nexus_crossings | This Mortal Coil

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This Mortal Coil

Micolash is in the Nexus Plaza, thankfully looking cleaner and smelling better than the last time he'd been asking questions. The cage is still in place, of course; why would it not be? He even looks a little healthier! Not much, as his skin is still sallow and gaunt over angular bones and features. But at least not as unsteady and proportionally more alert as well.

He's not quick to ask a question, however. The scholar is instead on a sofa, long legs pulled up onto the seat with him and folded in front of him. The rest of the sofa, normally big enough to seat three, is piled with books. Easily two dozen, if not more. A glance at the covers that are visible will show a selection of possibly recognizable names: Erwin Schrödinger. Charles Hartshorne. René Descartes. David Ray Griffin. The one he has open on his knees right now is a collection of Thomas Aquinas' summae and related theories.

The scholar is content to immerse himself in this reading for hours on end, but eventually, he seems to recall where he is. And that he can ask questions if the fancy takes him.

"What do you think. Or believe. Happens after death?"

Getting RIGHT to the heavy stuff, it appears.

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Oddly enough, it's his whining that lets her shake off the last of her hard feelings. She's even trying to come up with something else she can say to help him end his pity party, but it seems like he is doing that himself by dropping the subject completely.

"Who is Ebrietas? Is she another Great One?" She doesn't understand why that means that the tentacles aren't his, and is about to ask another question, when he makes his offer to show her said tentacles.

Hmm. She looks him over, her mouth pinched with uncertainty. He's not the only scholar here, and she'd be lying to herself if she weren't at least a little curious about what it looks like...

"You can control it, right? You aren't going to start smacking books around or anything?" She can't remember if his friend told her that both the blood and tentacles are explosive, or only the blood. Her hand presses into Bucky's side. She has a feeling he's not going to like the display. "If you can do it safely, then okay."

Micolash at least seems to have his spirits lifted by being able to show off. "Oh of course! The start might be a little...sudden, but give me a moment and all will be well." That's not encouraging!

Regardless, the caged scholar unfolds his legs and totters into standing, making sure he has his balance and his feet planted. One arm is raised, shaking down his cape's sleeve, pulling it back with the other hand to make sure it is properly out of the way. Now it's just his arm outstretched, clad in the white sleeve of his button-up.

There's no gesture, magic word, incantation, flexing or anything similiar to precede the sudden loud, visceral eruption. A sound (BOOSH!!) and sparks and swirls like a night sky dotted with stars accompanies their arrival. A dozen pale, segmented tentacles burst from Micolash's hand, transforming it entirely to a mass of squirming, grasping, reaching tapered limbs. Micolash keeps his arm locked and held out straight as the bizarre appendages stretch outwards to several feet's length. Some seem to fall as if stretched thin enough that they break free to the flesh conjuring them, but they dissolve into silver mist before they ever touch the floor.

Micolash can't help a frantic laugh, briefly struggling to tame them, exert his will to keep them present and behave how he dictates. Soon, the tentacles are waving and squirming like branches in the wind, making a series of slithering, wet noises. The scholar watches them with obvious pride.

Adia watches him stand, wishing he'd step away from the couch as well to put more space between them. If he's going to grow tentacles out of his arm, better to do so while not being in range of any --

Holy frak!

Flinching, she shrinks back into her seat, watching the tentacles in awe and fear. Bucky has a similar reaction, puffing up in reminiscence of his earlier evolution. "It's okay, Bucky," she whispers, even if she isn't entirely sure that it is. How much control does Micolash really have over those slithering, slippery appendages?

She's never been afraid of snakes, or worms, but something about the sound they make as they writhe against one another makes her a little queasy. She can't stop staring at them, though. They're beautiful, in their own way, like a glimpse into another world.

...what's a polite way to tell someone that they can put their tentacles away? "They're remarkable," she says quietly. "I, um... I think I get the idea, thank you."

Another strange part about these tentacles is gazing upon them might give someone the distinct thought of butterflies. As to why, who can be sure? Seems out of place, but it's not the weirdest thing going on here either.

