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Who: Jacob Kane (Cain) & someone else. Maybe you.
When: October 14th and forward.
Where: All around Keeliai.
What: Hoofing it around town to get a better finger on the pulse of current happenings. If it's a place where people are, Cain could feasibly be there.
Warnings / rating: Nah.

It was really rather astonishing how quickly Cain could adapt to things. He even surprised himself sometimes, what with the fact that he had literally been pulled into another world with a universe-threatening war and only a few hours after the fact he was on the streets looking for more information. Part of it, he acknowledged, was simply that it hadn't sunken in all the way yet. Regardless of that fact, it was always smarter to push forward than stand still when the world was still spinning around him.

Early on, it was easy to see that he was pissing off some kedan just by being around and initiating conversation. Cain started to pick his questions more carefully, but it wasn't going to stop him; kedan population seemed way higher than foreigner population and that was where he was going to need to get gossip or info if from anywhere. He wasn't above pestering some people on the street or trying to get shopping done if it looked like he might get away with starting a conversation.

Hell, Cain was even willing to stoop to the old classic: "Hey, do you have the time?"

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It was perhaps because of his immortality that Cain held the sanctity of death above all others. He was the admitted exception to the rule, something that was natural but had no place in the laws of the world, and due to his brother's current vocation, he felt a very sharp need to protect the balance of life and death. Although he was on the side of the living, it was almost unwillingly and he would gladly hand down what deaths needed to be given in order to maintain balance. Anyone who would fight that, through running away from their time or trying to reclaim the dead, was someone Cain couldn't condone.

Then again, in a land between life and death... Cain was willing to admit there might be something he didn't know. That didn't mean he would forfeit his own morals, just that he was open to expanding his understanding.

Cain's head turned, sharp, when the shadows twisted into shapes and watched in quiet and masked awe the bodies that were no longer actually there. That was a trick even the Enforcers couldn't do. Tilting his head without fully regarding Solomon, Cain commented, "Yeah, it's never really stuck with me... Now you're saying it extends outside of me, too?"

"I don't know," said Solomon. "How does it usually work? Do weapons simply not penetrate your skin, or do you suffer injuries that never heal without outside impetus, or do they heal instantly on their own?"

It was difficult to tell the exact distance when Solomon couldn't see anything within the sphere of Kane's influence. He couldn't actually see souls--just deaths. For most people here that was enough, because most people here had died at least once. With someone like Bakura or Valdis, it was possible to see some vague ripple left by the presence of the souls they carried, but even then Solomon couldn't actually see anything within their selves.

For a moment, Cain was silent. Those were good questions and the answer was simple enough but sometimes he just couldn't abide by doing something simply. Not when he was in another world being confronted by a man who could see his lack of death while they were in the middle of a war on the back of a turtle. Simple was for squares.

Instead of answering verbally, Cain snatched the switchblade from his pocket, flipped it out and stabbed it right through his offhand. He grunted, face twisting just a bit; the sheer speed and precision he had done it with actually made the pain less than it would seem, but that was still painful. Blood dripped freely out of the wound he left behind and he waited.

"This help?" he asked. The slowly pooling blood stopped, rippled, began dripping upwards to return from where it had come. As the blood was settled back where it belonged, the frayed skin and torn muscle knitted itself back together. Good as new. Thankfully it seemed the recent spat of violence in the area kept any kedan from lingering and it was just the two of them paying attention to their own conversation.

"Congratulations, you have a masochistic propensity for drama," Solomon said dryly, flicking a hand at the silhouettes so they dissolved back into ordinary shadows. "A simple 'option number three' would have sufficed, I assure you."

Although it wasn't exactly option number three--the injury didn't just heal, it reversed, even the blood-flow. Some sort of localised time field? Possibly. Solomon didn't have any experience with time-magic, but it could potentially present as a kind of polarisation on this level. "Physically speaking it goes no further than your skin, but since I can't see your soul I can't actually tell where the field ends and you begin on a metaphysical level."

At the jibe, Cain merely grinned, bright and facetious and put his blade away. Even the blood that had been drawn to the steel had moved back to its proper place, saving him some of the trouble of clean up. Once the shadows disappeared, he turned his attention back to Solomon, hands automatically going into his pockets to maintain a very casual stance.

"C'mon, you and I both know that wasn't option number three," he said to better echo Solomon's own conclusions. It was easiest to call what Cain did healing, but all in all, it was just the reversal or denial of the injury in the first place. However, that didn't stop it from hurting even as things brought themselves back into position. "That's comforting, though. That I've still got some mystery about me even with a guy who can see dead people."

