victory_road | Open and Closed prompts

Entry tags:

Open and Closed prompts

Who: Hythlodaeus and YOU
When: July, on a Wednesday
Where: Around Goldenrod
Summary: Hythlodaeus is making friends and learning sign language :)
Rating: Mature. I don't trust Hythlodaeus' friends.

Painting Portraits

[His dear friend and house mate has tried to impart the value of a dollar on Hythlodaeus, and that they need way more of them. To his credit, he is trying now. Armed with several sheets of nice paper and a set of water colors, he's seated on the ground with a little sign advertising that he will paint a portrait of you and your pokemon.]

[There is no price listed, and while he's not painting a portrait, he will be doing little paintings of muscular, anthropomorphic horse men. They are very, very good]

Menacing the Radio Tower

[After his little lunch date, Hythlodaeus finds himself a little bit at a loss. He still has his art supplies, and he's still mad... So maybe he just needs to work off a little energy. If you're coming or going from the Radio tower, he will affix you with an intense stare for several seconds before looking down at his paper and drawing... a terrifyingly photo realistic portrait of you.]

Steven

[On the very worst Wednesday after a particularly terrible weekend, Hythlodaeus is at the right place at the right time, though not quite looking like himself. He seems to have left his mask and robe at home, instead wearing a simple short sleeve button down and a pair of khaki chinos.]

[He still stands out, a lot, since he's still eight feet tall with long white hair, but hey! At least everyone doesn't think he's a ghost now. He's just a werid guy standing there with a couple of cutieflies buzzing around him. He seems to be spacing the fuck out, staring at some far off point as he stands and waits.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh, [Steven says, softly, but with hidden claws,] I don't think he needs to be any more caught up with criminals than he already is. [Then he smiles at Emet-Selch, the smoke in his lungs melting the ice in his stomach that always forms in the other man's presence, dampening the urge to run the fuck away. Despite the lack of fangs in this body, there's still something pointed about the smile.]

Besides, the point of bribery is so that nothing becomes a crime. Weren't you paying attention in your eavesdropping, Name Redacted?

[The voice itself is very much Nice Steven--the words, however, not so much.]

[Pretending to be the good guy? Well. Isn't that an interesting little thought. Hythlodaeus, worried that he will lose it, scribbles not the words, but a diagram of the hand movements in the margin of his paper.]

[Ah, and there was Emet-Selch. Or, as Steven just decided to out them with "Name Redacted".]

Ah, yes, since you insist on using "Solus."

If we're asking my thoughts on the matter, I happen to consider the entire system to be criminal. What is the drive? To collect enough currency to be allowed to participate in society?

I don't doubt that the people in Team Rocket are unsavory, but the reach of my goals is more than meek survival. I'm not so sure that I will truly be given the chance to peek behind the curtain, but if and when I do, I plan to take full advantage.

[Hythlodaeus turns to Steven, his smile brightening.]

Let us not get ahead of ourselves, Steven. Surely, saying something so provocative won't yield an ideal result. How troublesome, really. I haven't been able to get either of them to sign "Emet-Selch" in an ideal way. I cannot pretend to know what Emet-Selch does for work outside of general research, but it seems as if you would like to tell me.

Edited 2020-07-15 18:50 (UTC)

Well, you're the one that insists that's not really his name, while keeping his actual name a secret, Hythlodaeus.

And-- I don't know what he does either, honestly. I don't pay too much attention to the projects of people who aren't my friends--and your ex-boyfriend definitely is not. I don't make a habit of interfering with other people's work, either.

[And oh, that's definitely a Look being directed at Emet.]

Edited 2020-07-15 19:19 (UTC)

[At being called "name redacted", Emet-Selch can't help but look a little taken aback by it—not offended, merely surprised. But such surprise swiftly morphs into bitter amusement as Hythlodaeus adds his part. Pointedly he ignores Steven's comment on interfering with other people's work, or so he seems to.]