Adia's request gets Micolash to glance over towards her, then back to the squirming display he's put on. It takes a few moments, but whatever action he must take to conjure things things is finally ended and the tentacles all fall and dissipate into that silver mist. It's nice that they don't leave a mess at least. When they have all dissolved into nothing, Micolash pulls his arm back to himself, flexing his hand a few times as he examines it. It appears to be completely unmarred and unharmed, but the process must feel weird. His body just exploded tentacles from that hand.

"See? Nothing to be afraid of."

"Nothing to be afraid of," she repeats, as if she's trying to puzzle out the punchline to a joke. She's grateful for the opportunity to have seen something so unusual, but it's a relief that it's over. "How are you able to do that? You said it was through someone's blessing?"

What kind of blessing could that possibly be?

"It concerned your friend," she remarks, absently smoothing down the feathers that are in a permanent poof around Bucky's neck. "But it doesn't seem to hurt you at all. What do you use them for? Self-defense?"

"Yes! A gift from poor Abandoned Ebrietas, Daughter of the Cosmos. Normally a tool meant only for the Choir, but...I have my methods of securing things. Ah, but to speak on the how is another matter entirely. Another display. A moment, if you would."

Micolash closes his dark-ringed eyes, looking to be concentrating briefly. ~~Somewhere unseen, another eye opens.~~ It is a curious glint of light first, glowing a soft and dreamy blue from underneath the curls at Micolash's left temple. And then, slowly, cautiously, it emerges. A pale slug-shaped creature shining with pearlescent starlight slides, ghost-like, from the man's skull, the little eyestalks curiously twitching as it seems to take in its new surroundings. It drips some manner of opal fluid, but it evaporates should it fall too long or once it has dropped onto a surface, leaving no wetness. It is a simple, timid creature but it has the sense of those tentacles. The smell of sea breeze, the unlikely impression of butterflies.

Once entirely free from the man's head, it promptly begins to weave about on the bars of his cage like a jungle gym. Micolash opens his eyes again, looking around for the slug and then spotting it climbing. Huffing a laugh, he points up at it with a single finger. "There we are. Through this augur, the familiars of Ebrietas, we are able to call the memory of her flesh from our own. Is it not marvelous?"

Although Adia's previous question about Abysa's concern makes the scholar sober up slightly. "Oh, he was. Concerned? It was likely because he first saw it happen when I was...incapacitated. Summoned without control or thought from an unconscious body in fits. But yes. They are largely for self-defense. It would be a horrible desecration of such wonder to use it only for reaching high places, don't you think?"

Edited 2017-10-22 00:44 (UTC)

Oh, well that clears that up. What does he mean by choir? And why would a daughter of the Cosmos be abandoned? But before she can ask anything, he has his eyes closed and is concentrating on showing her something else.

She grips the arms of her chair instinctively. It's not going to be the explosive blood, is it? She can handle all sorts of things, but lots of blood, especially blood exploding from someone's head, nope, no thank you, she will get out her PINpoint and --

But it's not blood that pulls itself from his temple. Iinstead it's a... slug? A pale, glowing slug. And though she was completely unprepared for its appearance, its gentle arrival and almost playful way it climbs upon Micolash's head cage set her immediately at ease. Even Bucky seems to ease up on the hate glare a little.

"It's cute," she half-whispers, before blushing and clearing her throat. "I mean... it is marvelous. Does it talk to you at all? Can you touch it, or will your fingers pass through it?" Her own fingers stray from Bucky's feathers before she folds her hands neatly in her lap to avoid the temptation.

"He was concerned that it was a symptom of an illness," she murmurs, her gaze transfixed on the slug. It really is a strangely pleasant creature. She smiles a little at his comment. "You've never been tempted? That's because you aren't short... does that mean those tentacles are solid? How were they able to dissolve into mist?"

Edited (the broken italic! MY EYES) 2017-10-22 02:02 (UTC)

Micolash looks delighted that Aida finds the creature to be cute! "Isn't it?!" he gushes. "It does not speak, no. Sometimes if you listen closely, you can hear it shine and twinkle like the stars, but little else. Come now. Come here." He reaches up one slender hand before the slug can get too high up on his cage and thus out of reach. It dutifully crawls onto his fingers and curls itself around his wrist, wobbling its eyestalks about to resume taking in the sights.

Micolash brings his arm back down to admire the glowing gastropod, then hesitantly holds it out another inch or two, inviting Adia to touch it if she cares to. It looks plenty docile too.

