tushanshu_logs | [OPEN] To a place remote and far away...

Entry tags:

[OPEN] To a place remote and far away...

Characters: Bakura & OPEN
Date: June catch-all log
Location: Various around Keeliai. Some general scenes in starters or make your own :)
Situation: Assorted! Bakura's been laying fairly low since being killed by the Mandarin, though he was at the Palace siege. He may have been seen asking around about the black armor. All threads come after this post unless otherwise noted.
Warnings/Rating: Add warnings if needed in subject headers.

A. EMILY-HELEN

The young turtle hatchling can't understand why she feels so terribly alone in a city full of lovely people, but she does and despite her intelligence and maturity well beyond her several months of life, she is still essentially a child who can no longer contact one of her parent figures and another of whom is steadfastly ignoring her. With Barnaby's abrupt disappearance from Tu Vishan, her desire to feel safe and protected only grows and though she loves Hal Jordan, she's now even more insistent to connect with her other caregiver. So she's trying a broader approach and broadcasting telepathically to anyone who'll listen, but especially the other parents of her brothers and sisters, with a message that is essentially "please help, my other new papa doesn't love me!".

---

B. EARTH SECTOR

He'd had to expand his search outward from the Water Sector where the original incident had taken place, having not found anything of use from the kedan in that area regarding the black armor. Despite having met with Skulduggery and Solomon about them investigating his murder, he wasn't holding much expectation of anything to come from it. Bakura had gone for far too long trusting only himself to get anything that benefited him accomplished. He was several blocks from hospital, about the same distance as he'd been when he'd encountered Bianca that first night. If the armored someone was keeping tabs, perhaps this would be enough to draw them out again. Failing that, he suspected that (since he now knew Bianca's disappearance had played a factor in the incident) he could narrow the list of suspects by watching who hung around this area most often.

---

C. WOOD SECTOR

His regular job of repairing nets at the fish market in the Water Sector had petered out with the increased tensions around the city, even though that row of stalls itself hadn't been damaged in the attacks. But jobs weren't mandatory for Foreigners at the moment and there were more pressing things to focus on than ripped netting, so he was soundly out of work. It wasn't even that he needed the money, because he didn't especially-- he just hated to be idle. So from the Water Sector he wandered over to Wood, more familiar to him since he'd worked previously in this area at Korra's dojo.

It was actually a small paddock of tethered kirin that caught his attention. The carts along the side of the fence indicated this was some kind of transport for hire for within the city (or without, he supposed, for hauling supplies and such) but the animals were restless, stamping and snorting agitatedly. Bakura approached the fence and caught one of the bridles, using his other hand to rub down the side of the animal's neck; the gesture familiar, practiced with similar equines. It took a few minutes before the horned creature began to settle, but the thief was patient with it.
---

D. WATER SECTOR

It was almost as an afterthought that Bakura returned to the Water Sector where he'd been killed, standing in front of the building with a pursed mouth, looking over the deformed mass of stone and metal that had once been a thriving market. The inward collapse had been reversed and then frozen as it was, resulting in an ugly mushroom shape that apparently the kedan didn't know what to do with, and had subsequently abandoned given the lack of people around. "Miracle Dig really does make a mess," he sighed to himself, pulling the Ring out from beneath his shirt, curling fingers around the warm outer rim of gold.

The Spell he was thinking of would take some coaxing to fulfill, especially given the intervening time that had passed between the original effect and this one. But it wasn't as if he were doing anything else at the moment, and so drawing on the power inside the Ring, he built up a sizable reserve before speaking his target: "Back to Square One!" and unleashing the magic in the market's direction.

For a long moment, then several, it appeared as though the Spell had failed-- but then slowly, the metal and stone began to unsolidify themselves, moving back to their original positions as if a video of Miracle Dig were being played in reverse. Bakura kept a measured hold on the effect as it continued, erasing the traces of the original Spell card and then pushing the effect through the damages wrought by the bombings. This was harder, much harder since it had not done by an effect of his own magic. It takes twice as long for the damages of the bombing to reset itself, even though they were technically less than what Miracle Dig had caused.