First of all, [he begins with a wave of his finger,] Solus is my name. One of many, to be sure, but it is indeed mine. Just because you had not experienced my time as Solus zos Galvus, founding father of the Garlean Empire—[the name and title emphasized by the raise of his arms in a dramatic fashion, before letting his arms fall limply to his side, taking his usual slumped stance as he levels an unamused stare at Hythlodaeus]—does not mean such a moniker is incorrect.

Second, you are not wrong that this whole system is hugely flawed and morally reprehensible. However, you need not seek out the company of those who pride themselves on sinking far below an already deplorably low standard.

And third—[now he looks to Steven more fully,]—I know not what respectable man would interfere with another's work. I daresay, whatever might inspire such a churlish and wicked endeavor surely would have been equally terrible, if not more so.

[He smiles sympathetically, though the right corner of his mouth is notably higher than the other in that crooked smile of his.]

Are you having troubles, Steven? Indeed how dreadful, if that is the case.

And here I am, left without a full resume of all the parts you've cast off like so many shed skins. You could have at least brought me a playbill. It makes me feel like a theater-goer so fanatic that I've forgotten who you are.

You are still in costume, after all.

[He gives a little shrug about seeking company of the deplorables. And unfortunately for Steven and Emet-Selch, Hythlodaeus was not a stupid man. Steven had said enough, hadn't he? He laces his fingers together, resting his chin upon them with an innocent smile.]

Oh? Have either of you met one of them in person?

You would think it would have been equally terrible, [Steven says with a shrug.] Maybe it was. It's hard to tell what offense would have provoked such an endeavor, given that the far more harmful one had occurred a month or more before that sabotage.

But I suppose some people just can't handle others seeing them afraid. How funny, when those people are perfectly happy to willfully and knowingly terrorize other people. Ah, not that they're willing to engage with those people as people, of course.

[Just going to ignore that question of yours, Hythlodaeus, in favor of giving your (ex-?) boyfriend a long stare.]

[Sorry Hythlodaeus, but you're getting ignored at the moment, because Steven really wants to go down this road. He really wants to do this, huh?]

Are you speaking from your perspective, or from theirs? Do you truly know what is more damaging, or are you assuming that you know everything? One must wonder how a man of so few years might obtain such arrogance, 'tis truly absurd.

[He shrugs, that sympathetic smile having long since changed to one far more smug.]

Though, mayhap you are just in the habit of assuming everything, one to act ere understanding the truth. Tell me, Steven, is it hard to differentiate between reality and the fiction you spin? Even I would find myself lost in such a twisted perversion of reality.

[Steven's eyes narrow.]

Oh come off it, Solus. If you didn't know how much you scared the shit out of me, then why did you taunt me about how goddamn brave Tyler was in comparison, huh? You knew. You knew and you fucking enjoyed it.

I just wanted to give you one goddamn little scare to make up for every time you purposefully got in my face to frighten me--and you're acting like I killed your puppy or something, not that someone you hate saw you in a vulnerable moment! I'd get it if you'd done this shit over the stairs, I really would, but over one measly nightmare? That you did most of the job in creating for yourself?

I barely had to do shit to your dream, Emet-Selch. You made that hell for yourself. And yes, I consider what I did to you on the stairs to be worse--do you know how close you came to dying there? It wasn't fucking mercy that stayed me.

But then I'm mortal, aren't I? Not even a real person. Maybe if I were something like you, I'd be more concerned about my ego than my goddamn physical body.

Edited 2020-07-15 23:29 (UTC)

[As Steven goes on, Emet-Selch watches him, his expression going from that taunting expression to something of realization. Amused, realization, but as Steven continues, Emet walks over to Hythlodaeus, taking the pipe from him to take his own hit. His arm crossing his middle as he holds the pipe up with his other hand, the crossed arm's hand tucked under that elbow.

He exhales the smoke to the side, slow and steady, before giving Steven an amused and curious look.]