"...All right, I've been a little tempted," he admits with lowered voice and lopsided, mischievous smile. "But yes, they are quite solid. The mist is simply...them leaving this realm once more. Returning to the aether of the cosmos where they sprang from. You saw the force they arrive with; it works marvelously to knock someone off balance or shove them away from you if they are particularly intent on getting near enough to do harm."

Surprised and a little honored that he would offer her the opportunity, she reaches out and very gently runs a finger down the slug's back, careful to avoid its eyestalks. She's surprised at how cold it is. Cold and tingly, like touching freshly fallen snow. And though her mind insists that the slug should feel slimy, its pale skin is as dry as a bone.

For a moment, she thinks of the sea and its salty breeze, of hordes of butterflies taking to the sky. She pets the slug one more time before setting her hands in her lap again. "How often do you let it out?" she asks, admiring its shimmering luminescence. "Does it still know what's going on, even when it's in your head?"

The gentle way Micolash handles the creature, combined with refreshingly normal response to her questions, put the disheveled scholar in a new light. She gives him a real, genuine smile, only pulling back a little when he speaks of shoving others away. She hasn't forgotten his talk of hunters, of those who would defile his Nightmare. Still, how bad are tentacles from another realm, really, if they can protect you and come with a little slug friend of your very own?

"It's a good thing you didn't lose your little friend after leaving the Nightmare," she comments thoughtfully. "You're not likely to be attacked here, though. There's an anti-violence field."

Micolash smiles as he watches Adia pet the augur, the expression shy but excited someone shares his sentiments on this unique creature. "I let it out from time to time, if I require distraction or. Simple company. Or it wants free to wander about or escape the-...Ehm." He trails off, pale eyes flitting downwards, looking uncertain he should elaborate. "...Sometimes. When my thoughts grow feverish. It is better to not be in my skull with them."

He's quick to agree with Adia about the potential loss of the strange slug, though, nodding. "If I'd have arrived here without Ebrietas' blessing still with me, I would have surely remained even more uncertain of my time in the Nightmare than I am presently. How much was fit and folly, if having the augur was just another delusion..." The talk of the anti-violence field, however, gets his head tilted in response. This is news to him!

"Anti-violence...? I'm not sure I understand."

His confession draws her gaze away from the slug and up to his face, her smile fading into a soft, sympathetic line. How frenetic must his thoughts be to drive out this otherworldly creature? She even feels a little guilty when he adds that he would have questioned whether it had even been real in the first place. She had assumed initially that his ramblings had been at least partly delusions... well, obviously he was telling the truth, at least in his own way...

Bucky, who had also been examining the slug, tilting its head to stare at it one eye at a time, lets out a soft croak of approval. This man is still creepy and weird and Adia should absolutely not be on friendly terms with him, but the tiny glowing gastrodon is all right.

His surprised question is met with surprise in turn. No one told him about the anti-violence field yet? "In the Nexus, there's a kind of forcefield that gets activated if someone tries to physically harm someone else. It's strongest here in the Plaza, a little spotty if you go out into the Wilds." And sometimes it fails spectacularly. With a somewhat pensive frown, she adds, "I wouldn't bet my life on it, but it does make things safer here than they would be otherwise."

That is the trick, isn't it? How much of what he says is legitimate and how much is the twisted shadows of truth warped through a damaged mind? (And how and why is it damaged in the first place?) There's no one to conflate or second his accounts, after all. No one else from this bizarre place called Yharnam. ~~Yet?~~

The caged scholar listens to the explanation of the AVF, head still tilted like a curious dog. "...How strange. Who maintains it? It must be the dreamer, but why would They wish such a thing? And how often can They ensure that no harm is enacted? Does this mean They all can? And if They can..." Micolash trails off, eyes going distant as he thinks. His thin fingers twist themselves in one sleeve of his regalia, idly so as he ponders. "...Oh, but it wouldn't have been Mergo's fault if he could have," he eventually adds. "He was just a babe. Perhaps he didn't know? It was possible?"

But to think if violence could have been prevented in the Nightmare, what would that have been like...?

It's not her place to judge, that's for sure. Although her suspicions that he kidnapped a baby are going to nag at her for a while, even as she seems rather comfortable now, looking back at the slug briefly and smiling.

