EVENT #7: THE SIGHT

[abraxasmods]

Event #7 - The Sight

go to the OOC event info and plotting post

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The night before APRIL 18, your dreams are disrupted by a vivid image of the same eclipse that occurred last month. The black sun seems to be an endless void in the sky, growing ever darker - until it suddenly opens into an eye that stares straight at you.

When you wake up, much of your night seems a blur except for the vivid dream of that eye. Whether you find it unsettling or try to ignore it, the image is something you cannot get out of your mind. If you ask, you will discover that none of the locals of your faction saw another eclipse. Speak with your fellow Summoned, however, and you may learn that while there was no eclipse that formed over the world, you were not the only one who had this dream.

Of course, dreams don't need to mean anything. You can't feel or see any immediate effects, and nearly everyone around you is going about their day as usual. Maybe you should do the same.

The Awakening

It might happen that very morning or a day or two later. You could be discussing the dream with a fellow Summoned or perhaps you simply brush shoulders with them as you walk by. Whatever it is, as soon as you make brief physical contact, one of you is struck with a sharp pain in your temple that grows into a terrible headache. It's disorienting and painful as the world around you shifts to someplace you may or may not recognize. Like an old film reel, you watch the events of the past play out before you: the past of the other Summmoned. It might be something they would rather hide, a moment of failure or despair, or something they are immensely proud of and brings them great joy - or even a jumble of several images over the course of a person's life. But you see it as if it were real and right in front of you all the same. When you come to, you'll likely find yourself on the ground or bent over, possibly with one or more people around you to see if you're okay. It'll take you a bit to gather your bearings, and the subsequent pounding in your head could last from minutes to hours.

Or, maybe you aren't the one who receives the vision. Instead, as you watch, another Summoned might grasp their head and crumble in front of you. They may go silent or groan in pain. They'll be impossible to shake out of their stupor until it's over. If you ask what happened, they may be inclined to tell you the truth - that you, you were what happened to them.

Or, if your Arcana signs happen to line up in a specific way, you'll see each other in the shared memory itself. You may also find that for certain Summoned, you can help soothe the effects, calm their emotions, or help draw them out of the memory before it consumes them for too long. It's not entirely clear what determines which effect, but one thing is for certain - within each memory, every Summoned as they appear in the past seems to wear the mark of their Arcana somewhere on their person.

For some, they might experience this only once. For others, they might experience it multiple times: with the same person, with several other Summoned, or with a different memory each time. Over the next 7 days, you'll find the Summoned around you are all receiving a glimpse into each other's past, as if the Singularity has awoken an eye within each of you.

Flee for the safety of the Horizon if you want, but you'll find that in there, it's much the same. In fact, inside the Horizon, the other Summoned don't even need to be anywhere near you - just existing in the Horizon space itself together will be enough to possibly set off a headache-inducing vision.

The Factions

What has occurred between the Summoned will not go unnoticed within the factions. While it's difficult to say how faction officials have picked up what's happening, it'll be obvious they do know.

In THORNE, characters will be asked to remain in the castle walls until further notice. Characters will not be allowed to leave the castle grounds, not even to go into the surrounding city, and anyone who is already outside will be requested to not leave again as soon as they return. If asked, they will be told it's for their own safety, given the Singularity is behaving unpredictably and the Summoned have a unique connection to it. Soothing potions and healers are on hand to offer assistance, if anyone is particularly suffering from ill effects.

In the FREE CITIES, characters will find the army by the outposts show more activity than usual. A higher number of guards will patrol the streets throughout the event, particularly in areas frequented by the Summoned. Anyone who publicly and visibly experiences the effects of the memory share (pain, doubling over, etc.) will be offered assistance by the guards. They are generally there to help, but they are also there to maintain order and ensure anyone behaving erratically due to this incident is properly contained. This might include confinement for a day or two if anyone is especially posing a risk, but no one will be punished except in the most extreme cases, as the locals are aware this is not within the control of the Summoned.

In SOLVUNN, the locals will be watching what's happening with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. Host families and neighbors will be on hand to help with charms meant to offer protection, as well as general care and assistance (soup, blankets, and so on) if your character seems to be especially under the weather or afflicted by the event. Towards the end of the event, more elders and mages will be out and about to check up on the Summoned to make sure they're doing okay. If asked, the mages will say they aren't sure what's going on, but that they are currently divining with the gods and hope to have a definitive answer soon in the upcoming days.