Is that what you believe?

[There's an eerie calmness to his tone as he asks, to his entire...everything. That's certainly not the weed at work.]

You labored under the misapprehension that I was purposefully terrorizing you and Tyler? That I, somehow, derived such primitive enjoyment from it? Oh, my dear boy, how mistaken you are.

[He pauses to take another hit, blows out the smoke, and hands it back to Hythlodaeus.]

First I will address the dream nonsense—if one were to pick at a wound, thus causing it to hemorrhage, should the blame fall to the victim for having a wound in the first place, or should it fall to the person who, of their own volition, chose to pick at what they shouldn't?

Your confirmation bias is not evidence of your contorted reality—after all, a taunt is a taunt. I knew there was something the matter, but what I had no idea of. Couldn't, not with how you shut me completely out even as I attempted to have a civil conversation with you. As for Tyler, I merely admire his strength, I do not relish in his fear of me. In fact, he and I are on civil terms even now, because unlike you, he was willing to understand me—and I, him.

[He shrugs, waving with that free hand a little limply.]

For all I knew, you merely suffered from a fragile ego, and that was that. I have seen far pettier things mortals have killed one another over, so who was I to assume this was any different? But you...you had all but decided what I was, what my intentions were, while knowing naught at all about me.

But I must admit, you being mortal has much to do with your shortsightedness, yes. That, and the value you put upon mortal flesh, that your fear would rule you so absolutely. I am a being not trapped by such ephemeral things—ordinarily—so such things like that assault was naught more than annoyance for one such as I. A minor inconvenience, for this body is not mine, but another's. I have not a physical form to call my own, have not for eons.

[He cocks his head to the side as he watches Steven, raising his eyebrows curiously.]

Though, I find it passing strange that you would care more about damage done to your body, than the desecration of a memory so sacred. One of lost loved ones, of a lost home, of a lost world. Physical wounds heal fairly easily, should they not be overly severe. Yet emotional wounds, you should know, do not heal quite so.

[He takes the pipe back, glances at it, and figures he's high enough if he still wants to try to follow Emet-Selch's train of thought.]

I cannot help but take issue with but one thing. I worry about your separation of body and self. The two cannot intrinsically be fully separated. Even if you take one up and cast one off with relative ease... I would never accuse you of some manner of laziness, but this is one area that I may have a more complete understanding.

...And before you fuss, I'll show you.

[He stands, bracing his hands on his knees to get up from that partial squat on the too-small chair. He ambles to the hall and comes back wheeling something large...]

[It is a blackboard. Hythlodaeus flips it to the emptier side.]

Don't call me boy, cabron, [Steven says in an altogether dangerous tone while Hythlodaeus is getting the blackboard--though of course, the man himself would still be able to hear him, the walls in this place being so thin.]

And what else was I supposed to think when you kept prodding at us, acting like you thought our discomfort was funny? A reasonable person would have picked up on those signals and left us the fuck alone, not taken all those opportunities to force us into interacting with you. I wanted to think you were just an asshole and a troll, but you cut off all my exits and taunted me like you knew how terrified I was when the only reason I can be around you even now and not feel trapped is because I'm high as balls.

And what the hell do you mean the body's not your own, are you stealing bodies or someth--

[Oh. Hythlodaeus is back. Right. Steven's just going to go face the blackboard, because teacher's getting ready to talk.]

[Unfortunately, Emet-Selch just looks amused at Steven's distaste at being called boy. He has not idea what cabron means, and really he doesn't care. He's probably been called worse. Hell, he's been shot dead by his own grandson and got called a fiend by him, not much compares to that.

He's about to retort, but Hythlodaeus—Emet had completely ignored his claim to a more complete understanding of the argument of body and self—returns and he sees the chalkboard. His eyebrows raise and he blinks a couple times in bafflement.

Ah, yes. The debate chalkboard. The chalkboard specifically for debates. That one.]

