soulscursed

[soulscursed]

&. 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬.

( this is basically just a very self indulgent list of various fluff, angst, and suggestive themed dialogue sentence starters. )

❛ i could keep you safe. they’re all afraid of me. ❜

❛ i’m trying to fix your hair, so hold still. ❜

❛ your heart is beating so fast right now. ❜

❛ promise me you’ll still be here when i wake up. ❜

❛ you’re not as bad as everyone says you are. ❜

❛ i thought you’d like some company. ❜ 

❛ clean yourself up. you're getting blood all over the place. ❜

❛ here, give this a try and tell me what you think. ❜

❛ you can kiss me, you know. ❜

❛ come back to bed. ❜

❛ you look good like this. ❜

❛ working together again, it’s just like old times. ❜

❛ how is it you always know what i need, huh? ❜

❛ you’re lucky you got away with only a scratch. ❜ 

❛ i can’t imagine losing someone like that. i’m sorry. ❜

❛ you know you can always talk to me. ❜

❛ the only one who gets to kill you, is me. ❜

❛ so, what do i owe this pleasure? ❜

❛ ah, so you aren’t heartless after all. ❜

❛ may i have this dance? ❜ 

❛ it’s okay, you can touch me. i won't break. ❜

❛ enemies make the best lovers, you know. ❜

❛ hold still. this might sting a little. ❜

❛ we can't keep doing this. ❜ 

❛ you look like you've got something to say. ❜

❛ just relax and let me take care of you. ❜

❛ thought you’d be lighter without all that blood. ❜

❛ i had it under control. you didn’t need to do that. ❜

❛ everything looks so beautiful from up here. ❜

❛ you treat all your ladies like this? ❜

❛ well? how do i look? ❜

❛ can’t sleep? ❜

❛ do you mind if i smoke? ❜

❛ i’m scared of ending up alone. ❜

❛ i don’t think i’ve ever seen you smile. ❜

❛ how long has it been since you've slept? ❜

❛ you are losing my interest, and that’s very dangerous. ❜

❛ i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight. ❜

❛ you look really pretty right now. ❜

❛ i’ve never cared for anyone the way i care for you. ❜

❛ i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know. ❜

❛ just a few more stitches and you’ll be as good as new. ❜

❛ i’d say we make a pretty good team. ❜

❛ i want you to forget this ever happened. ❜

❛ i'm here for business — not pleasure. ❜

❛ if i didn't know any better, i'd say you were jealous. ❜

❛ you'd look better down on your knees. ❜

❛ fine, keep acting like you hate me. ❜

❛ kiss me again. ❜

❛ are you asking me out on a date? ❜

❛ just sit there and look pretty and let me handle this. ❜

❛ you okay? caught you staring off into space again. ❜

❛ well, i do feel better now that you're here. ❜

❛ i'm not drunk enough for this. ❜ 

❛ why is it whenever we see each other, you’re covered in blood? ❜

❛ i was wrong about you. ❜ 

❛ the first time i met you, i had no idea you'd mean this much. ❜

❛ you gonna be a good girl / boy for me? ❜

❛ i’m not afraid of you. ❜

❛ books mean more to me than people anyway. ❜

❛ i just wanted to say thank you for protecting me. ❜

❛ how about a kiss goodnight? ❜

❛ i don’t have time for distractions right now. ❜

❛ you shouldn’t be out here by yourself. ❜ 

❛ if i have to think about one more thing today, my head will explode. ❜

[soulscursed]

“Accident” - DGS Verse

[soulscursed]

[soulscursed]

I totally didn't forget Barok's scar, what are you talking about, it's right there, just look really closely, I swear I'm not gaslight---

[soulscursed]

he's a little extra but that's ok

[soulscursed]

tgaa is on sale you guys should buy it (PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPPLEASEEPLEASEPLEASEPL

[soulscursed]

Day 3 of @asobaroryuuweek - Swords/Flowers

[soulscursed]

attempt @ tags overhaul!! we will now see if they even work 😭

[soulscursed]

❛ that is an impressive study for one so young. ❜ As for how her curiosity in such subjects came about... a natural interest towards her mother's career? Or perhaps Sithe had encouraged and cultivated said interest, long before Maria could possibly have any say of her own? The idea creases his brow with concern and tugs his lips into a deep frown. But it is not his business.

❛ I will do my best, ❜ is his response. He has no plans to disrupt or desecrate a place that regularly hosts the bodies of the recently passed. No need to subject the deceased to more violation than a coroner must. The idea is uncomfortable, though he understands its necessity — he supposes that is why the task falls to those who are equipped to breach the boundaries of the morbid. Young Gorey among them.

