "lesser" by comparison in the hierarchy. he's a youkai. an evil monster that torments humans. several hundred years ago, he would have killed a kami sooner than serve them.

now, this is his home.

he picks up the laundry basket and jerks his head towards the main building, waiting expectantly for Akechi to follow him. ]

Come on. You're a guest, so I can hardly leave you standing in the yard. I'll make tea.

The greater shame would be if you weren't aware of the chains around your wrists, but you are and you accept that. [But being of sound mind is something that he values. Akechi doesn't always grasp his more frantic, feral self as losing that. But then: it's because it's only a reflection of the truly boiling anger that churns inside of his stomach day in and day out.

As it is, he's—well, not happy to follow Tomoe, but content enough to do it. Saying that he's on a quest is an odd notion.]

But ... very well. I'll admit—tea isn't much to my tastes compared to coffee, but I haven't had a good cup in a long, long time. I suppose a dream's version will have to do. Besides, something tells me that I would be a fool to pass up yours.

Edited (no longer on the fool's journey) 2020-06-01 05:28 (UTC)

[ without a hint of shame or modesty: ] Of course you would.

[ he's smug about it, but he's plainly glad, too. even the most begrudging compliment works on a creature as vain as Tomoe.

he leads Akechi up the front stairs of the shrine, past the offering box and the suzu bell; he opens and closes the doors for him with the proper grace of a host, both hands bracing the frame as he slides it and his head bowed as his guest steps inside. the look he gives as Akechi passes is playful, though. he takes off his geta in the entrance and waits while Akechi removes his own shoes, and then leads him down the hall. ]

I have never been homesick before now, you know. [ never had reason to be. he would never have left Japan, given the choice, and the youkai side never changed, like a world encased in amber. ] And yet, with you, and with Ren... It irritates me not to have access to this world. That I lack entirely the option of an evening sitting on the engawa, dressed in yukata, drinking sake under the full moon.

[ there is no circumstance in which he wouldn't be aware of that absence. but when he's with those two, who share with him the culture that Tomoe should be a permanent fixture of, he always expects those things to be in reach. it seems obvious that they should be there. that feeling won't fade; he won't adapt to this world. that isn't how youkai are supposed to live. they don't change, or move on, or evolve. there's no way he can keep up with it, and even if he could, he doesn't want to lose anything.

it was lonely in the two decades that Mikage abandoned him, but in that time, Tomoe had the shrine, and he had a world he knew well, a world that knew his existence well. he had himself, unchanging. none of that remains. he thinks that if— if Ren and Akechi are his only two anchors in this wretched place, then he would tether all he has to them.

he stops in front of a shouji door and opens it to a tatami floor sitting room with very little furniture inside; a room for receiving guests, though it hasn't been prepared for company now. Tomoe goes to a cupboard along the wall and retrieves two zabuton, dropping them into place on the floor opposite each other with less of that mock-deference he played around with at the front door. ]

Though I should warn you, I did promise Ren that I would get you both more traditional attire.

I suspect that you mean in reality. [Yes, it makes sense that Ren would agree to go along with such a "promise." There would be no traditional attire in a dream, at least not yet. It's possible that the three of them could escape to a dream like this. Cognition and dreams—they are, inherently, linked in some way. It's something that Akechi and Ren noticed early on, even if they can't find a solution for what it means for them. There is no application that allows them to enter a dream at will, after all.]

Well, I suppose we'll have to see what you find. [He already slipped off his shoes at the entrance. While Akechi hasn't been in very many "traditional" homes, some things are universal. He moves to take a seat, one leg drawn up against him. It almost acts as a barrier, but he tries to seem casual about it, long brown strands of hair falling into his eyes. (Strangely, his hair seems to be the correct length all of a sudden.)]

There is very little of your world that I labored to enjoy in mine. I lived in a city like the one outside of your dreams, and it was just as callous and selfish. The people were caught up in any whim that would play on a screen somewhere to tell them how to think. [A beat.] It's the type of world where only the illusion of chaos allows someone to go unnoticed. You would undoubtedly feel just as homesick there.