Oh for the love of... Hythlodaeus, really.

[Are they going to be doing this right here, right now? At least he turns to Steven for a moment.]

Clearly we cannot continue our conversation at the moment, but to give you some context for the debate that Hythlodaeus seems keen on having with me: yes. In order for me to interact with the material world, I must needs possess mortal bodies. Thus, I have not my own.

Which is a simplistic understanding!

[He picks up the chalk and begins drawing a series of diagrams. One is of a human-shaped figure, the next some diagram relating to connection of physical and aetherial, and then the equations and mathematical signs that make up the aetherial. He writes in some absolutely foreign language with absurd precision.

He turns back to looks between Steven and Emet-Selch with a broad grin.]

So when the aspects are in balance with a degree of shift within fifteen percent, the physical aether is able to house the aether that comprises memories. Yet like an apple is the skin, the flesh, and the seeds and no one part is more essentially the apple than the other... If one decides to pour one's aether into a container made of like materials, there is evidence of bonding. Just as nerves send signals to the body, aether likewise courses through us.

[He turns back around to begin writing more diagrams.]

Even accounting for your loss of shadow, the flesh is more like a paper bag than it is a drinking glass.

Edited 2020-07-16 03:24 (UTC)

[Under normal circumstances, Steven would be into this lecture, but right now he's busy staring at Emet-Selch like he's got another head.]

Okay, but seriously, are you animating recently vacated dead bodies or did you just-- I don't know, annihilate their souls like a goddamn common Mournelithe Falconsbane?

[Steven. No. They're not going to get your extremely dated Mercedes Lackey references, but thanks for demonstrating to everyone exactly how much you were a queer teen nerd growing up in the 90s.

Also, slipping into Spanish insults is a sort of tell with him. Of the kind that indicates that you're on thin fucking ice.]

Edited 2020-07-16 03:37 (UTC)

[Okay, there is too much going on right now, and maybe Emet's starting to feel those puffs. Not horribly, but his ability to focus is getting a little fuzzy. He's about to approach Hythlodaeus, grab the eraser and just...erase all that garbage he's written and drawn to make a point—but then Steven has to ask his question and he stops.

Giving him a sidelong glance and quirked eyebrow, he answers wryly:]

Nay, I only take living hosts.

[And now he turns back to Hythlodaeus, picking up the eraser that lays on the tray, and doing exactly what he had planned to: erasing all that nonsense with dramatic sweeps of his arm.]

What you say could be construed as fact, however, you seem to be forgetting something intrinsic to the whole process.

[Once he's successfully erased it all, and elbowed Hythlodaeus out of the way, he holds his hand out for the chalk after placing the eraser back down.]

If you'd please.

[Hythlodaeus, his situation is unique and happened after your demise, you clearly are lacking data that only he has!]

You could have erased the other side, I'm going to have to redraw that diagram for my rebuttal. [He chuckles as he drops the chalk into his hand, taking a seat next to Steven. He doesn't seem to be bothered to elbowed or bullied.]

But please, do show me the folly of my logic.

[He doesn't comment on the living host part. He knows Steven will, enough, for the both of them.]

I can't fucking believe it, [Steven grumbles.] You're a serial fucking body-thief and you dare act like you've got the moral high ground here?

Steven.

[He pauses right before he brings the chalk to the board, glancing back over at him.]

Yes, I take the bodies of mortals, as is what I must do, but it is not as if I do so arbitrarily. I do much more with their life than they ever could hope to achieve, if aught at all, my selecting them is an honor. Besides, there's a little thing called moral relativism, perhaps you should look it up.

[Then he goes back to the board. Drawing a similar, but slightly different diagram than what Hythlodaeus did. Sure, it's got two circles that are slightly overlapping that represent the living world and the underworld, but then he goes on to quickly draw three man-shaped silhouettes. One is labeled "Mortal", the next is "Immortal", and the last is "Ascian".