None of the factions appear to be doing much more than keep a watchful eye on the situation - but as the week comes to a close, officials will start making a decision as to what they want to do and how to handle the Summoned who have demonstrated this unforeseen connection to the Singularity.

Comments

[yeshou]

[ He starts a little when Zhou Zishu puts his hand against his wrist. Usually, he has to force the man to accept his assessment or input on his health, but having his zhiji offer the information willingly is... this is a trade, isn't it?

He's supposed to be meeting him half way. Even though it leaves a knot in Wen Kexing's stomach, he knows he should at least try to step away from the Valley Master's cruel hold on his own heart and try to give back some of what Zhou Zishu gave him.

He sighs loudly, checking his pulse point carefully for signs of irregularity before he lets him go. ]

What did you see?

[ After all, he was asking, so he must have seen something. He isn't sure how to address his own vision. He has a hundred questions about it, but where to begin? ]

[earthborn]

At her touch, the map enlarges yet further, and the room is lit in the pale blue of Earth itself, a ghostly moon orbiting it, helpfully labeled Luna. Shepard hesitates, the way she usually does— Reapers are never a charming revelation.

"They're uh..." Monsters, is the word she wants to say, which is neither helpful nor illustrative, "They come every fifty thousand years, and wipe out all sentient life in the galaxy, or at least everyone who's made it into space."

Which included humans, as you can see from the spaceship.

"They're enormous, thousands of meters tall, practically immortal machine life forms. So far as we can tell, their only purpose is just... Reduce the population to zero, give it time to rebound, come back and do it again. We've only killed one, so far, but there are thousands of them coming. I'm just one woman, but I've got a lot of good people on my side. Just gotta hope it's enough."

She doesn't hold out much hope, just the same; stubborn will has carried her through the worst of it so far. Maybe it'll win the day.

[enduringkestrel]

Gods this is all… so much. Cassandra has kept all of this, all that she feels, all that she’s gone through, buried as deep down as she can. She hasn’t had a chance to… heal, to come to terms with it all. It’s only just happened, she’s only just found herself free, out from the Briarwoods control. It’s all so… new. And she doesn’t even know where to start. What to do.

And then this place, the Singularity, has laid that all bare. Exposed her deepest, darkest, memories. To people she scarcely knows. They know her, in ways she doesn’t know what to do with. Have seen things she hasn’t even told her brother.

Percy knew, some of it. But he hadn’t been there, all those years. He escaped. He left. (He left her.) He didn’t understand. Couldn’t, almost. But, somehow… Inej can. Does. Understands in a way that isn’t fully possible if you haven’t gone through such suffering. And it breaks her heart for what that means.

She hasn’t cried, not really, since that night she saw her family hung from the Sun Tree. There had been tears in her eyes, sometimes, after a particularly harsh punishment, when she was alone, and that night at the ziggurat, when she had been fighting her brother and his friends, but she hadn’t CRIED. Not like this. She hadn’t let herself. Hadn’t allowed the Briarwoods to see. To be told that she’s allowed to cry, to be hurt, to be angry… that it’s all right for her to feel this way… and that she might not have to carry it alone is… overwhelming. She shudders, trying to breathe through the sobs, ashamed at how desperately she’s fallen apart.

“I was kept there for over five years,” she murmurs softly. What is one more confession when she’s seen one of the more horrific memories of her past? “Trapped in the castle that had once been my home. Under their control.”

[funbreaker]

[ There is little doubt in Thancred's mind that they are meant to test out the limits and capabilities of the Horizon, and that is part of why they've been granted access. There is always the possibility that the Queen, Ambrose, and those in charge in Solvunn and the Free Cities have little control over such things, however. They might not be able to keep the Summoned from the Horizon even if they tried.

To that end, when Y'shtola presses for more information on what the Queen has done in her attempts to take control, Thancred lets out a long sigh. He's already said more than he's comfortable with, suspicious as he is that the royals and the high mage might have means of listening in on them.

He glances to the shut door, then back to Y'shtola where she sits. He already feels more at ease having her here to think through these sorts of matters with him. ]

If we're going to continue down this particular avenue of conversation, I might advise we move into the Horizon. [ Even further from prying ears. ] Are you accustomed to the process now?

[ He's helped Y'shtola in, and it would be her nature to experiment with the mind-space as soon as she was granted the chance. Yet he still wishes to confirm as much. ]

[enduringkestrel]

“It wasn’t… awful. What I saw,” she offers softly. Apologetically, for he’d never asked for her to have a peak into his past. “You helped a boy save face with his father. Against… I think it was a wyvern? It looked similar to what I’ve seen of them in books in my world.”

