FOR THEY CANNOT DIE ANYMORE, BECAUSE THEY ARE EQUAL TO ANGELS.

[cccorp]

Today, the canals of Mac Anu flow as gentle as they always do, gondolas drifting lazy through the paths of sunlight cut bright across the water. Shops and vendors line the stonework streets along the waterways, a general murmur of NPCs circulating through their preprogrammed business keeping Mac Anu, as always, feeling maybe a little more alive than a real city.

There is one particular bridge that nearly every player's taken at least once, because it connects to a great many other places of interest, and it's wide enough for easy travel. Besides, with the professions update, they've put a fishing spot on the other side of it. NPCs with fishing rods litter the spot in alternating shifts, their laughter mingling with the calls of shopkeeps advertising cheap prices for some simple plants to get started crafting with, and the clink of forks and plates at a restaurant nearby, its customers singing the chef praises.

Below the bridge, a gondolier passes, humming, his gondola drifting along its circuit through the canals, his tune in rhythm with the passing conversation. As he comes out from under it and sails further away, he glances up at the bridge, as if he were expecting something, and he seems to see it. His gaze remains fixed there until, eventually, the water takes him out of sight again.

Today, you might notice that at the base of this bridge, just before your feet, is a red sort of smear.

A little further down the bridge, about a fourth of the way along it, is a person collapsed on the ground. The red trails to him, fallen forward.

You see upon approaching his hand grasping at his throat at the singularly cut sliced deep into his neck. His one good eye wide and unblinking, he is—among all the laughter and conversation on either side of the bridge; in the shadow of the clock tower, which stands a silent witness, the sun at its back—no longer breathing, his body cool to the touch.

Perhaps this could be considered a kindness: for one who failed, time and time and again, to grasp the desire to live, maybe he found some suggestion of it in his last moments, his hand at his throat, his palm smeared with dried blood, a curious anomaly in the deathless Mac Anu. Fragment had, after all, taught him a great many things. Should he not be grateful for one more, no matter how permanent the lesson?

Mithrun is dead.

Comments

[tylorific]

[ Tylor laughs again. ]

What if I offend instead?

[ He thinks his joke is funny at least, as they crack and dismember their first shield monster. Tylor doesn't have the full damage of a tribal grappler, but he is faster than a full Lord Partizan. Which makes it easier for him to get behind them while they focus Vogel. His arms come up like there is something in them when there isn't.

They aren't in a party, so he calls out cheerily-- ] Duck!

[ And just as he swings his apparently empty hands, there's a flicker where the weapon change is too fast for having gone to his inventory. From gauntlets to a giant ruler with a metal edge that flips out like a compass as it arcs. Rai tornado. Thunder, a noticeable shock to the amount of damage that he slashes across three dark elemental targets at once.

Sorry about all that blood, probably. ]

[insinning]

[Ducking!

It's fine. Sinclair is bringing all the blood on his clothes himself, each stain growing as a monster goes down. He swings his polearm again, gritting his teeth at that infuriating whistle as he slashes down another shield man, the goblin-like creature crumbling under their onslaught. And just as suddenly, it's done. Sinclair pants a little as he straightens]

...I really don't like those monsters.

[tylorific]

Well, then I guess it's a good thing we got them all! Nice job, Chef. You're a really good tank.

[ Tylor is breathing a shade heavier, not quite a pant. But he's predictably all smiles for it as his weapon pops out of existence. There's something cathartic about fighting soulless creatures, even if he's not actively aware of it.

They don't know what they're doing, or if this will even help Morgan at all. But at least it feels like he's doing something. ]

Huh, is that galloping?

[ They don't have much time before the dark horses arrive, the sound of their hooves echoing from above them in the tower. Winding downward and becoming louder. ]

[insinning]

I try.

['Cursed'. Uta had told them what the sprites had told her about the armor. But it's only fitting he keeps the armor on, and lets the whistle of his polearm fuel his anger, simmering so deep in him. There's no one to be angry at right now, so he turns those frustrations to the monsters before them. This is a curse, this whole day has been cursed - what's one more for him to carry?]

Ah. I haven't fought these before.

[But he can crush them either way]

[tylorific]

[ There's a blink when he glances at Vogel; soft concern in the brief moment before their next opponents come into view. But by the time it's almost too late to offer, he grins and offers anyway-- ]

Want to go first again?

[insinning]

Yeah. Let me handle the direct attacks.

[He steps forward again, brandishing but also, adds the potion of luring to himself. Draw the aggro, tank the attacks, hit hard where he can - and then Tylor can sweep through with everything he had]

[tylorific]

You got it, chef.

[ Tylor agrees breezily, letting Vogel start things. He stops to clap at that potion-aggro opening for a beat before he joins in the fray. Predictably he is bored by using the same old attacks over and over again, so some of these centaur looking guys are getting punched and others sliced; peppering them but able to withstand the stray enemy damage. Vogel is still far tankier, but it's clear that Tylor could off tank even for him if needed. ]

[insinning]

[That's fine. They needed more aggro than they needed defense. Sinclair is relentless despite his role, and soon, there are no more of those dark horses left either]

...do you hear anymore?

[tylorific]

Hm.

