[ the question was sort of both. and the penance for making him like squat here holding this thing is he gets pestered like this, so that seems like a fair enough trade. ]
Question was both, so, sure that works. [ he clicks his tongue. ] Got to be a limit to the latter if he's into politics though. Always something a bit rotten there.
[that isn't necessarily a condemnation. also what the fuck does lucien know about politics, he's from a place with literally no laws. ]
Yes, he was learning that the hard way, I believe.
[The inside is full of things he wishes he had the tools for extracting in a more careful way.
Scien would consider this is theft, but he does not want to damage it. He is respectful of the equipment. He doesn't try to break it open or dig around haphazardly.]
Did you know he told me recently people from the Undercity were violent? When he had to deal with some discontent at the edge as the security councilman. I had to remind him I was from the Undercity.
[ scien wanted to burn it, so it seems fair game to lucien. if he was willing to dispose of it, then it's fair for the taking - ignoring the fact that he clearly didn't want anyone else to have it. selfish, selfish. ]
People from everywhere are violent. Covering your ears and eyes and feeding street urchins, debtors and drunks to the service of the Red Debt and the Sour Nest so they can keep making gold and letting you sleep soundly in your bed is as much violence as throwing a stone at a guard.
Reese Jagentoth is a petty, stupid gang leader who pulls the tongues of those who speak against him from their slashed throats and he'd serve his place just as well on King Dwendal's council. Vess DeRogna is an Archmage with a seat on the Cerberus Assembly, the highest a mortal can climb from the bloody muck in the streets, and when she couldn't reach her magic, she shrieked and wheedled and threatened like any scrabbling peasant in the mud.
Fathers from the Shimmer Ward lash their children as much as the street performer on the town square, the belt is just a higher quality leather.
They just prefer to pretend it's something else because it wears a different mask.
[He works while listening to Lucien. The inside has circuitry, a conglomerate chimera of three different parts, but also... an organic heart, too. He isn't sure if he can do anything without destroying it.
It's frustrating. Trying to decide if ethics and morals should be cast aside for the sake of progress. Turning himself into a monster for the knowledge.
His eyes flick up.]
That is how Piltover works as well, yes. It doesn't matter who is a noble house, who is a Councilor, who is an Enforcer. None of them act any differently than those living in Zaun.
[ watching him peel back the layers of the heart, trying not to shift it in his hands - there's a low-lying frustration that so much of the inner circuitry both organic and not means so little to him. it's only viscera. he doesn't realize he's being looked at for a long second, too lost in the workings of it. ]
I'm going to change it. I'm going to leave it better.
[He continues to look at Lucien's face for a long moment, studying it. The words rouse an appreciative ambition within him. The hopeful squiggly is timid, as if it's been hurt, bruised.
He glances down at the heart, through it, and then looks up again.]
I also want to change it. I want to help Zaun. But first... I... have to find a way... to keep my body alive.
[ he'll meet his gaze at that point - at the very least, he seems convinced of what he's saying. it isn't hope, necessarily, but conviction. he will change it, because the alternative is laying down and dying, and fuck anyone and everyone who tried to make him do that. ]
Flesh and blood. Easy.
[ he gives him half a grin. he knows it's not a simple answer, but not an unsolvable equation. ]
[ he moves one of his hands slightly out from under the heart, the red eye on the palm streaked with ash. ]
Think we all want different things. Me, and my companions. Otis saw their mother drink herself to death, and Jurrell saw her town starve while the Empire diverted grain. Tyffial saw Jurrell get beheaded in Odesloe. Zoran I think just wants a four-foot cock. Or maybe someone to care. Cree wants what I want. And I want-- [ he pulls his mouth to one side. weirdly lost for words for how much he loves the sound of his own voice. ] To turn the lights back on in the house. I promised someone I’d try.
[WHY DOES HE LOOK UP AT FOUR FOOT COCK WITH HIS BROWS RAISED. Sorry, he had the pause because this was all so understandingly altruistic, and then there is just that.
He stays this way, looking at Lucien again like before, while Lucien tries to find the right phrase.]
And how far are you willing to go for that? Or... should I say, how far have you already gone?
[He really is forcing Lucien to suffer the body pain. Welcome to the club. He pauses where he's at while Lucien does so, careful of the heart and--maybe less careful of the pliers, Lucien should be fine.]
You're being awfully cryptic.
[He may not know any of what the fuck it is, but there is a knowing sort of look to Viktor's eyes.]
A man who deals in blood and ancient, magical artifacts is about to do something exceedingly dangerous. I know.