He has half a mind to take a good look around. It's not often that he finds himself in Sithe's territory and, when he does, he is often ushered out the moment their business concludes. Sithe is utterly uninterested in anything irrelevant to her work. Anything and anyone that distracts her from her work is subject to far worse than mere disinterest; thus Barok makes his visits brief and his departures speedy.

But at the question that follows, Barok hesitates.

Don't you find it bothersome? ... it's terribly odd to hear it from a child. Then again, perhaps he shouldn't be so surprised; so many around him seem to treat Barok as though he is little more than fragile glass and as though acknowledging the Reaper — though it is all the rage of London's headlines — might shatter him. Even Lord Stronghart, whose forthcoming nature has been welcome amidst all that Barok has overcome in the recent years, is not immune to this bizarre concern. Enquiries from the man of Barok's well-being, as of late, leave him feeling as though he is one of the Lord Chief Justice's little nestlings, fuzzy and featherless and unable even to be held without the greatest of care.

— but, if they did ask, what could he say to them?

What could encapsulate the terror and the disbelief ( and the awful little spark of hope beneath it, the hope that it might be the work of something — of someone — from beyond ) that overcame him when, again and again, the Reaper struck?

What words encompassed the alienation? The terrible, vast loneliness that already swallowed him, made heavier and all the more suffocating by such accusations?

None that he would speak to a child, no matter how comfortably she holds her own in a world too morbid for most. Of course I do, sits on the tip of his tongue.

He settles instead for: ❛ I would never know a moment of peace if I did.‎ ❜

... it is somewhat strange that she knows enough of the matter to ask. It does concern death, he supposes, just enough that it might fit within the realm of young Gorey's interests. But still. ❛ Why — is it a matter you hear often discussed? ❜

Maria tilts her head, before looking away, disappointed.

What a shame. ...It seems she won't be dissecting anyone today. But, as expected, Barok is here for her Mama after all... unfortunately, even Maria doesn't know everything that her mother gets up to - but it's important work, and personally, she thinks that if Mama hadn't informed van Zieks of this delay he speaks of, she must have had a very good reason for it.

"I've been studying. Anatomy, and the body." she responds instead, in a seemingly impassive tone. Because while she's an expert in the field even at her young age, there's always more for a coroner to learn - although admittedly, she has been hoping for something more than studying to do today as well. A new specimen would be nice... she won't be getting one any time soon, it seems, but perhaps the prosecutor before her will provide a suitable distraction for the moment.

"Mama said she'd be back soon." she adds. "But if you're going to wait, then don't make a mess."

...Perhaps she should ask him something, to indulge her curiosity a little... after all, it's not often she gets the chance to speak with someone so infamous in name. But on the topic of what to ask, she finds herself unsure. On that note, this man had lost his brother not long ago... perhaps she should extend some sympathy, like Mama is often telling her to do?

"...Don't you find it bothersome? When you hear the things people say about you."

[soulscursed]

❛ mere semantics ❜ — is what barok wishes to say. But he refrains; there is still, after all, a line between murder and attempted murder. A line which Drebber never crossed no matter his every intention... intentions which he confessed in their entirety to a courtroom. So Barok grunts his concession, even as he shifts his stance ever so slightly and folds his arms across his chest. The instinct to broaden himself and to draw his shoulders high, Barok knows, is not unlike that of a tightly-strung dog that has found itself confronted by the littlest of threats. Still, he cannot help the need to stand at attention.

Barok has little reason to believe that Drebber would chance a physical fight, and in the public eye. That brawl would end rather quickly — though Drebber is certainly a tall man ( and a clever one; really, it is his cleverness which arms him with such dangerous potential ), he is far too wiry and looks little more than bones wearing gaunt skin. Even his cleverness will do him no good when he stands in such proximity to a skilled swordsman.

And Drebber, Barok thinks, values his newfound freedom more than he would admit. It is unlikely that the man will jeopardise this rare and sudden favourable hand dealt to him... that dreadful smile that Drebber bared so often in the Old Bailey is notably absent, too. Perhaps expecting anything from a man so recently bitter and blinded by rage is on its own a mistake — but. Just maybe, Barok can expect something more than antagonising and malice from this exchange. 

And if there is any hope of that, Barok must manage the aggression seeping into his own responses. Not an easy task when Albert ( ... and Naruhodo, too ) linger so close to the front of his mind. But then again, he has spent the better part of the decade regulating angers only recently put to rest; though in their place have sprung fresher hates, nearly all of them turned within.