When the market was standing freely on its own, showing no worse for wear signs of having been a ruin just a little while ago, Bakura released the Spell and sagged, finding a seat on the edge of the (ironically same) fountain to catch his breath.

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[[ooc: thread takes place after this log, but be warned for major Skulduggery Pleasant book six spoilers.]]

After Solomon's confrontation with Skulduggery their apartment had, all at once, become a suffocating place. It was one thing to suspect Pleasant had a secret, to know he had a secret. It was another thing to know what that secret was. It had worked, either way; Solomon hadn't touched his lantern since.

But now whenever he walked around the city, the unseen deaths caught his eyes from nearly every direction. They felt heightened, beyond even what they had before, and that alone told Solomon just how unwise his constant focus of magic on the lantern had been. All he could do was hope the sensation faded if he avoided using his magic for a while.

That didn't stop him from feeling the surge of power from the very same fountain where that stranger, Ryou Bakura according to the network, had been killed. Solomon had been headed vaguely in that direction to begin with, but now he aimed for it with intent.

When he came out into the courtyard he saw Bakura seated on the fountain, but his aura was turbulent and wheeling around him. Not unsettled, so much as ... active. Solomon stopped an extra few feet from the unseen boundary he'd marked from their previous meeting, and glanced at the nearly repaired building. "Indulging in some restoration, are we?"

Solomon's appearance didn't do much to settle his ghosts, which were reacting to the powerful expenditure of energy. Shadow magic drew entirely on the soul for its power and though the Ring was a tool, a focus that enhanced it, it was Bakura himself that was supplying the source. It was why Diabound had always been so strong, though thinking of the creature caused an unpleasant stir of remembrance; he missed his kaa.

He wondered how similar it was, the way that Solomon had manipulated literal shadows at his command.

"Just cleaning up a mess," Bakura replied, noting with some amusement the extra distance that Solomon gave him because of his last (literal) brush with the ghosts. "Good to see you're learning, waheh-maw."

That word, Solomon did recognise. The Necromancers in Egypt, unlike most other areas of the world, were actually respected by many members of the magical community. Feared, yes; avoided, yes. But respected. When he had visited, that word--or a close variant--had been a title of respect for the clerics.

"Contrary to Skulduggery's belief, I can, in fact, learn," Solomon said dryly, skirting the aura to move toward the building Bakura had fixed. He'd assumed it was simple repair work, but when he got closer he saw there were pits and evidence of weathering, as if the building had been standing as-is for a long time. He ran his hand along a windowsill. "Localised time-reversal magic. Interesting."

He turned back toward Bakura. His presence was taking up the whole of the fountain, so Solomon took a seat on a courtyard bench not all that far away. "Precisely how did you come to be acquainted with those friends of yours in such a manner?"

He knew how they died. He could guess why. But he still didn't have context, specifically, for Bakura's bond with them.

The fact that Solomon didn't question what the title meant didn't go unnoticed and the thief rests a chin in one hand to study the other. "He doesn't seem the type to hold anyone in high regard," Bakura replied. "I expect he owes more people than he admires."

Yet at the direct question about the ghosts... he fell momentarily silent. He wasn't used to anyone else even knowing they existed let alone having been able to discern anything about them. Even the Sutekh-damned Priests in the past had been oblivious to their presence, even with the Items around their necks and in their hands! So the unfamiliarity spurs a flare of vicious protectiveness that he silently rides and then lets fade before he actually answers the question.

"My village," he allows eventually and the ghosts quiet a little, as though surprised to hear him speaking their Truth. "Murdered, around me."

At that, Solomon couldn't help but laugh, and bitterly. Once upon a time he would have disagreed, because while it was true that Skulduggery didn't hold many in high regard he was also the sort to gather up debts from others. Now? Now Solomon knew otherwise. Skulduggery was indebted beyond anything anyone knew. "He likes to pretend he's an objective observer," Solomon said with a twisted smile, "but he isn't."

The massacre wasn't news. Solomon had been able to tell that. He'd also been able to tell that there had been blood-magic involved, because there weren't many things which could actively bind spirits to locations or objects. Even by accident, such a thing involved remains.