Then, he goes to show the visible differences. The mortal is very lightly shaded in, while the immortal is far more darkly done, but what remains the same between the mortal and immortal is the shading goes all the way to the line. Where as for the Ascian, when he shades it in as darkly as the immortal, the shading does not touch the line of the figure. Leaving an obvious gap.]

Now then, as we can see I have illustrated here the overlap of the material world and what most mortals of our world now refers to as the lifestream. Which, Hythlodaeus had indeed drawn, but I was not keen on using his.

[petty]

These worlds indeed overlap, but there is something you did not account for, Hythlodaeus. [As to demonstrate such, he adds in a portion that's between the two planes:] The aetherial rift. This plane serves as an in between realm, one that an Ascian like myself has access to, while mortals slip right past it as their departed souls make for the lifestream. This is intrinsic to the point I am about to make, so pay close attention.

[Moving along, he taps above the lightly shaded mortal.]

Mortals are weak of body and soul, as such theirs are fragile and sickly in hue, their aether has laughable resilience at all, but they indeed are the primary inhabitants of the material plane.

[Then he taps the immortal.]

On the other side are immortals—these consist of dragons, fae, and other suchlike beings. But, originally our people were all whom belonged to such a category. With our adamant souls and bodies, we could live indefinitely, our bodies are not wont to break down, to wilt away due to such fragility or being incomplete.

[Then he taps the Ascian.]

However, the type of immortal I am belongs in a different category. One that does not follow the laws of reality as you know them, Hythlodaeus. For we Ascians exist outside the material realm and the lifestream. We exist within the aetherial rift, sheltered by Lord Zodiark's darkness, so that we might find succor when appropriate.

Now, as you can see I have illustrated this one differently, because in most instances you are correct: mind, body, and soul are one. However, to become an Ascian, one must relinquish themselves of their mortal—or in my case immortal—flesh. Such was not required ere the Sundering, but now decidedly is. As such, even as we pour our souls into these fragile mortal bodies, we never quite fully merge with our hosts. We cannot, we are incompatible.

Yes, we can shape their form to however we wish them to look, we can feel the pain, the pleasure, all that mortals can whilst we inhabit their form—but they are not our bodies. Merely vessels. If the soul should not be snuffed out during the process, then the original owner is free to resume control of their body—though their forms do indeed suffer for it. But would you still claim that such a body is not theirs, but rather the Ascian's?

[Emet turns sharply and stares at Hythlodaeus with a scowl.]

Nay, you would not. We are interlopers in a world that is rightfully ours, but we cannot exist without the stifling bodies of mortals. Thus these bodies are not and cannot be ours, and we will not resume as beings of flesh ere our grand scheme has been complete. To suggest otherwise is absurdity.

I have sired children as Solus zos Galvus, but little are such offspring mine, but rather those of the body—a garlean father and mother bore garlean children into the world. We Ascians cannot breed, for we lack true bodies to do so. The world has changed since your demise, Hythlodaeus, I suggest you learn to accept that.

I know what Moral Relativism is, asshole, but here's a fun fact: we poor, stupid mortals genuinely consider it to be a bad thing.

[He crosses his arms in front of himself.]

As far as I see it, you have no business ever claiming the moral high ground over any of us again--even me. At least I'm honest about not being a good person.

That is a very concerning bit of information that you have chosen to share just now, and let me show you why.

[He stands, plucking the chalk from Emet-Selch's fingers as he begins to scrawl his notes.]

Lahabrea is a fastidious man, but much of the rewritten the laws of nature are plagarisms. As they should be, lest our home be entirely foreign to us. Even if you pass through the rift, it seems more like a particle state than in intrinsic quality.

Yet once again, the soul, the will, and the whim of Creation do imbue that which you touch with your own aether... Just the same, if you intended to reproduce, it is not impossible for your soul to thus influence your body in ways that would have been impossible otherwise.

...I would have liked to examine these children of yours. Did you notice any peculiarities about them?