❛ I certainly have no means to prove otherwise. ❜ Nor will he go out of his way to seek any proof. ❛ ... if, in the jury's eyes, you are innocent enough to walk out of the courtroom as a free man — then I have no objection. ❜

He watched Drebber's face as the man spoke. No mocking smiles. Nor any of the clacking and twisting displays that he had put on in the courtroom.

Barok is hardly equipped to judge a man's character. Not after all that he thought he knew of the few men he'd allowed himself to lean upon had been so swiftly shattered. There is little reason to doubt Drebber's words. And, really — has Barok never once believed in the idea of a life for a life? Genshin's for Klint's... and though it was a rope that was meant to take Genshin's life and a gun that dealt the killing blow, could Barok claim his conscience clean? His hands unstained?

He has no right to go casting stones at Enoch Drebber.

Nonetheless, he is curious: ❛ Pray tell — with what, exactly, do you now occupy your new wealth of time? ❜

"Ah. Is that right?"

It's tempting to flash a satisfied smile at the prosecutor's words, just to see his inevitable reaction. Enoch's newfound and entirely unexpected freedom should be something that Enoch feels glad about - and make no mistake, he's certainly not disappointed. But there's something that stops him from feeling as smug as he would've done just a few months ago... is it the knowledge that he himself had played so little a part in gaining his freedom, and in the end, he'd relied most entirely on luck? Or is it the knowledge that he had come so close to ruining a man's life - in the exact same way his own had been ruined ten years ago?

Enoch stifles an irritated noise in his throat, and tries not to simmer with frustration at the thought. That damned attorney's words have got to him more than he'd expected ever since that day he'd heard them. He doesn't fully regret taking the opportunity to finally get his revenge, and yet... perhaps if he'd tried harder, he could've found another way - a way to prevent another innocent soul from taking the blame for his own crimes...

Harebrayne is still a fool of a man, Enoch reminds himself. Being endlessly naive and delusional about his own talents - he wouldn't have ended up in the defendant's chair to begin with if he hadn't chosen to deceive himself and clung to those nonsense ideals of his. But though he knows that's true, it isn't enough to stop the churning in his gut that he feels whenever he thinks about how he's become just like those he hated. Perhaps... he had gone too far. Just this once.

"I had forgotten." he lies on the topic of his trial, as if the idea had slipped his mind entirely. "Although, I believe the charges were that of attempted murder. Not that it matters now."

After all, he hadn't been the one to ultimately take Odie Asman's life - try as he did. Combined with the fact that the device he'd made had ultimately been destroyed, meaning that the courts had been entirely reliant on Enoch's own confession to convict that coroner, Dr. Sithe... perhaps it's no surprise that he's a free man walking now - though really, he thinks that still shouldn't have been enough to secure his freedom. But if a deal of some kind was struck behind the scenes, it's one that Enoch has played no part in.

"Life can be awfully unfair, can't it? Though it appears this time, one could say things have turned in my favor." Enoch's not attempting to taunt Barok, but as he speaks, he realizes that's likely how his words have come across. Maybe that irritation he'd felt towards him was stronger than he'd originally thought? But then he thinks about how Harebrayne had been Barok's friend - or so he'd heard after the trial... and that infernal feeling of something like guilt suddenly rises up in him again.

"...I can assure you that no underhanded schemes have taken place that I know of. Assuming you have any faith in my words at all." in the end, he decides to give the man an honest answer, though he knows it may not do any good. Not dressing things up in ambiguity is something he probably owes him - even if he's undecided about the rest.

[soulscursed]

❛ as a matter of fact — i insist. ❜ There was very little within his collection that he would reject tonight, with the exception of those so freshly brewed that they were not yet palatable. But that was of little worry unless Asogi meandered his way somehow beyond the boundary set through Barok's instruction, and then lost all grasp of written English before he could come face-to-face with the rows of bottles that Barok had so meticulously labelled with their predicted timelines for aging — down to the very day and earliest time that he could expect them ready to drink.

Expectation and trust, as he had come to know, were such fickle and fleeting things... yet even in their early days, when stripped of all his memory of his own past, Asogi had possessed such remarkable cleverness and capability that none could deny. There was an air of respectability about him, for one so young, and a certainty and absoluteness in all that he said — well, the little he said then — and did. Barok had trusted the man with intricate legal matters then and much, much more since.

Yes. He expected that Asogi could manage himself, with minimal meandering.