[ With a hand to his ear, he listens real hard. ]

Nope! But I guess it's not clear yet.

[ Since there hasn't been an alert that they've cleared it.

And so he offers his hand to Vogel, to make their path forward in the dark a little more bearable. It's easy to feel watched from the very beginning, with how their steps echo. Unseen phantom wings linger in the deeper shadows, waiting. ]

[insinning]

...I'm covered in blood.

[Tylor is notably, not. But he takes Tylor's hand anyway. And if his hand is trembling, it's not from the monsters in the dungeon]

[tylorific]

Don't worry, I never liked this uniform anyway.

[ His steps slow, a leisurely park stroll instead of a dungeon. His hand squeezes gently. ]

Do you not like blood?

[insinning]

...no.

[He scans their surroundings, his brow furrowing. Squeezing Tylor's hand in turn.
Wasn't Tylor wearing a school uniform?

That made sense.]

I'm not scared of it. But I don't like seeing it. This armor...my previous one wasn't like this.

[tylorific]

Oh, I see.

[ a beat-- ] What if you reequip it? Whenever I spill stuff, that cleans it up.

[insinning]

...do you remember what Uta said? About these armors?

[He's so tired already. It would be simply smarter to just unequip it and return it to the old one, even if it was too low level]

It's meant to remind me of everything I do. It wont go away, no matter what.

[tylorific]

[ Tylor nods at the question, quietly letting him go on. He did remember, though it had never stopped him from wearing his. Tylor hasn't even noticed how much more endearing he is while wearing it. And his concerned smile is only making it worse. ]

Hey, I'm tanky enough, so you don't have to wear it now if you don't want to. It's alright.

Besides, the dungeon is almost over.

[insinning]

[It bothers him so much. Tylor's. His own. He glances down at his hand and shakes his head]

...no. It's alright. For a little longer.

[Until that whistling stops piercing his heart]

[tylorific]

If you say so.

[ He says it casually, like nothing is abnormal.

But he quietly steps ahead and spins on his heel, keeping their hands attached. It's a slow movement, easily avoided, but Tylor tries to pull Vogel, blood and all, by that into a hug in the dark. ]

I don't know what's wrong and you don't have to tell me. Wear it if you like. But you don't need to.

[insinning]

[Sinclair goes very still. Ah. He had thought he had been strong enough. That Tylor wouldn't notice. But he's never been any good at pretending. He leans into the hug anyway, nodding tiredly against Tylor's chest.

How could he say that this was some sort of twisted remembrance of his pact with Mithrun? That, he needed to remember so he wouldn't forget, and let everything slip through his fingers]

...I'm okay. I'm okay. I just want to carry it for a bit longer. To prove something to myself.

[That Kromer wont haunt him anymore, that Kromer can't drive him mad, haunt his every waking moment. He's quiet for a moment and then...]

You said you didn't like yours either. Why are you wearing it then?

[tylorific]

[ Tylor will hold him as long as he gets away with it, at least until the Shadow wings have finished shifting quietly into a strategic position. ]

Then I support you, Chef. And well, this uniform has the best stats. The weapons aren't so bad either.

[ He laughs a little, trailing off-- ]

But even here I guess they never have one in my size.

[insinning]

...it's a school uniform isn't it?

[Sinclair isn't as familiar with that style, but. Mumbling against Tylor's clothes]

Uniforms always sucked.

[Just like Tylor said - this armor set had the best stats. So. He'll use it, until he can make his own]

[tylorific]

Yeah, it is.

[ A laugh, or the gentle rumble of one that Vogel might feel, at the rest. ]

I agree. Well, I always thought the girl's uniforms were pre-tty cute though.

[insinning]

[Sinclair smiles against Tylor's chest, a soft tired laugh of his own]

Is that so? [Pausing. Hmmm. Wasn't Tylor the one who liked the maid outfits?] Maybe it would have suited you better.

[Is that teasing? He's trying. He wants Tylor to--be distracted. For a little longer. Give him purpose]

when you forget to hit send before passing out 😔

[tylorific]

Mmhm

[ He joins Vogel in the pause acter that; in the comfortable, companionable warmth between them. No demands or expectations.

The attempt at teasing gets him to laugh all over again. He sounds like himself, on any other normal day-- ]

Oh no, I could never compete with the pretty girls in class.

[insinning]

[ It's calming. Sinclair hadn't expected it to be calming. He holds Tylor for as long as they're allowed to have a moment of reprieve, even as the Dark Horses move into place. His pole arm is ready and he can steel his heart for a little longer.]

You could have, if you wanted to.

[ Mumbling that. Then he's pulling back and swinging his pole arm down over a dark horse's neck as it lunges in from the side. Bad horse. They were having a moment here.]

[tylorific]

[ There are more jokes he could make.

On any other day with almost any other person, he would have.

But not today, and not with Vogel. So Tylor's response is soft, like the hand that reaches to pat Vogel's (bloody???) hair ]

Thanks. You're a nice guy, Chef.

[ But his hold is, as always, easily broken by those in it. Especially in a dangerous place like a dungeon.

Down goes a dark horse, phantom wings channeling a wind attack from afar. But they've time. Slivers of it before they have to fight in earnest. ]

Ohh, nice job! I didn't even hear that one coming.