I believe all the peer-reviewed and safety-tested blood rituals to bring back ancient powers beyond the reaches of mortal magic were lost in the 1500 or so years between the crash of Aeor and now, but that's just my educated guess.
[ he'll be fine, he doesn't need his fingers. but you know what fair enough he has been so fucking cryptic. ]
... Fine. I told you some already. Through my relic - a journal of the previous holder of the title I now bear - I was able to meet my current patrons. Nine of the ancient philosopher mages of Aoer, the greatest minds of their time. They call themselves the Somnovem. They were obsessed with the limits of mortal imagination. Summoning matter with mere force of will, bending reality to the limits of the mind itself. Things that the mages of our day couldn't dare even dream of. Suffering, disease, starvation could all be things of the past. Their research was interrupted. During the crash of Aeor, they abandoned their city, uprooting themselves and the thousands of souls who lived in the Cognouza Ward to the Astral Plane. And there they stayed, for centuries. Warped by it. Waiting for someone to hear them.
They offered gifts. They named me Nonagon. Their Chosen, like the gods of old. I can read thoughts, see intentions as clear as words on a page. I can cancel the effects of magic turned against me. I can make minds bleed. But they are reduced. They squabble and bicker and bite at the bit, they threaten and plead and scream. Children. They think I'm their obedient servant. That I will bring them what they need to return and they will rule as they once did, and I've no doubt they think me a dancing puppet, mummer's boy with a tambourine, dull and greedy and easily plied. This impression is fine with me.
There's a reason I don't speak my plans aloud. They're always-- [ he holds up the red eye on his palm. ] Their eyes are far-seeing. But not here. It's quiet, here. There's time.
[ a quieter thought `time to figure out something di--` followed quickly by a harsh `shh!` ]
[Wow, he is mildly rethinking the desire to unravel the crypticism. It's a lot. It's a lot as the two of them literally sit here with a half opened heart chimera between them.
His eyes drop to the carnelian eye sitting in the palm; the hair on the back of his neck rises. Then he remembers the others he saw. One, two, three, four...]
You're standing on a sharp precipice, Mr. Lucien.
[The power sounds too immense for one person to control. And it... Well, it reminds him of himself.
The multi-tool passes to his other hand. He stretches his right leg out by Lucien, reaching to just below the knee to pull the fabric and hike it up his skinny calf.
The leg is blackened. Purple, like the hand, mottled by glossy lines that don't glow here. It must reach the whole foot by how it dips into the loafer, and all the way up who knows how far of the leg. Strange pieces if metal are embedded into the flesh of it here and there.
He drops the pants leg quickly, like he's ashamed.]
It's too much to control. They're going to eat you alive in there, you know. How are you going to stop them from wresting your body away from you?
I haven't had solid ground beneath my feet since the day I was born. [ ... ] Have you ever stood at the top of a very tall tower, and heard the voice in your head ...
[ it's a lot. he's aware that he comes across as insane and viktor is rightfully pressing apart the seams of it to see if he's a complete madman. he doesn't think he is - he might have been, but not at the moment. he feels lucid, alive, for the first time in weeks.
turning to look at his leg as he pulls the fabric out of the way, and he doesn't visibly react - only observing. it's sickening, but also fascinating. even beautiful. transmutation. marked by something from beyond. maybe the problem is shame.
he shivers.]
I don't know that the body is important in a battle of minds. And I don't plan to be alone.
[Insane madman to insane madman communication. The energy churning in Viktor is low, but still a rumbling of familiarity.
He also feels lucid. He felt lucid a little before coming here actually, but only because he thinks he has taken the fall that Lucien has not taken quite yet.]
Your friends? They look up to you, Mr. Lucien, so try not not to make them expendable. I still think it's too much power in you at once. Nine? Nine mages. Think about that. Nine mages who have been changed by another plane of existence using you as a conduit.
[He uses the tip of the pliers to poke Lucien in the palm--he doesn't jab the eye even if maybe he should, but he does poke the skin near it once. Pointedly.]
I know you-- [He sighs gently.] ...I suppose I owe you the story.
[ word of mod is that the heart will zipzap out of existence now that it's been poked at, but I also don't want to interrupt Story Time so lucien is folding it away for now - partially so he can actually sit back instead of holding it because he's dying a little.
the hand twitches when it's poked, but he's too interested in what he says next to even pretend to be mad about it. ]
[I really scared them being a hungry little science man and they all deserve it. GIVE HIM THIS HEART BACK!!!!!! It's fine.