[He can't help himself but frown. It is definitely concerning information. He turns to Steven, finally.]

Now, now. The shifting sands of debate do exclude attempting to claim victories over debates yet unmade. Both of you.

Edited 2020-07-16 05:17 (UTC)

[At Steven's comment, he allows it to slide off his back. Mainly because he doesn't expect a mortal to understand how morality is far more complex than merely the actions done. The intent has far more to do with it, and the end result. He might kill millions of mortals, steal their bodies as his own instrument to carry out such plans, but ultimately this will save far more than it will kill.

It will allow life to flourish as it should, instead of dwindling into oblivion as it currently is doing.]

Yes, Steven. You cannot claim a victory when you have barely made a proper argument. If you wish to debate morals with me, I should gladly contend with you, but seeing as it is nary the topic...

[He looks back to Hythlodaeus with his own frown.]

Indeed, they had their peculiarities, and while I had mistook such as the senseless wishful thinking you are now imploring, it did not hold up to the proof.

[Solemnly, he looks to the scribbling on the board, but he does not take the chalk. Instead, he takes the eraser, but he stays his hand at the moment.]

One succumbed to an absurd illness—a true child of mine would never die to aught so...feeble.

[His voice betrays him, he thinks he's hiding the hurt behind it, but he's fucking high and he has no filter over his tone at the moment.]

The laws of reality were changed since the Sundering, and while there is some that remain true, there are others we Ascians had to puzzle out. Naught you would be familiar with. Naught your foolish and optimistic beliefs would make true.

You know what? Given that you're the person inhabiting the body that made them, [Steven says, stubbornly, after thinking about it a little] then I fucking well think they are your offspring, Emet. I mean, who else would they belong to? The real Solus? You killed him and stole his body, remember?

That he would succumb is terribly strange, indeed...

[He slips the chalk from his hand as he writes some wild equations.]

I grow suspicious when you accuse me of optimism. You are the one with high affect, the one with unfettered hopes and dreams, prone to these feelings in the first place.

You won't want to hear this, but I think it is easier to pretend that you never had a child than to accept that your child passed away. And it is like Steven says, you chased that man's soul from his flesh long, long ago. Perhaps your inhabited body did not pass on more familiar genetics, but to make this purely about seed is too simple. A father is more than that, I would think, though I know you view the mortals as lesser... Even a newborn? Was he disowned so soon?

You are a clever man, but you are one man, not a team of researchers. I cannot hold your understanding as perfect truth. We both know that experiments and research lacking peer review and rigor can amount to a distressingly low percentage of real data. I doubt not that you toiled to understand the new bounds of the universe, but I'm concerned that your understanding is incomplete, and your unwillingness to examine flaws to be disheartening.

[...Before he hits him with a genuinely pretty sad look.]

[Emet's silent for a long moment, mulling over both what Steven said and Hythlodaeus. And after a moment, he puts the eraser down, wordlessly he walks over to the cabinet, and opens it—pulling out a bottle of liquor. Uncapping it, he takes a long drink of it. When done, he lets that arm hang a little loosely as he holds the bottle just as loosely in his hand.

He does not look at either of them.]

...Natural law does not apply to me—those children were not mine. Yes, I released Solus' soul when I possessed his body, but this changes nothing.

[Finally, he turns to stare at Steven.]

Do not call me Emet. Either you call me Solus, or you call me Emet-Selch. I will not suffer such casualness. I allow Dirk to refer to me as such, for it is his moniker for me due to compromise, but seeing as we are not bedfellows, you do not hold any such right to address me so.

[Yep, he might be trying to back away from the other topic now.]

Well, obviously you weren't much of a father, if this is how you talk about them, but I don't see the real Solus taking his body back for the space of time it took to fuck their mother.

[Guess who's blithely ignoring your chastisement? Being too high to be terrified is truly a wonderful state.]

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and then i forgot i took the spanish insult out

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okay this is where the spanish insults happen

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