CALL ME OUT, 2019 EDITION

[blitzbrained]

I've got a muselist! I've got RP drive! LET'S DO IT

Comments

brumm, recolle au

[hagrides]

[Greg had sent a somewhat panicked text to Bairre - he'd gotten something back from Grimm and he didn't know what to do about it, it's better talked about in person, please come over when you can.

It wouldn't be unreasonable for Bairre to assume Greg had gotten wings, or learned how to shoot fireballs, or done that weird pufferfish thing on accident. But no, when Bairre arrives Greg is still more or less human-shaped (red eyes, more pointed ears, but that's all).

He just also has Grimmchild sitting on top of his head. Unlike their panicked father, they seem perfectly content chewing on Greg's hair.]

Bairre. [Greg doesn't think he's been more relieved to see Bairre since he helped him move out.] They just arrived this morning.

[songinchains]

[ He's expecting any number of things, most of them terrible (because that's how Bairre is, sometimes, he worries far too much). But having a tiny...bug...? Sitting on top of his friend's head is not it. ]

Oh.

Do you want me to... [ And here he lifts his hands up for the little thing (the child) to inspect.

(Do they remember him? He doesn't know. Some part of him buried deep hurts at the thought that perhaps they don't, not like this, not in this body.) ]

[hagrides]

[The child sniffs Bairre's hands, then gives a meow that Greg is fairly sure is a happy one and flies over to sit on his head instead.

Brumm looks weird now. But his smell is the same.]

They recognized me, it's not surprising they recognize you.

[Even if their connection can't be as strong as Grimm and child, the change is no less drastic.]

[songinchains]

[ His worries are assuaged. Or, at least, this specific worry. ]

I was...worried they wouldn't.

[ Afraid, he wants to say. But he doesn't even want to say that.

He raises a hand to scratch them under the chin. It's a movement that comes almost instinctively. ]

This is...raising some questions, about your - our lives, though. [ So many questions.

The child is attached to him as well as Grimm. There is an easy answer. He's not sure if it's the right one. He absolutely doesn't want to ask. ]

[hagrides]

[Grimmchild purrss. Bairre can keep doing that as long as he wants and they won't worry about why he looks so weird now.

They're close. This is something easily established. Grimm trusts Brumm and trusts him with his child.]

I'd certainly trust you with my child over Divine.

[He doesn't remember a whole lot about Divine, but what he does does not suggest she'd be great at childcare.]

[songinchains]

[ He's overthinking things again. ]

She was...mrmm, better at bodyguarding than babysitting.

I think.

[ Scritch, scritch. The small weight of the child, their pleasant purring, is a comfort. ]

FUN WITH JAEGERS

[spelleton]

[ The unofficial emergency jaeger they keep stored in a back room (as much as a giant robot can be stored in a back room) is getting twitchy. As jaegers aren't supposed to do that, but this one has a 24/7 pilot, it makes people...

Nervous.

So someone's going to have to check on it.

("People are always nervous about what they don't understand," he had said to her once, but that was a lifetime ago.) ]

[nor_iron_bars]

["You think if I told 'em I didn't understand paperwork, they'd stop making me fill it out? It's just too scary." But whose lifetime? Hers... isn't over yet.]

[Is his?]

[They were never officially partners, not in the proper sense of the phrase- he was professional, she was professionally mercenary, they'd worked together... often enough. Enough to matter, even if it didn't officially matter to the people who mattered. Even two people who did most of their piloting by being good at putting away their feelings and getting the job done couldn't quite avoid being a little closer, in the Drift.]

[But it's been a long time since she's done that- with her lungs deteriorating, she's not fit for the field these days. Still useful, with her sheer mechanical skill, but she doesn't pilot anymore. And he doesn't do anything else, anymore.]

[Except... when he does, apparently.]

[Because she's looked at the logs. Gone over them a dozen times, then a dozen more, checked over every single shiny metal inch of the machinery, by hand and by scanner, and all the results say the same thing:]

[Mechanically, there is nothing at all wrong with this Jaeger. Which means...]