"Option number three and a half, then." Solomon turned around to face the man properly, eyeing the hand that had rejected injury. In a way it more solidly confirmed what he was seeing--time-related or not, the man's being rejected any sort of physical injury. Repellent of death, repellent of harm. "Can you get sick?"

At the jibe Solomon only smiled back. "Give me time."

"Nope," Cain answered easily. The last time he had gotten sick was eons ago. He knew it had happened, but hardly remembered what it had been like, only able to fill in the gaps with the intellectual knowledge of what illness entailed rather than remembering how the symptoms felt. Seeing where Solomon's attention was, he flexed the hand and then held it out in case the necromancer wanted a closer look.

He shrugged. "I've got plenty of that to give. What about you?"

"Another four-hundred to six-hundred more years," Solomon said easily. "Sorcerers in my world have an extended lifespan thanks to the rejuvenating effect the use of magic has." It was a line he'd used a number of times since he'd been there, and it showed in his cadence.

He did, however, examine the hand, though only by sight--he wasn't sure what would happen if he touched Kane's skin directly, and didn't want to find out right now. "I don't suppose you know anything about how it happened and how it works?"

Cain nodded, letting his genuine interest color his expression. Magic extending a lifespan was not something he had heard of before, mostly due to the fact that the living couldn't even use magic in its proper form. The idea that it might have a life-lengthening effect was fascinating and could go a long way in explaining why only Enforcers were capable of wielding it. Regardless of what the clock on Solomon's neck said to the reality of time he had left, Cain believed him when he said it had an effect on aging.

"All I know is when it kicked in," he said. It was partially a lie of omission, because he sure as hell knew what the defining moment was that must have triggered it. That terrifying and world-shattering moment of Remus dying in front of him, priceless heirlooms weighing him down as he ran for his already-endless life. No way he was going to tell a stranger about that. "I was twenty-four."

"And you're over one-hundred times that now. You didn't try to figure out what had happened?" It was intriguing and strange at once. Who wouldn't try to figure out what was happening? By the way in which the man accepted questions, it obviously wasn't an ordinary state of being where he came from either.

"Late for a Surge," Solomon murmured, "but perhaps an equivalent." Then he smiled. "I've done a great deal of research about the nature of death and the metaphysical foundation of the afterlife. If you've some time, why don't we go somewhere less obvious than an open alley-way to talk? My research is in my apartment office. At least there we can have something to eat and drink."

If he could figure out why this man not only didn't die but repelled the ordinary nature of death--did that mean his soul was, literally, rejecting the lifestream?

"Who says I didn't try?" asked Cain, an obvious tint of incredulity to his tone. Just because something had happened didn't mean there were any answers to be found, especially not when Cain's case was one of a kind. Despite all of that, did Solomon really expect him to be completely straightforward about everything he knew in relation to this form of undyingness? Maybe he was one of those closeted optimists. "This isn't a common affliction where I come from."

That said, the offer was certainly tempting. It would give him more ground to cover and a semi-safe place to lay low in case of any aggressive natives later on. Of course, he didn't intend to burn a bridge so quickly. Just the offer of a snack was pretty alluring. "Lead the way," he said, arm outstretched for Solomon to begin their walk.

If nothing else, it would give him the opportunity to take Solomon down if he started thinking about open experimentation on Cain. Research, he could deal with, but he'd had enough of being cut up and dissected for the century, thank you very much.

"I assume everyone with a hint of intelligence would," Solomon said with a shrug. Rather than walk past the man, he put a hand on his shoulder and drew the shadows up around them, and shadow-walked right into the living-room of his apartment building, stepping out of the shadows on the wall as though he did this every day. Which he did.

"Tea or coffee?" he asked blithely, taking off his coat and hanging it up by the door.

"Your faith in humanity astounds me," Cain said drolly. There would need to be a lot more than just a hint for someone to maintain their curiosity for so long, not to mention the crushing weight of living so long against the tide in a world where life and death were always walking the tightrope to maintain a proper balance. Maybe it hit people differently when it was more common to see people live past one, two, even three or four hundred somehow. Made the time less scattered and lonely.

He pulled away quickly once they were somehow right there in the apartment, muscles gone tense and senses on high alert. "What the hell was that?" he demanded. That was not right. Reapers and Enforcers could obviously go wherever they pleased whenever they pleased due to lack of physical form, but for living people like himself and Solomon, the instantaneous movement should have been completely impossible. He was strangely irritated at the breaking of such a basic tenet. "That wasn't necromancy."

Well, he presumed, anyway. Necromantic arts were all focused around the dead and dying, and neither had anything to do with whatever that had been. Shadowwalking?

