isleofavalon | open ⚖️ last christmas i gave you my heart

[Storms, in and of themselves, don't typically bother Edgeworth. Even severe ones only usually register as annoyances and inconveniences — making it more difficult to drive home at the end of a log day, or prohibiting an opportunity to exercise Pess, or creating the additional burden to remember an umbrella and coat and anticipate probably getting damp from the downpour anyway. It's nothing that can't be surmounted. It's nothing he can't just take some reasonable steps and come up with a plan and deal with.

This — this is no ordinary storm.

He's working when it first starts to come down, which means by the time the evacuation warnings start to go around, it's far too late to try to make it back to his residence through the storm. He gathers up as much of his work as he can instead and loads it quickly into his briefcase, following the attendants guiding people to the —

Oh. Underground shelters. Marvelous.

Still, it's — fine. It's fine. He heads down with only the briefest of hesitation, pointedly not thinking about how dark it is in the room at the bottom of the stairs, or how it's considerably smaller than he'd somehow imagined it would be, or how close in the walls are, and —

It's fine. He's fine. Never mind that it's December and the anniversary of DL-6 is in less than a week because that's nothing but a coincidence, it's confirmation bias, it's his mind searching for connections where there are none and interpreting superstition out of facts that are barely even correlated. There's a bad storm and the appropriate remedy is to seek shelter until it's over. That's how it is. That's all there is to it.

Then the lightning hits, and the ground quakes.

He'd thought he was — past this, somehow. Thought there would be closure and that closure would mean it was simply over with, never to bother him again. Isn't that how it's supposed to work? He's a smart, reasonable, logical man. He knows better than this. How completely, utterly useless is he, to know full well that all of that is behind him and y—

The ground shakes again, more violently this time

and all of a sudden he's nine years old again, trapped in a small dark space with the air running out and a madman screaming, talking nonsense, flailing and thrashing stop breathing my air stop breathing my air LEAVE MY FATHER ALONE

— he doesn't remember moving to the corner he's found himself in. He's pressed in as tight as he can, sitting on the ground with his knees drawn up and his briefcase wedged in at his side, with his hands in his hair and his eyes feeling dry like he's forgotten to blink them for too long, listening to the ragged sound of his erratic breath and feeling, oddly, as though his limbs aren't really his own, like he's somehow separated himself from them, tingling and numb like he's fallen asleep and there's no thoughts left in his head at all, reasonable or otherwise.]

Edited 2020-12-22 23:31 (UTC)

[Dealing with loud storms wasn't anything new to Ken as he frequently dealt with them during the typhoon seasons in Japan. What was new was how powerful they were as he occasionally felt the ground shaking from time to time. As he sighed to himself playing a board game with his familiar, he knew they were going to be stuck in the cellars for quite sometime.

However, it didn't take him long to see someone in a corner. As he looked up, he realized it was a man who obviously needed some help. Whatever was happening, seeing him breath in such a manner made the boy worry. Stopping whatever he was doing, he rushed over toward Edgeworth.

He had no idea how to take care of someone who was like this but he just had to do something!]

Excuse me, sir, is everything okay? [Of course he wasn't but it didn't hurt to ask.]

[The problem with moments like this is that all the logic and reason in the world do him no good. He knows, objectively, what needs to be done. He perceives a stranger's approach. He's aware of the correct response and the right words and the appropriate time to deliver it. But that just — doesn't seem to matter, none of it seems to matter, like the connection between his mind and his body has been briefly severed, and none of the directions upstairs are making it out to where they need to go.

It takes him a while, before he's able to regroup enough to sink back down into his own head. His mouth feels paper-dry. His throat seems to grind before he's able to get a word out.]

Fine.

[He's clearly not, but it's not going to stop him from giving the right response anyway.]

I'm fine.

[He clearly wasn't and Ken gave a small sigh. He really didn't know what to do during these situations but he had to give the older man some time. At first, he didn't say anything and wondered what he should say next.

If he were his leader, what would she do during a time like this?]