Don't just sit here like a kindergartner waiting for a story.]
I was working on something new. The Hex Core. It was a runic matrix, and... I figured out it could learn. It could evolve. I knew... this Hex Core, it could probably save my life. I knew that. I believed it.
[He frowns.]
...It took blood. No, it... accepted blood. My blood accidentally got inside it, and it became... more organic, it was learning. I found out it could re-establish life in plants. However, the life only lasted seconds before it was stolen away again. I had to push the testing further.
So I used myself, but my body was fragile. I had to stimulate it, to give it something in exchange. I had to use a serum an old mentor had concocted in my leg, I had to carve the runes into myself to connect with it.
[ the vibe is absolutely kindergartner waiting on a story, including where he leans in and puts a hand on his chin as he gets absorbed into it, eyes a little wider. there is nothing better than a classic blood ritual, is there? ]
... And?
[ there's no hint of his typical sarcasm or aloofness in that. only pure intrigue. ]
He frowns. Rather than answer immediately, he closes the multi-tool and puts it back into his pocket. Something to do with his hands to distract from the rise of heavy guilt. He looks at Lucien, at first, but then doesn't look at Lucien.]
The leg had... worked. Marginally. But the hand... [His jaw tightens, the hand around the crutch tightens, the hand on his thigh tightens.] Jayce and I had an assistant.
I don't know... why she came in when she did. To check on me when she left, I guess, like usual. I was testing the Core. It scared her, I guess. She tried to push me out of the way. The... Core... took her life as payment. It turned her to... [His eyes glance at Lucien's hands, then away.] ...ash.
And some of it... entered me. My hand and my leg are connected to the Core.
[ he looks at his hands in turn, before clenching them and burying them in his lap. ]
Sorry.
[ `Matron of Death, Queen of Ravens, pity not our friend ...` There's a reflection of that guilt, there. tentative, like it will burn to the touch. ]
My friend Br-- [ his jaw clenches like he can't make himself say the name. a yawning well of anguish before it cuts off sharply, pushed somewhere deeper. detached. ] Lost a friend of ours when I found the artifact too. We'd pushed too far in and the place started collapsing. Stupid, amateur mistake. I should have been watching the mage. But I wasn't going to leave it behind-- She doubled back for me.
[His expression softens. The anguish is familiar; he hates the echo of it in his chest because the wound still burns.]
So you do know.
[He hates that for Lucien. He would not wish the exchange of a life on anyone else. Shifting the crutch, he uses it and the handle to pull himself to a stand. His left hand appears in Lucien's line of vision, offered palm up. Imagine the busted dude helping you up.]
I'm not at any liberty to dissuade you from what you're trying to do, but I do hope you will be careful when this is all done and you go back. I'm sorry about your friend.
[ he looks blank for a moment, lost in thought - before he seems to realize that the hand in his vision. he'll take it, grip firm, hand covered in ash and dried blood. at least he's limber enough to get up off the ground without yanking too much weight on him, hauling himself up to his feet.
he drops his chin and tilts his head at him, searching his face, like he's trying to determine how sincere that statement is even though the answer is fairly obvious that he means it.]
[His strength is pathetic, but he uses the crutch as leverage to help Lucien up. His expression is earnest. He may have tried to play with the power of a godly void artifact and accidentally vaporized their assistant, but he at least has guilt about it.]
You at least won't have nine toddler mages yelling in your head. You'll sleep like a baby.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Question was both, so, sure that works. [ he clicks his tongue. ] Got to be a limit to the latter if he's into politics though. Always something a bit rotten there.
[that isn't necessarily a condemnation. also what the fuck does lucien know about politics, he's from a place with literally no laws. ]
no subject
[The inside is full of things he wishes he had the tools for extracting in a more careful way.
Scien would consider this is theft, but he does not want to damage it. He is respectful of the equipment. He doesn't try to break it open or dig around haphazardly.]
Did you know he told me recently people from the Undercity were violent? When he had to deal with some discontent at the edge as the security councilman. I had to remind him I was from the Undercity.
no subject
People from everywhere are violent. Covering your ears and eyes and feeding street urchins, debtors and drunks to the service of the Red Debt and the Sour Nest so they can keep making gold and letting you sleep soundly in your bed is as much violence as throwing a stone at a guard.
Reese Jagentoth is a petty, stupid gang leader who pulls the tongues of those who speak against him from their slashed throats and he'd serve his place just as well on King Dwendal's council. Vess DeRogna is an Archmage with a seat on the Cerberus Assembly, the highest a mortal can climb from the bloody muck in the streets, and when she couldn't reach her magic, she shrieked and wheedled and threatened like any scrabbling peasant in the mud.