She’s hesitant to know what it is he saw… but she needs to. Needs to know what horrific memory had been laid bare in his mind. What part of the horrors she’d survived did he see? “I doubt there’s many memories where you would catch my name, unfortunately.” Save for perhaps her brother yelling it in horror. Her smile is lopsided. Tired. “Cassandra. I’m afraid that I never caught your name, either.”

[enduringkestrel]

“As well as can be expected,” she replies, wryly. She can only hope that whatever it is that he saw wasn’t… blood-soaked. She’s had enough of that for… a lifetime. “You?”

This is awkward, standing in the middle of the street staring at each other. Which is why when he arches an eyebrow and tips his head slightly towards a slightly less… obstructive area, she nods, already beginning to move towards the clearer area. Out of the way. So they can stare and maybe talk in peace. Without drawing as much attention as they were.

[gynvael]

[ He can almost imagine Alucard as a little pup. Alucard told him once his parents hadn't known, what it is he could do as the first and only of his kind, and he wonders what they thought when they first saw a small wolf instead of their boy.

Tail must've wagged, too. Adorable in-fucking-deed. ]

Too bad I missed it. [ He helps hold the piece into place. ] Might've warmed up to you sooner.

[ As Jaskier has discovered, much to Geralt's chagrin, not even an old Witcher can resist a small furry creature. ]

[princessvegas]

[ Just as she fears the Free Cities because she knows what military governments are capable of in their pursuit of power, Julie knows better than most what people do when they're afraid and desperate. What they're willing to justify and how quickly they'll turn to those options. She's lived it, on both sides; she's been an ordinary person caught in that mire, and she's been an elite, cheering on things that she now knows are insane and cruel.

They hadn't seemed that way at the time. Everything that happened in Vegas made sense, had appeared to be the only sensible choice. What actions will make sense here, in this world?

Her thighs squeeze around him and her ankles cross at the small of his back. She doesn't mind moving if necessary, though he'll probably have to carry her, because it will not occur to her to actually go elsewhere. Her free arm wraps around him too, her hand down the back of his shirt and her nails digging between his shoulders. ] You ain't tried to escape, neither. Like I said, trapped before you even know it.

[cryptsleeper]

[He was a wiggly mess. An adorable wiggly mess who got picked up and carted around just as he did as a small child.]

Doubt it. [Still. Alucard lines up a few more nails, then raises an eyebrow.] It does strike me as a strange twist of fortune that your nickname aligns with one of my forms though.

[Fuck it. While they're sharing.] How did that name stick?

[princessvegas]

[ "Wonderful!" Flagg yells sarcastically. He opens his arms, gestures at the crowd. Many of them are still fighting each other, or watching the violence closest to themselves. "We have more traitors in our midst! Oh, the old witch must have been desperate. Are there any more? Point them out. Better yet, tear them to pieces!" His face grows harder, angry, and he looks around the lobby with disgust.

Screams are beginning to emanate from the back of the group, the ones furthest from the pool, from Flagg. But these screams are different. They aren't angry, they aren't violent. These are screams of terror. But Flagg and those near him don't yet seem aware of the secondary commotion.

"Traitors! Parasites!" he continues. "Rip them out! They don't deserve to live in this world!"

The frightened screaming grows closer, and on one side of the room, people are fleeing, but it's not related to Flagg or the rebels. Instead, the vehicle from before, the one that was driving down the Strip, comes to a halt inside the room. It's a sort of deconstructed dune-buggy, with a full-sized nuclear warhead strapped to the back. Driving it is a truly disgusting creature -- it looks like a wax figure has come to life but only after melting in the sun. Its hair is falling out, its flesh is covered in open wounds. It looks up at Flagg lovingly.

Flagg is clearly surprised to see them. He stops ranting, looks down at the simpering being. "You shouldn't be here," he snaps, but there's apprehension on the edge of his voice.

The thing on the buggy, obviously once a man, mumbles, its voice barely intelligible. "I brought you the fire," it says.

"I told you to bring it to the plane!" Flagg responds, furious.

The two of them lock eyes, and the deformed person cries out pitifully, "My life for you! I did it." He wretches, splutters. "My life for you. My life for you."

Suddenly, thunder sounds loudly throughout the room, and everyone looks up. Through a series of circular light fixtures, there's a skylight. It's shattered open, something that would have been difficult to fix even if they had the replacement glass. The hole becomes obscured as what looks to be clouds begin to slowly fill the room through the space, coming down through the lights as if in a tube.