(qi is sure this dream is not his - can't be, it's all too different from what he has ever seen, even in his memory lapses.

he knows, however, that he feels strangely comforted in this environment, so he sits next to the working man.)

Do you need any help?

[ Tomoe is sitting on the engawa with a clay pot in his lap and a cloth in his hand. he polishes the pottery almost absent-minded, the movements repetitive and mechanical — so when someone sits beside him, he continues polishing, even as he turns his head to regard the stranger. ]

Of course not. These are my duties as a shinshi. What poor excuse for a divine servant would require help with his tasks?

[ he isn't being hostile, by his tone; it's said lightly, though archly enough that it isn't quite a joke. he is a vain and proud creature at heart. ]

[In another life, the Exarch was a traveler. He followed the threads of knowledge and history, and though he never saw as much of the world as he wanted to, he had at least passing familiarity with much of the realm's cultures. The shrine's architecture is therefore not entirely alien to him; he has seen illustrations of its like in books about the Far East. The religious practice is perhaps not the same, but the similarities are such that he knows he's treading on sacred earth.

So he walks slowly through the grounds, his steps careful, his gaze watchful. He knows, too, the mark of a good caretaker, and what it means to tend a sanctuary. As he crosses the threshold of the main building, he's already feeling some respect for whomever has worked so hard to keep this place in order. Yet, the oppressive silence, the sense of lonely melancholy--that has not escaped him, either.

On reaching the back of the house, the Exarch approaches the prone figure and stands over him. He peers down through his cowl, his head tilted slightly to one side. His voice is gentle, free of judgment.]

Care for company?

[ somehow, Tomoe knows that these footsteps aren't the person he's waiting for. if it were Mikage, he would know it down to the depths of his heart, would hear his presence sing through the shrine's very foundations. at the same time, he doesn't feel like he should be reacting to an intruder, although no one else should be here. he doesn't question that feeling. in this moment, it makes perfect sense, that hazy dream logic settling over him without resistance. he simply lies there and waits for the approach. when he hears a voice above him at last, he cracks one eye open, and one of his ears flicks sleepily. ]

You aren't my usual sort of company. [ he doesn't elaborate, waves that statement away with a lazy hand. ] But I don't have any objections. Do as you like.

[ it doesn't matter either way. there's no need for him to say it out loud; it's a feeling that hangs heavy in the air here. whatever is missing from this place, nothing else can mend the hole left behind by its absence. so there's no reason for Tomoe to care about anything else. the only things that matter are the shrine, and the waiting.

Tomoe downs his sake in one swallow, refills the cup, and holds it out. ] Here. Drink.

[How curious.

The Exarch sits beside him--dropping down to his haunches, palms flat on the floor--and leans forward slightly. This man seems sapped of vitality; not merely apathetic but hopeless. He feels a pang of familiarity. He's seen plenty of people lost to their despair. Resigned to it.

He takes the cup, followed by a polite sip. The rice wine burns in his throat, and he makes an 'ah' noise after he swallows.]

Tell me, then. What manner of company do you tend to keep?

[ he rolls onto his back and lies there on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, arms and legs spread like a starfish, like a misbehaving child. there's a long hum as he pretends to give the question serious thought. ]

Tanuki girls from the red light district ochaya. [ he goes to drink straight from the tokkuri and finds it mostly empty, so he drops it on the floor and lets it roll away across the wood. ] Debauchery is a fine distraction from this miserable place, don't you think?

[ he's not lying, but there's no real enthusiasm there either. his voice is flat, sullen. these days, he doesn't even play around with the tanuki; he drinks miserably there, too, and he curls up in a girl's lap to sleep just because he doesn't want to come back here to this cold, empty place. it's not nearly as risque as he tries to imply. he's only saying it to get a rise out of someone who isn't even here, waiting to be scolded for neglecting his duties. ]

( OPEN ) pick a place and die there.

DREAMSCAPE.

BAD DREAMS.

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GOOD DREAMS

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GOOD DREAMS

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