It was the fact that they had bound themselves to a person which was curious, and that Bakura's use of magic influenced them. He watched the shimmer of the aura settle impassively. A blood-bond would certainly explain that. Possibly it also had something to do with the glowing item Solomon had glimpsed under his shirt on their first meeting.

"My father and half his estate were murdered in front of me," he said matter-of-factly. It was a very old scar, but it still left a twinge in his chest. "Such is life." He smiles, but ironically. Bitterly. "Such is death."

"I gathered as much when he lied to my face," Bakura answered thinly. "When he said all murders would be treated equally. If he wanted to be believable, he could have at least pretended to hesitate. I don't expect to hear anything from him at all."

He didn't look bothered by the fact; merely accepting it as an undisputed fact, much like one confirms that water is, indeed, wet.

"It is not such anything, and take care not to cross the line where you imply what happened to them was part of any kind of balance. It was outside ma'at no matter what lies were told in its wake--"

"I'll be sure to tell him how utterly transparent he is," Solomon said. Skulduggery liked to think he was impossible to predict, but in some fashions he was exceptionally predictable. Now even more so, in a way. Of course he was going to sympathise with someone who killed out of hot rage.

He'd never been able to sympathise with those whose rage burned cold. And he was a hypocrite besides.

"I'm not," Solomon said flatly to cut off what was gearing up to be a rant, and eyeing the aura in case Bakura chose to summon magic to help his point. "Such is life and death, but there's certainly not any kind of balance involved. I never said it was fair." He smiled thinly. "Which is why I never accepted it. I am a Necromancer, after all."

It was verbal confirmation of something that Bakura had basically already guessed. Waheh-maw was not exactly a compliment but it wasn't a slur either. For a culture so obsessed with death and the life to follow it afterward, it was impossible for the idea of someone controlling the deceased not to have crossed their minds. To curse someone's rest to be disturbed was among the worst blasphemies to use on someone, which made what Kul Elna had been subjected to -- the ritual of the Items -- a level of heinous above and beyond merely being killed. And even Bakura, who was about as far from dutiful to the gods as one could get, was not immune to the ingrained distrust of what a Necromancer could do.

But he was also smart, and he had experience in picking his battles. Solomon could potentially be more useful to him than deriding what he was gained him. After all, what aspersions was a thief and a tomb robber supposed to cast, anyway?

And... no one else knew about his ghosts and far fewer than that would care about them even if they did know, because they belonged to him. For a brief, shameful moment... Bakura thought it was a relief to have someone besides himself give a damn about them.

"So you are," he said finally, inclining his head as though to echo the what is, is idea. In their own way, neither of them had accepted death. "How well does that introduction usually go over, I wonder?"

"Not usually as well as this one," Solomon said dryly. "Those of your nation at least afford us some respect." He shrugged. "Acceptance and fondness, not so much. But at least some respect." No one really liked people who reminded them constantly of their own mortality. Solomon had accepted that a long time ago.

He was also quite familiar with people who thought they could use the Necromancers for their own gain, and Bakura's thoughtful silence said as much as Solomon needed it to. Not that he trusted the man to begin with; he just understood him. Either way Bakura was proving to be somewhat predictable.

"What happened to those who murdered your village?" Solomon asked, sitting back in his seat. He wasn't sure whether it was due to the extra touch of distance or the recent overuse of magic, but Bakura's ghostly aura seemed a touch more defined than it had. More like something approaching the collective deaths of individuals, rather than a primal force of rage.

It was familiar. Familiar in a way Solomon hadn't picked before, because he tended to avoid thinking of that particular memory, but which he now couldn't help. It was a similar sort of aura Vile had possessed when they fought. That was a comparison Solomon hadn't particularly needed.

"He yet lives," was the frigid response, with every indication that it was not be any leave of Bakura's doing. "At least until this fool Emperor sends me back when and where I am supposed to be."