Solomon didn't try to hide his amusement as he turned. His dark eyes glinted with it, and though his smile was on the surface pleasant, it was also laughing. "That depends on what you define as Necromancy," he said. "The word has gone through so many changes. In the past, it even meant 'magic' in an almost entirely generalised sense. I'm going to make tea. You can even follow me, if you like."

So saying, he made his way into the kitchen, his bearing as blithe and amused as it had been since before they even arrived. Was he teasing? Yes, he was teasing.

Cain scrubbed a hand over his face, then ran it through his hair before he stepped away from the wall and placed himself in the doorway to the kitchen. He was taking in the layout of the apartment quicker than anything, making sure he had a place to go if this somehow went awry. It wasn't distrust of Solomon (not entirely), but paranoia in general creeping back to the surface after the recent escapades that led to him getting kidnapped from Arizona and tortured in Texas for a week. That had left a few mental marks.

"I know that," he said plainly. "But we're speaking English right now, so English definition of necromancy. Coffee," he added when he saw where exactly Solomon was going in the kitchen. He didn't mind either, but he really did just want to be a nuisance right now.

The coffee was next to the tea, so it wasn't all that much of a nuisance. "Necromancy deals in the dead, correct," said Solomon, and turned to face Kane, leaning back against the counter while the kettle boiled. "On the surface shadows and death don't seem to be related, but only if you approach them in a purely physical sense. But magic isn't physical, it's metaphysical, and that's where the connection lies."

He wasn't using a lecturing tone, or condescending to Kane, but it was plain that Solomon was a teacher and had been for long enough for the tone to leak into his tone when he was explaining things. The problem is that this was fairly complex theory, so he had to pause to consider how to continue. "The planes would have been explained to you when you arrived," he said. "Are you familiar with dimensions? Universes?"

Whereas Solomon was leaning on the counter, Cain made himself comfortable against the doorframe. Far be it from Cain to invade the man's space or give up his own when getting into the heavy material of necromantic arts and complicated theoretical physics. Who cared that they had met only about ten minutes ago and were already deep in discussion about the true nature of the universe and what it might mean when someone literally could not die?

"I've read up on the the theories. They're older than you might think," Cain said. With a hand outstretched for Solomon to continued, he prodded, "The ones you're getting at are more about making different choices and forcing the universe or timeline to compensate by branching out, right? Or are we talking like first, second, third, fourth dimensions?"

Edited 2014-10-15 08:52 (UTC)

"Neither," said Solomon, and then paused. "Though it's possible the planes are analogous to fractal dimensions--I'll have to consider that more deeply. Interesting." He waved his hand a little as if to dismiss the tangent. "No, I'm referring to planes of existence and the universes they inhabit. You should have been given the talk about the planes of Life, Death and Dreaming when you arrived, and the fact there are multiple universes, self-contained. Though I imagine they're individually capable of the multiple reality theory, we're looking above that. I think I need my book."

The last was murmured, and Solomon tapped his foot on his shadow. His shadow wavered, turned into a three-dimensional ferret twice the size of an ordinary ferret, and went shooting out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

"Right now," Solomon continued as the kettle perked and he turned to attend their drinks, "the place we and the turtle occupy is the metaphysical current, the lifestream, which runs between these planes, and correspondingly the universes, and binds them together. Following me thus far?"

Cain shuffled aside quickly, startled, when the ferret came into being and rocketed past him. He wasn't beyond admitting that was outside of his expectations, at least as far as his reactions went, and it was starting to get on his nerves how easily this guy was tossing his power around like it was nothing. Especially if it was all tied into the art of death manipulation. That definitely rankled.

"Of course I am," he said, giving Solomon a look that even only partially conveyed just how stupid that question had been. "I'm old, not braindead. We're in the blood of any possible reality or dimension and exist both inside and out of them while in the transitional state. Right?"

"A hint of intelligence, then," Solomon said with amusement as he finished preparing their drinks. Now that he had seen how legitimately Kane was unnerved by displays of magic, he had a better measure of the man's experience and the nature of his world. That and amusements were so rare nowadays; Solomon took them where they came. Being the 'blood' implied too much integration for Solomon's taste, but if there was any 'plane' which corresponded to the physical part of a being, the lifestream might have been it.

Solomon turned motioned at the filled coffee-mug, the sugar and the milk, stepping away to give Kane room. "Help yourself."