Everyone in the room, even the people who ran from the warhead, begins to come back, looking up in curiosity, confusion at what's happening. Julie is frozen in place on her balcony, staring up as well. Her cameraman has his lens turned up to the sky.

The clouds within the rings light up with lightning. There's more thunder. No one speaks.

Suddenly, a lightning bolt shoots from the cloud. It hits one of the big screens, which explodes, and ricochets to the other side of the room, where it sets a red banner ablaze. More lightning, many bolts, begin to strike downward from the cloud. Into the crowd. People go scattering in every direction.

"Don't run!" Flagg yells. "I command you to return!"

Julie and her cameraman both take off, through the room and out the door, running down the hall. She shoves a woman to the ground as she runs. ] Get outta the way!

[ She takes another few steps, and another lightning bolt strikes toward her. The memory abruptly ends.

In the hall of Mag's building, the real Julie clearly doesn't know what to do with herself. She just strokes Sam's shoulders, his cheeks, trying to soothe but at a loss. ]

[leitstern]

[Honestly? Perhaps he should not watch. Death is a subject he wishes to avoid.

There is an exhausted expression on his face as he observes distant buildings, biding time with a cold silence that is nervous and uncompromising.]

Perhaps, but it would be a fortune that he was aware of your feelings.

[leitstern]

[There is a coldness in his expression, the recognition of some breach of privacy. Frustrated to be trapped, he narrows his eyes, steels his nerves and chooses his words.

Hiding from truth, that is not his style.]

No, but I hardly needed to witness the act, I assure you. I remember it well enough. As do you.

[Apparently.]

[leitstern]

[Jasper is an unforgiving man, unsurprisingly cold to the idea of mercy. He watches the theft play out and thins his lips, altering his expression to lose whatever emotions linger. But his lips twitch. Must he care? He has committed crimes far worse than thievery.]

What is it you say you do here?

[He certainly isn't a thief now, right?]

[aquaveiled]

[ That actually earns a chuckle from her. As practiced as she is now with being polite, Himeka has always appreciated frankness in speech. She's gotten much better at reading people as well, but it's just much easier when they say what they mean. (Foot in mouth syndrome is something she suffers from...or would if she had a greater sense of shame.)

Himeka gives a nod in gratitude, followed by: ]

Thank you.

[ Might as well use this opportunity to move onto better topics. Horizon is the one place that they can freely be themselves with the other Summoned. So she has to ask-- ]

Who summoned you? I feel like I would have remembered if we crossed paths in the Commune.

[aquaveiled]

[ She drops her hand and gives a shrug, though she keeps her smile. There was a time where fantasizing about past lives was something she had fun with, but more recent revelations has led her to be a little more cautious about it.

In truth she fears there's a legacy she will never live up to--and really, that shouldn't matter since the only ones who would know or care about it are effectively dead. But it does make her wonder sometimes if she's less than what she could be. If her actions leading up until this point weren't fully her own. And she hates those kind of thoughts.

But Thancred is a friend--a good friend. Family. She knows that no matter who she was before won't matter to him as much as the who she is now and that's good enough for her.

Himeka gives a fake scoff at the idea of being a handful. Except he is exactly right. ]

From what I've heard, you were something of a little scoundrel yourself!

[techmaturgy]

[Once again, everything happens so quickly that he barely has time to process what he's seen. He's vaguely aware of what's going on--this is one of Ciri's memories, the very thing they were both trying to avoid, and there's not enough information for him to really understand. He didn't even know that Ciri knew Geralt, and here he is, acting like some kind of authority.

What he does understand is the need to do whatever it takes to accomplish a goal, even if that means offering yourself up in the process. That seems like what's going on here, though without further context he can't quite piece it all together.

When he comes back to himself, he's on the ground and his head is pounding. Viktor crushes his hands against his forehead, eyes squeezed shut in an attempt as if that's going to get rid of the pain.]

That was-- [Awful. He hates it. He has so many questions.] --that was my fault.

this took forever, i'm so sorry

[earthborn]

"Really?"

If you don't want to talk, Geralt, then just say so. But then, it's not the first surly bastard Shepard's ever had to deal with. Even so, people usually loved to talk; you could hardly stop them, most days.

Fine, then. Specifics.

"Who was she? She was important, I could see that."

[unnecessaryflourishes]

[There's... more good to inherit than Thancred might be willing to assume, perhaps. But Emet-Selch will not (entirely) begrudge him his assumptions, and in either case now is hardly the time to get into the finer points of his history with his most recent set of mortal descendants. Assuming there ever is, but that is a bridge that he is perfectly content leave uncrossed until there is a genuine need to do otherwise.]