She doesn't interrupt his audible musings, although there are a couple moments where she seems tempted to speak up, to redirect him from the path that his thoughts are taking him. Far be it from her to make assumptions of the true nature of the Nexus, but she's not sold on the idea that a Great One is responsible. How strange of him to ponder if violence could have been prevented in the Nightmare. Isn't that the point of of a nightmare? Maybe she's relying too heavily on its traditional definition.

"I don't know who are what maintains it, but it's likely a combination of advanced magic and technology... I don't know how a place like this would function without it, honestly. Many powerful people visit or live in the Nexus. It'd be a... a might makes right sort of place, if physical violence was acceptable."

"Magic," he murmurs in an echo of her words, considering it. "...That sounds very likely. Arcane energy is always present in matters of the higher planes. Are you sensitive to it? Did you feel it all from Ebrietas' blessing? Her limbs radiate immense arcana. I find the sensation. Quite thrilling, really." Magic casters are weird.

Speaking of, the slug proves itself increasingly talented, because Micolash at one point lowers the hand that holds it, but the creature remains hovering in place! It even twinkles a little. Aww...

As far as the rest of it, the concerns of this place being a good deal more dystopian without the field, he hums thoughtfully. "I have...very firm convictions regarding survival of the fittest, the right to the strongest but. Ah!" Micolash suddenly looks like he recalls something, then turns to one of his book piles, sorting through them and checking all the covers until he finds one in particular. "Ah! Here we are! Have you heard of ahhh..." He squints at the author's name before reading carefully, "Jean Jacques Rousseau? I had not before now, but his writings on human nature ended up intriguing. May I read a passage to you?" Micolash looks hopeful, clutching the book in both of his spidery hands, eager to share knowledge and talk philosophy! You've done it now, Adia. But it can't be as weird as tentacles, at least.

"And technology," she reminds him, unable to stay silent on that point. As for his question, she less quick to respond. "I, um... I wouldn't normally consider myself sensitive to magic, but..."

Her gaze drifts down to the slug, which is now disobeying the laws of gravity along with everything else. Adorable! She smiles at it again and says, "Your friend gives off a... a feeling of the sea. And... butterflies?" She looks up at him uncertainly. "Is that typical of Ebrietas' blessings?"

If only they could stay on that subject. His opinion of survival of the fittest makes her frown softly in disappointment, but she stays silent while he sorts through his books. She has not, in fact, heard of Rousseau. "Is he an Earth writer?" she asks, her curiosity returning. It's hard to say no to that hopeful expression. "Yes, please. Go ahead."

He nods with her reminder of technology, conceding the point. Advances in that do go a long ways as well, of course. Any man of science can agree to that. And where would Yharnam be without the ingenuity of the Workshop, the Powder Kegs, all those trick weapons the lot of them made?

Micolash is hurriedly flipping through the pages of his book, looking for the passage he'd mentioned. "Oh yes," he says as he does so, reassuring Adia of her impressions caused by the augur. "The Great Ones are intrinsically linked to the sea. Kos, some say Kosm, especially. Others, as Vacuous Rom, are linked to lakes, Formless Oedeon to stagnant water." He pauses, looking up to smile fondly, if vacantly. "And Ebrietas is quite beautiful. And her name, while sharing the root word for 'drunkenness', also speaks of a genus of, ah. Skippers. Butterflies." He smiles wider, as if to cap that explanation, then turns back down to his book. Where is that page he-...Ah!

Micolash holds the book out and open in front of him, clearing his throat in preparation to read. Also, he has to take a moment to adjust the distance he holds the pages out at, squinting until he gets it right. Someone must need reading glasses. His reading voice is a lot like his speaking voice, which is to say a nasal drone, but at least the strange cadence is gone for the most part. It's different when he has to adhere to someone else's written cues.

"The Strongest is never strong enough to be always the master, unless he transforms strength into right, and obedience into duty. Hence the right of the strongest, which, though to all seeming meant ironically, is really laid down as a fundamental principle. But are we never to have an explanation of this phrase? Force is a physical power, and I fail to see what moral effect it can have. To yield to force is an act of necessity, not of will—at the most, an act of prudence. In what sense can it be a duty?