In a strangely fluid motion the book came shooting back into the room, about half a foot above the floor while carried on the ferret's back, and Solomon's shadow lifted it to him, only settling back into place once Solomon took it. He laid it on the counter, flipping it open to where the pen was keeping place. "The lifestream is where souls go immediately upon dying," he continued. "It interacts with all parts of an individual universe. When a soul passes into it, it can go nearly anywhere--even reincarnate into a completely different universe."

Solomon glanced up at Kane. "It's that force your soul is repelling. The lifestream."

It was sad, but true. Any use of magic by those still living looked like it was going to set Cain on edge. It just wasn't right, and of all the things that he was adapting to, he figured that would probably take the longest. His poor, delicate sensibilities were going to take forever to recover from the shock and impropriety.

At least there was coffee.

Cain retrieved the cup, putting in just enough cream and leaving off the sugar before he started to sip at it. Thankfully it wasn't all that different from the stuff at home and he let it warm him in ways that had nothing to do with the temperature. He stayed out of the way this time when the ferret came back, only shifting in order to see the book when it was opened up to its proper page.

He hid his thoughts into the mug while Solomon explained his theories and how Cain's soul interacted with his conclusion. That was something he hadn't even considered, where his soul might go once his clock eventually ticked down to its last. If what Solomon was saying rang true, then... even if Cain were to die someday, would it be impossible for him to move on to the afterlife?

"My soul has a restraining order on reincarnation," he summarized. It was easier to simplify it and make it just on the edge of ridiculous. He knew how serious it was, but what good was that going to do him now? "More than that, if you're correct, that means I should have been stuck where I was back home, right?"

"That depends on what you mean by 'stuck'," Solomon said, writing a note to remind himself to look into fractal dimensions and the possibility of time as an individual plane encompassing multiple-reality theory. He had begun at a new page, so that was all Kane would be able to see.

"Do you mean you shouldn't have been able to be brought here? Not necessarily. There's ways to build bridges over the lifestream. Portals, wormholes, and so on. Or do you mean that if or when you ever die, you wouldn't move on? I doubt that. If you die it will be because that, ah, restraining order has been lifted."

If nothing else, Cain was definitely going to memorize the handwriting for later. Anything he saw right now was being tucked away; his brain was to the point of maybe being over full, and yet he still couldn't stop taking in every new thing he saw. He had, at the least, learned how to pick and choose which things he wanted to take in and keep and what he would be all right with fading. Selective memory was better than no choice in the matter at all.

Overall, the idea was sound. Cain nodded. "So my ability to repel death doesn't affect my ability to be in this dimension as a living being, but on a more metaphysical level, I technically wouldn't belong here," he said, slowly drawing the conclusion out. "It's a matter of being held in life until my time instead of having to deal with it if my time is cut short." After a moment with that thought, he added, "Is that right, o cleric of necromantic arts?"

The writing was beautiful--almost calligraphy, the sort taught to aristocrats in the 1600s. It took advantage of the space in the book, using all of it, with space for the date as well as the notes. Solomon didn't seem concerned with Kane reading over his shoulder, however; he'd shared this theory with various others and had no reason to hide it. In fact, he wrote on:

Life - ba (that which makes a thing alive)
Death - ib? (seat of emotion, reality loss of emotion; absorption?)
Dreaming - sheut (shadow of Life, malleable, contains presence; lack of tangibility)
Shadow (khajbit) - ka (other self, vital essence; place where monsters live)
Time? - ren? (the name; part which defines 'immortality' in terms of memory - presence extending into future)
Lifestream - ha? ('blood', vital structure, crude but it works, I suppose

"Technically," said Solomon, "though we're not of the lifestream, we're inhabiting a specific living being in it. That's what the lanterns are for--they protect our souls from being taken by the lifestream while we're directly inhabiting it in such a manner." He put down his pen to pick up his mug. "You're not the first I've seen stuck in Life, though his is a unique case as well, and his soul doesn't repel the lifestream the way yours does. He actually is stuck. Or anchored, perhaps, without repelling the lifestream directly."

Edited 2014-10-16 06:30 (UTC)

Although most of the notes were without context, Cain picked up on the idea being expressed rather quickly. These were the dimensions that Solomon had been speaking of, and he'd compiled a simple list of his understandings for each of them thus far. Whether Solomon meant it to be or not, it was a good crash course that helped Cain visualize better the stage they had been set upon and would serve as a good theoretical foundation moving forward. Knowledge, after all, was one of the best tools someone could possibly have.

"What, is he a zombie?" Cain asked. Much as it amused him to come to that conclusion first, he had to concede to pop culture being one of the most effective and insidious ways of combining social thought in a single direction. It was as scary as it was amusing. "Who is it? Someone I might meet?"

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