( And, in any case, much more of Barok's finer vintages had been wasted being flung about in the courtroom throughout the years... though the greatest loss had certainly incurred upon the arrival of Ryunosuke Naruhodo and in the months after. )

He finished polishing out their chalices, listening with some interest as a brief silence passed, then to the clicking of glass against glass as Asogi at last extracted his pick from the shelves.

❛ That remains to be seen, ❜ he responded coolly as he shifted the bottle, label-down, in his hands and hummed his curiosity. ❛ Are you willing to stake your continued apprenticeship upon it? ❜

He uncorked the bottle, pouring out their two glasses and sliding the first towards Asogi; the second he pulled across the desk towards himself after setting aside the re-corked bottle. With the tips of his fingers pressed lightly against its base, he delicately swirled the glass against the oak, watching the deep red ripple within.

❛ In a moment, Mr Asogi. ❜ Mr Asogi. It felt strange, still, on his tongue. To Barok, Asogi's father had always been Genshin — even after Klint's death, Genshin Asogi. He had resented it and mourned it over the years, that he had never been able to strip the man of that familiarity, no matter the betrayal that cost... no. The betrayal Barok thought had cost him his brother.

Here was Genshin's son before him, younger and more brash than Barok had ever known his father to be. To be called Mr Asogi, when he was only slightly older than half of Genshin's age now, were Genshin beside them still — had Barok been the same man he was only months ago, he might have laughed.

He was uncertain how much humour he could find in the thought when, these days, he found himself so often feeling just as young and so very often far more lost.

❛ Have we ever shared a drink before tonight? ❜ Barok's sharp memory had often been a point of pride. But there was little use for it when he had remembered all the wrong things, and when he had been so easily egged to remember things so wrongly. And things had been... difficult, as of late. In the wake of his release, there was more to do than ever before, with a renewed vigour for his work and an apprentice to pass his knowledge to.

( ... and perhaps he had purposely taken on more than even the two of them could manage, at times. Certainly more than he could handle alone. It was dishonest of him to do so, when he knew Asogi would hardly allow himself to be dismissed before his own mentor. Yet Barok could not help himself; it would seem he knew no other remedy for an anxious spirit. )

❛ If not — then pray, forgive my discourtesy. ❜ He lifted his glass, though not yet to drink. ❛ Is wine to your liking? ... or do you typically prefer other leisures? ❜

As Lord van Zieks rose from his chair, Kazuma expected that he would indeed take his leave for the night. But instead he turned to the cabinet full of those absurdly ornate chalices, and although Kazuma's attentive gaze caught the withdrawal of not one, but two cups, he was somehow still caught off-guard by the request that followed.

Not an easy feat to accomplish. He was always at the ready: poised to tackle any task with vigor and aplomb. This, however, was perhaps the first time Kazuma was unprepared for a task laid before him.

But no—he quashed that waver of uncertainty the moment it bloomed. The initial shock may have rendered him stunned for a moment, but in truth, Kazuma had long since been searching for an opportunity like this.

Despite their weeks of collaboration since that fateful trial, neither party had ever addressed those events...at least, not as directly as they deserved. Kazuma wasn't one to dance around a subject, but there simply hadn't been time—not when there was such deep history, so many wrongs, so much regret. The air around such a topic couldn't be cleared in a few stolen minutes throughout a busy day. Trying very well may just make things worse. He would be a fool not to seize this chance.

After a few beats of silence, Kazuma set down his quill. "I'm hardly a wine expert." A gross understatement, considering he'd never had it before, but he wouldn't back down from the new experience any more than he would back down from a conversation so long overdue. "If you don't mind the selection of a novice, however, I can choose for us, if you wish," he continued, the statement serving as clear acceptance of the offer.

Rising from the floor, Kazuma ventured into the back alcove where the bottles were kept. He only spared a moment glancing over them. Each was the same as the next as far as he was concerned; and the wine they would be drinking hardly mattered. He selected one at random that at least had a label he could read and headed back out into the main office.

Determination coursed through him with every footfall. He didn't yet know his mentor's reasons for asking to speak with him like this, but regardless, Kazuma's own reasons would not be swayed. They had much to discuss.

"A fitting choice, I hope?" he posed as he held the bottle out to his mentor. "Though, it's hard to say without knowing the occasion." His posture remained strictly at attention. He couldn't rule out the possibility that Lord van Zieks had some sort of business to discuss, in which case it was his duty as apprentice to address such matters first before steering the conversation himself. "Is there something you wish to discuss?"