The problem is between the chair and the desk, huh?

[She chuckles quietly. The sound carries, in here- no one else wants to spend time in this room, not if they don't have to. That's okay. She's gotten just enough approval for what she's about to do to cover her own ass, which is about all she needs other people for at this point. After that... well, she'll handle things.]

[Or, possibly, die. Always a toss-up, but hey. It's for science, sort of.]

[It's for someone who was a friend, sort of.]

Wetware was never my thing, but...

[Jail doesn't Drift anymore. Except when she does.]

[She leans back in the chair and pulls the headset on. Initiating, and...]

["Hey."]

["You still in there?"]

[spelleton]

[ ("I don't think that's quite how it works." But he had smiled, just a little. A crack of sentimentality in an otherwise impassive facade.) ]

[ He spends most of his time...asleep, for a given value of the word. Maybe he dreams; he doesn't remember. He remembers nothing until the Drift pulls him back, to do what he stepped up to do, had died doing. Is, apparently, still determined to do.

He's tired. His soul - his heart - itches, trapped in a tangled metal cage.

He sounds exhausted, not clipped and professional as he usually does. ]

"There's nowhere else to be."

"You don't usually go as far as the cockpit."

[nor_iron_bars]

[So, he was aware of her, enough to notice her repairs, the little notes she'd left for him in the code. She wasn't sure, talking to someone who couldn't reply- there wasn't any way to be sure she wasn't just tossing those notes into the void, whether he'd ever see them at all.]

[But she'd kept leaving them, anyway.]

[There's a kind of untensing, relaxing back into the feel of being in the Drift after so long away. Like riding a bike- you never forget how to do it, muscle memory coming back to you.]

"Don't get to go out and party like I used to, these days."

[Brief snippets of memory- a fight like a dance, twisting and weaving, whirling around to bring the hammer down.]

"But I got time for a visit, so why not?"

[Her mental presence moves closer in a way that echoes a more physical memory- the two of them in one of the break rooms, weary after a mission, him sitting on the couch and her casually flopping down against him to sprawl out as she pleased, her head against his shoulder.]

[They can probably both guess she's not necessarily supposed to be here. They almost certainly both know she doesn't care.]

[spelleton]

[ He's got a servant's uniform on and a servant's manner; he acts entirely like he knows where he's going and what he's doing, pushing a large trolley like he's got somewhere to be.

It's this kind of acting that lets him dump a body in a sadly neglected storage closet (filled mostly with dust and a few cleaning tools he retrieves just for the look of the thing) until he can either come back for it later, or leave it to be discovered when he can no longer be connected with the crime at all.

He continues on his way down the hallway, entirely oblivious to the fact that maybe someone else wanted to use that closet for something. ]

[opheliaafterdeath]

[Nekane knew that since they took the case they cannot blame anyone for being in this situation. But that did nothing to stop them from wanting to headbutt a ceiling fan out of pure frustration.

The Head of this House was someone well known for collecting rare artifacts, be them confirmed magical items or otherwise. And that was all well and good. Nekane collected books themselves and having a hobby wasn't a bad thing...most of the time. The problem was is that often how the Head went about collecting said items and it usually involved armed robbery and murder. There were more unsavory rumors about the guy but that wasn't why Nekane was here.

A certain necklace was the newest item in the Head's collection, "traded" from someone who "conveniently" was found dead a day later after the deal went down. The original owners had come to Nekane asking them to find someway of getting the necklace back before the Head unlocked the power within it to basically raise an army of the dammed.

Hence their frustrations. They were getting some good information out of this deal, but why would you have only one guy guard something like that?!

But back to Nekane's current predicament, which involved one knocked out guard and trying to find a place to put him. They shortly stumble across an old storage closet and swing it open, their luck turning around...!

Only it's occupied. Damn it. (But they note it. It's impossible to not note it. Is someone else here too, looking for something? Or someone?)