You sure? You looked scared for a moment. [Was he being too forward? He didn't know but he's trying!]

[Well. That's trouble.]

[This is the sort of situation Morgan would normally address with, to use the most generic term, magick; one of the few situations where he'd judge the intrusiveness of interfering to matter less than the need for help. And yet here he is without it. That's also inconvenient.]

[Guess he's gonna have to wing it. Ugh. He drops to a knee a few feet away from the man, mentally crossing his fingers and hoping that he'd do more good than harm.]

Listen. If you can hear me, focus on my voice. Focus on that and only on that, nothing else.

[If he were in a better state, he might've bit out a dry and sarcastic, that's easier said than done, isn't it? — but of course, if he were capable of sarcasm right now, he wouldn't need the intervention to begin with, now would he.

It isn't much, but it's something. The words are like the dim glow of a lighthouse beacon through the midst of a stormy fog — too distant to really be anything more than a spot of promise on the horizon, but a promise nevertheless.

He wishes he could rub his eyes, but his arms are too heavy to move.

His gaze does flick over in the direction of the man and his calming tone, though, very briefly; it's about all the response he can muster at the moment, but it's a reaction, and it's better than nothing.]

[Of course it's easier said than done. That doesn't mean it isn't worth doing. And he seems to be getting somewhere, so -- progress, hopefully.]

[He keeps his voice steady and calm, and doesn't stop talking. Anything that helps ground the poor guy.]

Focus on what you can see. Find something to fix on. Me or the wall or anything, so long as it's something you can keep looking at. Focus on it, and examine it. Do everything you can to see every little thing about it.

[ Tsubakiko's eyes widen in surprise as her eyes pass across the shape of the man trembling in the corner.

Is he scared of the storm? Some people really hate thunder and lightning, she knows - Tsubakiko used to be scared of storms when she was a kid, too. Either way...

Tsubakiko... she knows what it's like to be afraid. She knows what it's like to feel terror deep in your bones - suffocating you, trapping you in that awful, sickening horror - where there's no escape, no matter how desperately you might search for even a moment's respite. It's a feeling she's become far too familiar with over the course of her life, ever since she was young.

So it's not even a decision. As soon as she really takes in what's happening, Tsubakiko knows that she has to do something to help this man.

But how? She's no good at dealing with situations like this.

Panicking a little, Tsubakiko approaches Edgeworth, taking small, cautious steps before kneeling down so that she's eye level with him. Ahhh, what should she say, what should she say? ]

Ummm... are you okay?

[Later, once it becomes apparent they aren't getting out of the cellar anytime soon, Edgeworth manages to pull himself together at least well enough to realize that a distraction is probably warranted — even if it doesn't help, he reasons, at the very least it can't hurt.

Thankfully, he's had a habit of playing chess on his lunch breaks at work, so he's got his board and pieces with him in his briefcase. Even in the dark, it's relatively simple to get the board set up and the pieces arranged; even if it's hard to see them, he's familiar enough with his set that he can discern them by touch, and hold enough of a relative board position in his mind at any given time that he can reasonably make do with what he's got.

He's content to play by himself, for the most part, but if he's approached for a game, he certainly won't turn down an opponent. Given how rattled he is at the moment, he might even be off his game enough for even an inexperienced challenger to hold their own against him, for a while.]

[Chang Geng had arrived in the cellar later than Edgeworth had, missing the worst of his initial reaction.

Still, it didn't take a genius to realize the man he was stuck in this cellar with wasn't comfortable.

He had been sitting at the other end of the cellar with his pixiu sleepily resting her head on his lap.

Then he gently moved her off (to which she made a disgruntled sound and sat up) and stood to move closer to the other person in the cellar.

The game, he recognized, was one he knew was invented by the Westerners, similar to the xiangqi played in Great Liang in that it was a strategy game where the different pieces had specific ways of moving...but he wasn't sure about the details of playing.]

Excuse me, would you mind if I watched you for a moment?

[It was dark but he could make out the shapes of the pieces a little. Also he was curious.