So I am coming to realize.

[Needless to say, his opinion of Fandaniel is not exactly being improved by what he has been learning through this sharing of memory. Even if none of it is anything that he will be able to meaningfully confront Fandaniel over, when all should be said and done.

Still, he watches as what appears to be Himeka approaches the group of Scions - though he lacks the ability to pick up on the color of souls in another's memory, the tension in Thancred's shoulders (if not those of his memory self) and Y'shtola's apparent concern is enough to tell him that not is all as it seems, even before Thancred opens his mouth to explain.]

I had been aware of some research into the nature of souls prior to my... mortal demise. But I was unaware it had reached a point at which soul transference would be possible to any significant degree.

[And yet... as he watches 'Himeka' walk up towards the Scions, even he can see the flaws in Zenos' attempts to claim he is who he seems to be.]

Ah, and I see he has learned naught of whom he might have otherwise impersonated.

[Not if the sudden flurry of of suspicion and drawn weapons is anything to go by, at any rate.]

[unnecessaryflourishes]

[Disjointed though the memory may be, it doesn't take Emet-Selch long enough to figure out at least where he is, if not necessarily whose memory it is. He knows those robes and masks, nearly as much as he knows his own self, and its only the fact that there's more than one person who would have had cause to know the Capitol that gives him a moment's pause over whose it is. It's only when the world outside rumbles and shakes with the deathly clamor and groaning that even now he sometimes still hears in his dreams that he manages to place the dream - if this is the Final Days, Fandaniel would not have been here. No, he would have been the rest of the Convocation, not huddled with who knows how many others.

No, this could only be Hythlodaeus' memory, and it takes only a moment to find him, huddled and miserable, wracked by emotions that Emet-Selch knows all too well.]

Hythlodaeus.

[The word comes out as a murmur, at the same time a voice in the memory calls out Hythlodaeus' name; Emet-Selch's voice passing unheard and unnoticed as Hythlodaeus rises.

He does not wish to follow, truth be told. He knows what is likely to come, why the words of Pashtarot are standing guard, wary and on edge. And yet... though he is no more than a ghost of a memory, he cannot leave Hythlodaeus to face this alone. And so, he sighs, and drifts on in Hythlodaeus' wake. If there is more that the memory means to show, then he will see it to the end, no matter how much he might wish that Hythlodaeus didn't have to relive the moment again.]

[unnecessaryflourishes]

[Emet-Selch's eyes flicker over to Fandaniel, at his arrival, but if he's bothered either by Fandaniel's presence or his appearance, he says nothing of it. Especially given that he is likewise not as he appears outside of the Horizon.]

Varis was a means to an end, nothing more. And a singularly willful pawn, besides.

[One that had proven more useful than Zenos, certainly. If only in that Varis had enough of a desire to see the Empire take its rightful place that he could be... maneuvered, had one both the desire to and knowledge enough to know how. But even then, it had hardly been anything he had considered particularly enjoyable, and rather than linger on the man he had been, he turns instead to the scene before him.]

I presume there is some purpose behind such butchery?

we can be late together XD

[unnecessaryflourishes]

[For all that Emet-Selch is more than aware that the Horizon is hardly a safe haven, he can't entirely help from visiting there all the same. Even if only to retreat to the relative comfort of his now long-forgotten home. Even if it's not long at all before he's struck with the now all-too-familiar pain that precedes being dragging into a memory.

He should, perhaps, not be surprised, to find himself in a memory he doesn't immediately recognize as being one from his world. He is all the same, though he can't help the faint smile that crosses his face at the sight that greets him. Especially when the young boy insists that he needs to study; a comment that he well remembers having made any of a number of times when he was younger. (If not always successfully, as the case seems to be here as well.)

Still, he watches, as the older man insists, before eventually leading the boy outside; he follows without too much of a pause, even if he can't help but ask a single question into the comparative silence.]

Snowmen?

[He does not, precisely, expect an answer. Not in words anyway - he knows well enough that not every memory is one in which there is anyone who can him. But he can't help but ask all the same, even knowing as much - and suspecting that he is likely to have an answer soon enough regardless.]

[cointosser]

Absolutely not! I do not coddle him. I take very good care of him. There's a difference! Haven't you seen how much thicker his fur is since I got him?