Ekkehardt is probably far enough to miss the muttered curse. But the door snaps shut loudly and Nekane bolts in a different direction, dragging their "friend" along for the ride.

They're in poor health most of the time, but at least they could still run fast.]

[spelleton]

[ The hallway is otherwise devoid of people, at least for now, so it's easy to notice that someone's moving quickly in another direction after checking the closet.

It's something to keep in mind, at least. He'll have to be more careful - it's not ideal for a hiding place to be discovered so soon after he's left something in it, but he can work with it.

He hopes it won't be a problem. For him.

Later on, still dressed as a servant and maintaining his disguise, he sees someone that he doesn't recognise - and that in itself is an anomaly.

So he makes his way over with a cheerful greeting, asking if Nekane needs anything. ]

[opheliaafterdeath]

[Thus far everything appears to be normal and someone being found in a closet seemingly hasn't been reported. Of course, everything could be kept on the down-low and come back to haunt those who want to remain undercover.

The real reason is Nekane isn't stupid enough to report what they found, since it means the guards would probably find the body on the roof sooner. The less questions the better, yes?

They're aware they stick out. While Nekane did glamour away the scars on their face, it was impossible to do the same with the cracks and they refused to hide their wings - or what remained of them. Those would stay the same way forever, doomed to remind them of what happened whenever they are touched.

Nekane visibly exhales but it has nothing to do with Ekkehardt approaching them. With the body off of their hands the tide of frustration has lessened just a little. They're just tired, like usual.]

No, I'm good. I'm just waiting for someone.

[Technically, anyway. They've been memorizing the guard's routes so that mistake didn't happen again. Nekane didn't often meticulous pick over a plan because their paranoia would make it a plan with no end. So they're just watching until they can get into the basement.]

[spelleton]

[ Time passes, in a way. And then again, it doesn't.

Funny how the actions of one person can change an entire future.

He's spent much of his time here; given up all his other duties. He'd like to say he argued with his masters to let him be here, but they'd understood, like they'd always did, and he'd felt...ashamed, in his own way, for thinking they would ask him to continue in the face of this.

(He is sentimental and guilty and weak, or at least he says he is, and his lord scolds him for it.

"If your thoughts are elsewhere, then how can you work? We'll handle it from here."

He accepts the judgement, even if it's entirely in his own head.)

She does need a bodyguard, from time to time. Daemons and errant fae and other things, attempting to siphon off magic, to break the seal. But mostly, he just keeps her company.

He doesn't know if she can hear anything. Still, he sings to her, occasionally. And he tells her stories, never the same one twice.

("The counterspell is ready. Just wait for the signal.")

He waits, with an immortal's patience, for the day when she'll be called to wake, once again. ]

[hattersgonnahat]

[Despite being imprisoned this way for so long, Puella still never knew if her plan had actually worked. That it had made a difference to anyone for such a long time, or anything. It had all happened so suddenly, that had she waited any longer then it would be already too late. If just trapping herself with Nightfall for even just a short while could buy time for everybody else, it all seemed worth it.]

[She just also never expected that she'd wake up again. It was not really something Puella wanted to mention to anyone else either, fearing that they might try to stop her. And what difference would it have made when dealing with the apocalypse anyway?]


[The spell needed to break her out had to be strong indeed. Not too fast or slow either, so that she could retain whatever ounce of magic she still had left, otherwise unfreezing her might expel it all and this rescue would be all for nothing. Just very carefully isolate and remove her. Although without that central anchor, it won't be long for the rest of Nightfall to thaw out too. But perhaps in a smaller, weaker state than it would have been before.]

[But for the first time in what already felt like an eternity, Puella could finally move again. She could actually breathe. Her own time was able to resume at long last. Though it was unfortunate she could never hear Ekkehardt's voice while frozen, but at least right now, she could finally start to feel his presence again.]

[It hadn't felt so much like she had been pulled into movable time again, but rather just waking up from a long, very long sleep.]