He had a gentle and mild manner of speaking...probably far more calm than someone who is stuck in a cellar in such a terrible storm should be.]

[Under normal circumstances, maybe he wouldn't have jumped at the sudden arrival of a stranger in the dark cellar; probably he would've noticed him coming, or heard the telltale rustling of him making his way over. As it is, he's more out of sorts than usual, and so the suddenness startles him, making him look up with a jolt before visibly settling back down again.]

Ah. There. Isn't much light to watch by, I realize, but do as you like.

[He swallows, regards the board again, and briskly shifts a bishop.]

Do you play, or only spectate?

Thank you.

[As he sat there he realized now would be a good time to test a magic he'd been considering for a while. He leaned his elbow on the edge of the table, propping his cheek on his hand, his index finger close to the edge of his eye. There's the softest shimmer of magic and his vision seemed to become better...but it isn't by much. Hm. Not very ideal then, but it's a start, he supposed.]

We have similar games in Great Liang but I don't know this game in particular.

[ The cramped conditions, the crowded mass, and the damp conditions have effectively soured Emet-Selch's mood. For his part, he had tucked himself against one of the walls and tried to sleep to while away some of the hours. But the constant low buzz of noise keeps him from his rest. Irritated, he opts to stretch his legs instead - which is when he spots the dim silhouette of someone playing alone with a checkered board. ]

Need an opponent?

[So. After all that? Yeah, Edgeworth has earned himself a drink.

It's definitely not one of his preferred coping mechanisms; hell, it's on the verge of being downright extraordinary for him, going out in public and malingering at an establishment like this instead of doing it in the quiet and privacy of his own home. But his involuntary roommate is a nosy bastard who he doesn't particularly want to deal with right now, and it's not likely that he'd find a lot of privacy there right now, anyway. So much the better, to do something that people wouldn't expect of him — go somewhere he typically wouldn't, blend into the crowd, embrace anonymity and just keep to himself for a little while.

To that end, he's not wearing his usual burgundy suit or his cravat; he's dressed down in a button-down with the collar left open and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a vest and slacks over. The perfect disguise, he thinks with wry humor. Who would ever imagine that Miles Edgeworth was capable of looking casual?

He doesn't recall what he ordered, precisely. It looks like bourbon on the rocks, perhaps; regardless, it doesn't altogether matter. It's not as though he has a preference, and really the alcohol is just an excuse, a pretext for sitting here in the low, warm light and being alone with his thoughts.

Whether or not he stays alone for very long, however, remains entirely to be seen.]

( the fun of bars, and one of the reasons she keeps coming back, is simple and somewhat overlapping: the people change constantly. there's a core group of regulars at certain places, sure, but most people don't go out to drink that often, and it becomes easy to slide through the crowd, to feel part of something but not have to deal with awkward reunions if you did something stupid that night.

(not all the time, admittedly, but if the music's loud enough, if you're drunk enough, you can just pretend you have no idea what they said and move the fuck on.)

Kate isn't searching for a stranger to chat with, necessarily, when she sits down next to the guy with the bourbon (probably), it's just the case that it's the only free seat at the bar and it was that or sitting at a booth by herself, and that's just a whole other level of sad and pitiable she isn't in the mood to deal with. (it's a mistake she made exactly once, years ago, when she wasn't even alone as much as she was early and three guys who likely didn't share a brain cell between them thought that meant they could share the booth).

and, more importantly, it's way easier to get your drinks when you're already at the bar, which is quickly proven by how the bartender almost immediately gets her order for a pint of lager sorted. this night will be paid for via little errands run for locals and the cheapest thing on the menu, so it's no surprise that she grimaces as soon as she takes a mouthful of the drink. )

Tasted bin water better than that.

( that's... a statement to make as your very first introduction to a complete stranger, sure. )

open ⚖️ last christmas i gave you my heart

⚖️ STORM (cw: PTSD, discussion of murder)

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⚖️ CHESS (cw: NONE)

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⚖️ BAR (cw: alcohol; discussion of murder, gaslighting, shitty parenting)

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