( the lost battles hurt, they ache, on levels far deeper than the physical injuries sustained by those who fought or ended up caught in them. Maruki avoided the whole thing — he's no fighter at the most ordinary of times, and this was anything but ordinary. it hurts to know that, for all the people here, called to help, they couldn't stop this. hurts to know he can't do more and that there's going to be yet more people needing his services as a counsellor.
there has to be a way he can fix this. just because the Metaverse doesn't exist here doesn't mean it's impossible. it's what Rumi would want him to do, right? she — or at least the version of her that he knew and fell in love with — would want him to help everyone. to make use of all those years of researching, even in a strange place.
so he tries one of the fruits from the plant he received all those months ago, thinks of ways he can help the living rather than the already dead, and finds that the spirits he used to see have vanished.
and his phone is listening to him in ways it didn't before.
this... this might be able to do something. but for now he looks at the efforts to house the refugees and at the space in his apartment currently taken up by research. he can't let just anyone see it, but he can't hoard this space to himself when others are in need.
so instead, he moves books, notebooks, all the things he kept in his office to... well. his other office. it isn't ideal, but it's enchanted and protected, and off limits as a space for refugees due to the nature of his work. (man, maybe he should move into a bigger office space. something with proper room for his research.)
it's easy to spot the man with a bunch of boxes walking towards a glass yurt on the outskirts of the city, looking sweaty and haggard after a while. or, after several hours, to find him collapsed in the chair of a bakery with outdoor seating, reading through a book on Technomancy and nibbling at pastries while a coffee cools next to him. he still manages a smile (one that doesn't quite reach his eyes) and a wave if anyone locks eyes with him a bit too long, as well as a tired, but warm; )
camelot / open
there has to be a way he can fix this. just because the Metaverse doesn't exist here doesn't mean it's impossible. it's what Rumi would want him to do, right? she — or at least the version of her that he knew and fell in love with — would want him to help everyone. to make use of all those years of researching, even in a strange place.
so he tries one of the fruits from the plant he received all those months ago, thinks of ways he can help the living rather than the already dead, and finds that the spirits he used to see have vanished.
and his phone is listening to him in ways it didn't before.
this... this might be able to do something. but for now he looks at the efforts to house the refugees and at the space in his apartment currently taken up by research. he can't let just anyone see it, but he can't hoard this space to himself when others are in need.
so instead, he moves books, notebooks, all the things he kept in his office to... well. his other office. it isn't ideal, but it's enchanted and protected, and off limits as a space for refugees due to the nature of his work. (man, maybe he should move into a bigger office space. something with proper room for his research.)
it's easy to spot the man with a bunch of boxes walking towards a glass yurt on the outskirts of the city, looking sweaty and haggard after a while. or, after several hours, to find him collapsed in the chair of a bakery with outdoor seating, reading through a book on Technomancy and nibbling at pastries while a coffee cools next to him. he still manages a smile (one that doesn't quite reach his eyes) and a wave if anyone locks eyes with him a bit too long, as well as a tired, but warm; )
Do you need any help?