[spelleton]

[ He notes the thawing, those subtle changes in the spellwork that indicate it's finally starting to come apart, time unweaving itself.

There's relief, there. They wouldn't have released her unless things had changed. He doesn't pay much attention to the outside world these days, but for once he thinks he can assume the best, or something like it.

Just this once.

But she's not unfrozen yet, so he continues his vigil. Mostly silent, but sometimes he'll speak to her, pulling yet another story from his memory or a lullaby he once used to sing to the children he took care of.

He thinks it's just to keep track of the days, more for his benefit than hers. But he does it anyway, like he's been doing all this time, because he has nowhere else to be and nothing to do, and only one obligation to fulfill. ]

[hattersgonnahat]

[After more time had passed, the moment Ekkehardt decided to sing again, she could actually hear it. She remembered it. It had been something she used to hear sometimes at the academy, and it reminded her of that place.]

...Ekke... [She barely muttered, slowly extending on hand out as though trying to find, or reach him. But it doesn't go far. If she had just a bit more of her strength back, then maybe.]

[But it was an effort. And before long, her eyes could finally open. ...There was just the problem of figuring out where she exactly was. This wasn't anything like the long dream she just had.]

[spelleton]

[ He notices the movement; it's impossible to miss, when everything else has been still for so long.

He closes that gap between their hands, taking her small one in both of his, watching her in silence. Words feel like an intrusion.

So he hums a song she's heard before, and holds her hand. And waits. ]

[hattersgonnahat]

[The song had been more familiar than ever now, and jolted her further awake. She could feel her hand in his, and for a brief moment tightened the grasp a little more, being the only comfort she had in this strange place. While at the same time trying to get her bearings right.]

...Ekke? But how...? [Where was this? How did she even get here?]

[...Wait, the time freeze. Did it actually...]

recolle au, bairre does something dumb and ends up in hospital

[songinchains]

[ If he really is a reincarnation of someone else, he kind of wishes his other self had more durability.

Or maybe it hasn't kicked in yet. He doesn't know. Maybe he just got unlucky.

He doesn't really want to test it again, though.

These are the kind of thoughts running through your head when you've just woken up in a hospital bed, apparently. He hasn't spent much time in hospital, which is a good thing, he thinks.

The light shining through the window is shining on his face. It's kind of annoying.

He moves to try and get it out of his face. He's tired. He wants to go back to sleep. ]

[hagrides]

[Greg has not left Bairre's bedside since he arrived.

He's been replaying over and over the image of that creature with its orange-bright eyes and sharp claws, been kicking himself for not getting out of the way fast enough, so Bairre didn't feel he had to-

The stir of movement finally drags his attention to the waking world.]

Bairre.

[His voice is doing a lot of things right now, and some of them he doesn't have the words for. Mostly, it's shaking.

He reaches to squeeze that hand in his.]

[songinchains]

[ He worried Greg, didn't he? He remembers, a little. He feels guilty about it, a new weight in his chest.

(He's never wanted to be an inconvenience, to be in the way.)

He doesn't feel like talking much at the best of times. This isn't one of them. Instead of speaking, he squeezes his friend's hand in return, struggling to stay awake instead of going back to sleep again. ]

[hagrides]

[Greg should let Bairre rest. He has every reason to be exhausted right now. Greg shouldn't push him.

Greg does not let Bairre rest.]

Never do that again.

[His voice comes out in a rasp. His throat was worked raw from crying earlier.]

[songinchains]

[ He winces visibly, like he's been struck - it shows on his face - but he doesn't argue against it. How could he? If their positions were swapped, he'd probably say the same thing, just quieter.

Greg's voice sounds awful. He hates that. He hates knowing, too, that he caused it. ]

Sorry.

[ It's barely there. He's still finding it hard to breathe. Apparently, if you're going to get struck, at least hitting the ribcage is better than, say, the lungs, but it still isn't a walk in the park. ]