Fathers from the Shimmer Ward lash their children as much as the street performer on the town square, the belt is just a higher quality leather.
They just prefer to pretend it's something else because it wears a different mask.
no subject
It's frustrating. Trying to decide if ethics and morals should be cast aside for the sake of progress. Turning himself into a monster for the knowledge.
His eyes flick up.]
That is how Piltover works as well, yes. It doesn't matter who is a noble house, who is a Councilor, who is an Enforcer. None of them act any differently than those living in Zaun.
They just do it wearing cleaner clothes.
no subject
I'm going to change it. I'm going to leave it better.
no subject
He glances down at the heart, through it, and then looks up again.]
I also want to change it. I want to help Zaun. But first... I... have to find a way... to keep my body alive.
no subject
Flesh and blood. Easy.
[ he gives him half a grin. he knows it's not a simple answer, but not an unsolvable equation. ]
no subject
[Don't GRIN. He puffs out a laborious sigh and looks back into the chimera heart. The knife is replaced by the pliers.]
Why do you want to change it so badly? [Like before, he doesn't look up. Just listening.] I have the excuse of being from Zaun.
But what's in it for you?
no subject
[ he moves one of his hands slightly out from under the heart, the red eye on the palm streaked with ash. ]
Think we all want different things. Me, and my companions. Otis saw their mother drink herself to death, and Jurrell saw her town starve while the Empire diverted grain. Tyffial saw Jurrell get beheaded in Odesloe. Zoran I think just wants a four-foot cock. Or maybe someone to care. Cree wants what I want. And I want-- [ he pulls his mouth to one side. weirdly lost for words for how much he loves the sound of his own voice. ] To turn the lights back on in the house. I promised someone I’d try.
no subject
He stays this way, looking at Lucien again like before, while Lucien tries to find the right phrase.]
And how far are you willing to go for that? Or... should I say, how far have you already gone?
no subject
[ at this point he has to sit back he has been sitting here forever and is getting sort of tired. it's been a really long day. ]
I was at the threshold when I arrived here. All the pieces, all the players-- I simply need them at the right place. A few days away.
no subject
You're being awfully cryptic.
[He may not know any of what the fuck it is, but there is a knowing sort of look to Viktor's eyes.]
A man who deals in blood and ancient, magical artifacts is about to do something exceedingly dangerous. I know.
no subject
[ he'll be fine, he doesn't need his fingers. but you know what fair enough he has been so fucking cryptic. ]
... Fine. I told you some already. Through my relic - a journal of the previous holder of the title I now bear - I was able to meet my current patrons. Nine of the ancient philosopher mages of Aoer, the greatest minds of their time. They call themselves the Somnovem. They were obsessed with the limits of mortal imagination. Summoning matter with mere force of will, bending reality to the limits of the mind itself. Things that the mages of our day couldn't dare even dream of. Suffering, disease, starvation could all be things of the past. Their research was interrupted. During the crash of Aeor, they abandoned their city, uprooting themselves and the thousands of souls who lived in the Cognouza Ward to the Astral Plane. And there they stayed, for centuries. Warped by it. Waiting for someone to hear them.
They offered gifts. They named me Nonagon. Their Chosen, like the gods of old. I can read thoughts, see intentions as clear as words on a page. I can cancel the effects of magic turned against me. I can make minds bleed. But they are reduced. They squabble and bicker and bite at the bit, they threaten and plead and scream. Children. They think I'm their obedient servant. That I will bring them what they need to return and they will rule as they once did, and I've no doubt they think me a dancing puppet, mummer's boy with a tambourine, dull and greedy and easily plied. This impression is fine with me.
There's a reason I don't speak my plans aloud. They're always-- [ he holds up the red eye on his palm. ] Their eyes are far-seeing. But not here. It's quiet, here. There's time.
[ a quieter thought `time to figure out something di--` followed quickly by a harsh `shh!` ]
no subject
His eyes drop to the carnelian eye sitting in the palm; the hair on the back of his neck rises. Then he remembers the others he saw. One, two, three, four...]
You're standing on a sharp precipice, Mr. Lucien.
[The power sounds too immense for one person to control. And it... Well, it reminds him of himself.
The multi-tool passes to his other hand. He stretches his right leg out by Lucien, reaching to just below the knee to pull the fabric and hike it up his skinny calf.