Yet even the brief mention of the Pharaoh was enough to stir the souls again, like a slow and seething boil slowly brought to the surface. It pushed outward towards Solomon's senses, a nimbus of rage and hatred, directed at their own state, at those responsible for it (directly and by proxy) and even at Bakura himself, vicious and snapping. It was suffocating in a way, but he weathered it calmly.

Bakura's reaction was expected. The spirits' reaction, not so much. Solomon inhaled sharply at the boil, and flattened his hands against the rough seat under him his jaw clenching to brace himself against it. More and more, the ghosts were reminding him of Vile's death-aura--except, in some fashion, stuck in-between. Vile collected souls like this, but he had used them like tools. Bakura collected them to protect them.

They made Solomon's head ring. He felt as though he could have reached out and touched them if he wanted--without needing his hands this time. With just his soul. That would have been dangerous. Extremely dangerous, with his cane. Catastrophic without it. And he wanted to do it anyway.

"That's what insanity feels like. There's something freeing about it, isn't there?"

"Something, yes."

"Cease." The word ground out hard. Solomon sat still but tense, as if he was in the presence of a wild beast whose attention he was afraid to draw. He couldn't be certain if that beast was in Bakura, or himself. Without much of his conscious will, shadows clustered around him and rose over his shoulders as streamers, almost like little snapping dragons.

The pressure would have continued to build had the thief not intervened, mentally reaching out to the tormented souls, heedless of the fact that it might bring even more of their ire onto himself. Though Bakura did not speak aloud, Solomon would hear his voice echoing in the same space as the ghosts' ethereal screaming.

Sem-a ab a en unnut-ef nebtet kerh... may I follow my heart at its season of fire and night...

Other litanies followed, some translating and some not, until the press of their presence began to fade and offer the necromancer some relief. When they had retreated to a sullen, quiet murmur, Bakura finally looked back over to Solomon.

"Not all questions come free for the asking, waheh-maw. Come have some water from the fountain before you fall over."

It was fortunate for them both that he did. Solomon honestly couldn't have said what might have happened if he'd had to endure the pressure of those souls for too long, so soon after prodding his own. As much as Solomon disliked to admit that Skulduggery was right, the skeleton wasn't wrong to say that had been unwise.

The only thing Solomon had to truly call his own was his sense of self. He refused to give that up--even to his own magic. He had to find another channelling item, and soon.

"It's fortunate that I never believed they were," he said, after a moment to compose himself. "However, I will have to decline to come any nearer. Your friends encompass the fountain and it would be unwise for me to put myself in their territory."

Belatedly he realised the shadows were clustered around his shoulders, but right now their whisper was more soothing than not, so he let them remain.

That reply is evidently not what Bakura was expecting to hear and something unreadable crosses his face for a brief second before being swept away again, though it does seem not too many shades off resignation. He gets to his feet, hands sliding into jean pockets, and starts to walk away from the fountain.

That reaction was equally unexpected, and Solomon regarded Bakura with a faint air of surprise. He can't even quite tell which of his comments caused the silent response, though after a moment's thought he realised which was most likely. He didn't owe Bakura an explanation, but in this case ... Solomon was inclined to offer one.

"Not that I don't appreciate the offer," he added, but casually, even while watching the Egyptian. "Unfortunately, my magic is a touch ... unstable at this time. The near presence of your friends causes it to reach toward them, and I am sure none of you would appreciate my accidentally absorbing them."

Frankly, Solomon wasn't enamored of the thought either. Only a Death Bringer had the power to absorb souls in such a way. Solomon didn't want to be a Death Bringer. The last Death Bringer had been insane.

He half-turns to regard Solomon, before jerking his chin at the restored market building. "I was done with that anyway. There's no need to keep you from your business just to sit around on the architecture."

Solomon really couldn't be too surprised, and so he shrugged. "I had no other business--" Save being distracted from the shadows distracting him. "--but as it seems you do, good day."

He was sure they would meet again, at least. Bakura was dangerous to Solomon's state of health--and yet he had somehow figured out how to avoid being overwhelmed by the souls of the dead. Solomon might find that useful, in the future.

If nothing else, he was at least interesting.

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[OPEN] To a place remote and far away...

D!

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