"Suppose for a moment that this so-called 'right' exists. I maintain that the sole result is a mass of inexplicable nonsense. For, if force creates right, the effect changes with the cause: every force that is greater than the first succeeds to its right. As soon as it is possible to disobey with impunity, disobedience is legitimate; and, the strongest being always in the right, the only thing that matters is to act so as to become the strongest. But what kind of right is that which perishes when force fails? If we must obey perforce, there is no need to obey because we ought; and if we are not forced to obey, we are under no obligation to do so. Clearly, the word “right” adds nothing to force: in this connection, it means absolutely nothing.

"Obey the powers that be. If this means yield to force, it is a good precept, but superfluous: I can answer for its never being violated. All power comes from God, I admit; but so does all sickness: does that mean that we are forbidden to call in the doctor? A brigand surprises me at the edge of a wood: must I not merely surrender my purse on compulsion; but, even if I could withhold it, am I in conscience bound to give it up? For certainly the pistol he holds is also a power.

"Let us then admit that force does not create right, and that we are obliged to obey only legitimate powers. In that case, my original question recurs."

Now finished, Micolash looks up, pale eyes bright with expectation towards hearing Adia's thoughts.

Edited 2017-10-27 04:28 (UTC)

It's a relief to know that her impressions were spot-on, although she'll have to take his word on Ebrietas' beauty. "But they aren't water deities?" she asks, to clarify. It does seem rather fitting for Great Ones to be linked to the sea. Bodies of water are often associated with secrets and mysteries.

His mannerisms as he prepares to read, right down to the squinting and clearing of his throat, remind her so much of professors in her past that she forgets about the cage on his head and pays attention as if she were back in school, focusing on his words and trying to make sense of them. The writing is verbose, but Rousseau's line of thought is fairly straight-forward, and she follows along easily enough.

It's easy to see what kind of student she was back in college: eager, well-behaved, but a little shy when it becomes her turn to speak. "He, um, he's making a good argument against might making right. Just because you force others to follow your rules, it doesn't make those rules 'right'. Not if someone even stronger than you can come along and knock you off your pedestal."

He smiles weakly at Adia's response as well as her obvious listening skills. "Yes! Very astute. For indeed, there is nothing inherently 'right' about forcing others to bend. Or threats to maintain the desired status quo.

"But what of the other half this assertion? What if...the idea is more that there is no 'right' to begin with? Morality cannot be measured by this metric, so what version can it be? It is prudent to obey...certain shows of force if one cares about self-preservation. And while that is arguably correct for the suppressed to do, does that speak of it being the moral choice? And what of the morality attached to the being who oppresses? What if their actions were done to maintain their understanding of what is right, what is moral? And continuing to ascribe morality to uprising against oppressive powers, it only grows increasingly muddy, doesn't it?

"I would think any idea of what is the 'right' of things is even more subjective and impossible to determine, to the point of it being a construct. Perhaps even another assertion of force built by society and the men who control it. Such a thing so nebulous does not encourage the belief that it is real or legitimate, does it?"

She shifts uneasily in her seat as she listens to his argument. She's heard this sort of thing before, usually from philosophy majors who are cutting their teeth on the concept of moral relativism. But it doesn't sit well with her, the idea that there is no "right", that the entire idea is some sort of get out of jail free card for those who wish to do whatever they want with impunity.

Combined with his earlier cluelessness on talking about people as if they are a collection of curious parts, and she really doesn't like where this conversation is going.

"There are other ways to measure morality. If it cannot be understood through the lens of obedience and enforcement, then try looking at it through the lens of society itself. How can a group of people live together in harmony if they don't treat one another with compassion and respect?" She pauses, glancing once at his collection of books. "Have you ever heard of the golden rule? 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you?' That gets close to my views on morality, but I generally take it a step further. 'Treat others as they wish to be treated.' And I have yet to meet anyone who wishes to be treated badly, unless they have some underlying psychological problem."

He listens, though his mouth is twisted in an uncertain expression, looking just as concerned with Adia's assertion as she was with him. The book is closed now, both hands flat on either cover and simply holding it thusly.

"...The golden rule of Yharnam was always more a matter of 'do not step upon anyone's toes'. It is better to give people their space and to. Maintain decorum, privacy, and dignity. What happens behind closed doors is not the business of anyone but those who are behind them to begin with. Someone who noses in the matters of others is either a hunter seeking prey, or the worst sort Yharnam has to offer." Which is, what? Thieves? Looters? "Busybodies. Gossips." Oh. "I've not really heard it said in the way you describe. How interesting."