The leg is blackened. Purple, like the hand, mottled by glossy lines that don't glow here. It must reach the whole foot by how it dips into the loafer, and all the way up who knows how far of the leg. Strange pieces if metal are embedded into the flesh of it here and there.
He drops the pants leg quickly, like he's ashamed.]
It's too much to control. They're going to eat you alive in there, you know. How are you going to stop them from wresting your body away from you?
no subject
[ it's a lot. he's aware that he comes across as insane and viktor is rightfully pressing apart the seams of it to see if he's a complete madman. he doesn't think he is - he might have been, but not at the moment. he feels lucid, alive, for the first time in weeks.
turning to look at his leg as he pulls the fabric out of the way, and he doesn't visibly react - only observing. it's sickening, but also fascinating. even beautiful. transmutation. marked by something from beyond. maybe the problem is shame.
he shivers.]
I don't know that the body is important in a battle of minds. And I don't plan to be alone.
no subject
He also feels lucid. He felt lucid a little before coming here actually, but only because he thinks he has taken the fall that Lucien has not taken quite yet.]
Your friends? They look up to you, Mr. Lucien, so try not not to make them expendable. I still think it's too much power in you at once. Nine? Nine mages. Think about that. Nine mages who have been changed by another plane of existence using you as a conduit.
[He uses the tip of the pliers to poke Lucien in the palm--he doesn't jab the eye even if maybe he should, but he does poke the skin near it once. Pointedly.]
I know you-- [He sighs gently.] ...I suppose I owe you the story.
no subject
the hand twitches when it's poked, but he's too interested in what he says next to even pretend to be mad about it. ]
I believe you most certainly do.
no subject
Don't just sit here like a kindergartner waiting for a story.]
I was working on something new. The Hex Core. It was a runic matrix, and... I figured out it could learn. It could evolve. I knew... this Hex Core, it could probably save my life. I knew that. I believed it.
[He frowns.]
...It took blood. No, it... accepted blood. My blood accidentally got inside it, and it became... more organic, it was learning. I found out it could re-establish life in plants. However, the life only lasted seconds before it was stolen away again. I had to push the testing further.
So I used myself, but my body was fragile. I had to stimulate it, to give it something in exchange. I had to use a serum an old mentor had concocted in my leg, I had to carve the runes into myself to connect with it.
no subject
... And?
[ there's no hint of his typical sarcasm or aloofness in that. only pure intrigue. ]
no subject
He frowns. Rather than answer immediately, he closes the multi-tool and puts it back into his pocket. Something to do with his hands to distract from the rise of heavy guilt. He looks at Lucien, at first, but then doesn't look at Lucien.]
The leg had... worked. Marginally. But the hand... [His jaw tightens, the hand around the crutch tightens, the hand on his thigh tightens.] Jayce and I had an assistant.
I don't know... why she came in when she did. To check on me when she left, I guess, like usual. I was testing the Core. It scared her, I guess. She tried to push me out of the way. The... Core... took her life as payment. It turned her to... [His eyes glance at Lucien's hands, then away.] ...ash.
And some of it... entered me. My hand and my leg are connected to the Core.
no subject
Sorry.
[ `Matron of Death, Queen of Ravens, pity not our friend ...` There's a reflection of that guilt, there. tentative, like it will burn to the touch. ]
My friend Br-- [ his jaw clenches like he can't make himself say the name. a yawning well of anguish before it cuts off sharply, pushed somewhere deeper. detached. ] Lost a friend of ours when I found the artifact too. We'd pushed too far in and the place started collapsing. Stupid, amateur mistake. I should have been watching the mage. But I wasn't going to leave it behind-- She doubled back for me.
So, you know. The price of the ticket and all.
no subject
So you do know.
[He hates that for Lucien. He would not wish the exchange of a life on anyone else. Shifting the crutch, he uses it and the handle to pull himself to a stand. His left hand appears in Lucien's line of vision, offered palm up. Imagine the busted dude helping you up.]
I'm not at any liberty to dissuade you from what you're trying to do, but I do hope you will be careful when this is all done and you go back. I'm sorry about your friend.
no subject
he drops his chin and tilts his head at him, searching his face, like he's trying to determine how sincere that statement is even though the answer is fairly obvious that he means it.]
... Should try and sleep.
no subject
You at least won't have nine toddler mages yelling in your head. You'll sleep like a baby.
no subject
Hah. Plenty of other things yelling in there.
[ he turns to head out, giving a wave over his shoulder. ]
Maybe we have a normal conversation one of these days ... ?
(no subject)