[Which, well. Is actually through a lot of Geralt's help, with all the hunting he does. Mog lives a life of luxury, eating rabbit livers, deer hearts, and all the bits in between of everything they bring in. And as long as Jaskier is around, the meat never spoils, so there's more than a steady supply of it.

Jaskier stretches his legs out, propping one on the lip of the tub. As lovely as it is to have company, Geralt does take up a lot of room.]

See? I told you! A few weeks ago, he would've jumped in here with all his claws out. Ask me how I know.

[Lucky no one had been around to hear his screech.

He's scrubbing at himself with a second bar of soap when he hears something like a grunt -- not that that's rare for Geralt, but it feels different. And he only has enough time to see him wince before Jaskier grabs his arm.

He's since gotten his sea legs, but today the rocking of the boat leaves him nauseous, a hand over his mouth as he meets the last elf with an offered hand, a child he can only guess is as young as five taking the steep steps down below deck. the guardsman this time was not easily swayed with words, hadn't heard the name Jaskier. But a pouch full of coin helped him look the opposite direction as Jaskier climbed off the ship, giving a final look back with his lute across his back. He passes by a patch of stained dirt where he knows one of the elves had their throat slit before being thrown into the harbor.

A second memory comes. Jaskier in a different coat, but the same lute at his back. Jaskier holding his hand out for different elves, some missing the tips of this ears with only bloody stumps instead.

He sings at the tavern that was once his Horizon, the candles on the wall giving the whole scene a melancholy glow. Burn, Butcher, Burn! he shouts, and the crowd shouts it with him. Burn, burn, burn, burn! Like a call and response, until Jaskier sinks into a chair, breathing hard. He puts his lute down, lets the drums carry the song to its completion, and takes a heavy swig from a bottle of wine that had waited so patiently for him. Any energy he may have taken from his performance drops out of him, his head going into his hands.

Easy, Jaskier says, aiding a female elf down the steep stairs, her gait awkward and stilted. Her ankle had twisted on the run, she says, arm tightly wrapped around his own. She thought she'd never make it all the way, half-carried by two of her brothers who wait to take her out of Jaskier's grip. Thank you, Sandpiper, the larger one says, a short bow of his head. After all this time, I never truly believed you were real.

Jaskier smiles, lips curling, but there's a weight to him, a tiredness in the slope of his shoulders, as if his lute has grown heavier. Yes, well, he says in response, clapping the old boy on the shoulder, I don't believe it myself, some days. Be safe. Take care.

He leaves the ship, the murmured whispers of elves fading away as the sounds of the docks of Oxenfurt rise again, the lapping of water against the ship. At least there are no corpses today, but the air is growing bitter and cold, his breath rising in the dark. Jaskier sits on a nearby barrel, his legs swinging, a notebook opened across his lap as he watches the ship finish its final preparations, then begin to sail towards Xintrea.

He marks another tally mark on the page, a list of them spilled across the page already.]

Geralt? [He curses, holding onto him so he doesn't slip into the water. Mog is making an alarmed clicking that's driving into his head, making his heart pitter-patter in fear.] Geralt! Snap out of it!

[a_better_man]

"Family's not blood, though." Mat shrugs weakly, still recovering from the experience.

"Family's the people you keep in your heart. We don't have any say who we're born in blood to. But it doesn't mean much, really. My da...he's a shit father. He's not family, he's just some drunk mean bastard we have to put up with. Blood doesn't change that."

Not something he often mentions, but...well, it's relevant here. And obviously Kell understands that family, in all its forms, is complicated. But he knows Rhy loves the man as though they were blood. He'd talked about him before Kell ever showed up here.

"Way I figure it, who you love...that's your family. But I like things simple, so I suppose it's natural I'd take a simple approach to this."

[subhuman]

[ Clay and Zeus. Not really the story he was expecting, but it's probably not the strangest thing he's bound to hear in this world. Or his world, really. He knows better than to think that myths are only that. ]

Sounds like that makes you something special, Diana.

[ He tends to say most things in a laid back nature, but there is something genuine in that appraisal. ]

[blackeyedprince]

"If you phrase it like that..."

Kell bites his lower lip. He never thought he could look at all this differently.

"I don't remember my parents. I don't remember anything from before I got adopted."

Because they wiped his memory. He never told anyone before. Not something he likes sharing. He has no idea why it feels right to share it with Mat.

It feels redundant to say he loves Rhy. He does. More than anyone. He'd die for him. He had killed for him. He'd do anything to keep him safe, no matter how much it would cost him. In truth, he already did. He actually did all those things.

"Then Rhy's the only family I've got."