For once, they have matching expressions, although Adia seems a touch relieved that the conversation has veered into something more manageable, by her standards. Talk of decorum she can handle. Debating the innateness of morality is a little out of her reach. Mostly because she doesn't know how to argue something that feels innately right to her. She doesn't even have religion to fall back on. Just her empathy.

"Giving others the privacy they ask for is important," she agrees slowly. Yharnam's golden rule sounds good in theory, but she's reluctant to endorse a way of life for a town that uses blood as currency. "I'm not a huge fan of secrets, but no one should be forced to reveal personal things about themselves, especially if others will use that information to hurt or exploit them."

She smiles wryly and gives Bucky's neck feathers another scratch. "Most people don't agree with me... or they do, but they make exceptions for people that they don't like." She shrugs. "It's too easy for me to feel the suffering of others, no matter how small. I don't like adding to it, if I can help it."

"Oh, no one asks for it. It is just expected. That is how we are. Or...should be." Considering how invasive and blasé he was about airing Abysa's private...well, privates, this might seem a golden rule Micolash struggles with despite being raised with it. "Secrets are just part and parcel for our culture. Everyone holds them; parents, children, the church, the schools, the Great Ones. Ah, but that is why discovery is so thrilling! Uncovering truths is the heart of being a scholar.

"It is simply how things have always been. We do not care for outsiders, nor outliers. Sticking out, being where you shouldn't. All of it is. Heavily discouraged." Hmm. Considering how odd Micolash behaves, one could continue to wonder how well he adhered to these standards. If at all. Where'd he fit into the structure of Yharnam society? "And the suffering of others is-...Ah, but you must remain impartial. With the way Yharnam had become, to feel the pain of all the others is to invite madness. Soul sickness. Not with the Beast Plague about and rampant."

The way he describes his town fills her with a profound sadness for the man who sits before her. How was he able to fit into such a society? Was he an outlier even before communed with Great Ones? That sadness mixes with disappointment when he talks about being impartial to the suffering of others. She doesn't know what a beast plague is, but even without the threat of disease and madness, Yharnam sounds like a horrible place.

"I don't think I'd last an hour in your world," she confesses. "But here, I think I've managed okay, following my own philosophy."

She glances over at his piles of books. It reminds her of her own research she needs to do, and now is as good a time as any to end the conversation.

"I need to go. Thank you for showing me your, um... blessings." She stands up and Bucky stretches his wings, eager to follow. "Hopefully we'll get another chance to talk soon." If anything to make sure he is minding his manners around his demon benefactor.

Micolash nods. "Of course. I've kept you for some time, haven't I." As if on cue, the hovering augur twists itself around in the air and then zips back inside of the scholar's head through the temple it exited from. He doesn't move or flinch, the sensation perhaps not profound enough to cause either, but his left eye DOES glow blue briefly.

As is polite, Micolash stands and offers a hand to shake. If taken, she's gonna find his skin to be kinda clammy and cold. Wonderful. "It was a delight speaking with you, Ms....?" If she'd given it earlier, he's already forgotten. Absent-minded professor is a term for a reason.

Edited 2017-10-31 05:01 (UTC)

Whoops, she forgot to say goodbye to his little slug friend. Oh, well. At least there's something quiet and gentle living among all the disorder in that caged, troubled head.

As a matter of fact, she had given him her name, and Bucky's as well, but she's not insulted, or even surprised that he's already forgotten. "Adia Costas," she replies easily, shaking his hand and trying not to wrinkle her nose at its clamminess. She doesn't bother re-introducing Bucky; maybe it'd be better if he forgot about her pokémon friend entirely.

"Take care, Micolash." She gives him a sincere smile, with only a hint of her earlier nervousness. "I'll see you around."

The braviary waits for Adia to turn and walk away before giving him one last glare. A look that says he's going to be keeping his eyes on you, buddy. No funny business. A few flaps of his wings, and he takes to the sky.

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This Mortal Coil

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here we go with massive transcript from a book from the 1700s

I really hope you cut and pasted that. ;)

M-MOST OF IT

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