[soulscursed]

... the use of them? barok's brow knit deeply as he pondered the enquiry. ❛ I'm — not sure. As I said, I inherited them. As did Klint, from our father... he had always said that financial wealth was of little use to a man unless invested and diversified. Property was among one of his areas of expertise... and the expertise of any other man with the means of affording it, too. ❜

But the attempt at logic did not answer Naruhodo's question in the least.

❛ They were of use to us in the past, when on occasion we went holidaying. ❜ ... and sat empty the rest of the decade. Though he spoke truthfully, he nearly regretted saying it aloud; he could not have crafted a lamer excuse had he tried.

❛ ... I suppose there is little value in a home unoccupied. ❜ What else should a home be built for, after all?  ( To house a history already lived and left behind? To keep tender and close the memories of men long gone, just to mend the emptiness of a gaping heart? Memories woven from threads of a ghost who had, as Barok knows now, been so terribly misremembered...? Did such false memories warrant keeping? )  ❛ I did consider selling them, several times throughout the years. I never could get to doing it. Too much else to do then, and — perhaps letting go is more difficult than one can admit. ❜

And what a painful admittance it is: that a man could cling so desperately to memories of his youthful naïvete. But he must. Cherished memories of being carried atop Klint's shoulders through the pebble beaches at Osborne, swinging his legs as he commandeered his loyal brother down the shore and into shallow waters until they had waded so deep that Klint swayed and nearly pitched Barok straight off of his shoulders; and of picking his way through their vineyards in Dorset with Klint at his side, turning the fruit in his palm and explaining with measured excitement to Barok the ripeness and sweetness that he might expect from a grape, or how he might gauge the health of a vineyard by the evenness of shoot growth and the number of leaves in a cluster... those had been among few things that had only just managed to keep Barok adrift throughout the years of tidal sorrow.

But there was no time for sorrow when he had company. He could not allow himself to tip back into misery, no matter how forgiving Naruhodo had been thus far.

❛ At the very least, you might give thought to exploring the countryside beyond the city. I can speak to the beauty of Surrey — from which my title ❜  Marquess of Surrey  ❛ was created — our home is not far from the village of Cranleigh. You would enjoy some of the shops. It won't be a simple task for you to come and go on your own, as there is no way from London by rail. But you would be welcome as a guest at my estate... along with good company, if you wish. ❜

It was only proper to extend the invitation to Naruhodo's friends and to trust the judgement of the defence... as he had in the darkest of times. Surely Sholmes' potential company could not be worse than those nights spent in a cramped cell. ( But he would welcome Miss Mikotoba and Sholmes' daughter, of course, with open arms. And if Sholmes must accompany his ward, then so be it. )

❛ I take it you have never pondered selling off your excess of homes, then. ❜ Humour executed drily as ever. But Naruhodo understood him well enough — exceptionally in fact — thus far. ❛ ... information about you is not forthcoming, Mr Naruhodo. You have done your share of investigating my past, with the considerable advantage of the wealth of information that my homeland has kept of me. Perhaps you would now consider evening the odds — ? ❜

Luckily for Ryunosuke, they didn’t linger long on the very clear fact that he was putting forth all the . . . needless efforts to make himself smaller in his seat. (Smaller than he already was, that is—at least in the company of one like Lord van Zieks.) For despite the man’s telling comment on the shuffling—proving he’d quickly noticed what was going on—the conversation pushed forward at a pace matching the roll of the wheels beneath them. Relieving, really. Lord van Zieks oh-so-casually taking note of Ryunosuke’s “stature” certainly did more than it was meant to; he was glad the prosecutor’s focus went elsewhere to no doubt miss that little flush of heat in his cheeks.

—swiftly forgotten, too. All so Ryunosuke could grant his company every last shred of his attention as he went about answering the curiosity.

He was as much enchanted by the exceptionally different way someone like Lord van Zieks lived as he was wholly entranced by just how much he had to say about it. After all, in most cases, van Zieks was a man of few words, and those that were often never wasted—each syllable meticulously considered before making it through his lips. Instead, he’d loosened up enough to simply speak, to provide details he hadn’t necessarily needed in order to satisfy his guest; it wasn’t as if Ryunosuke expected him to thoroughly indulge every little inquisitive query that left him, really. But he did so, anyway. And though Ryunosuke couldn’t claim to fully understand owning that many properties—especially when he’d spent much of his life hardly owning more than the clothes off his back—he found pleasure in simply hearing him talk so freely about it.

His attentiveness, naturally, aided him in noticing van Zieks hesitating over that mention of his brother, however. He took in that minuscule twitch in the man’s brow, the heavy pause for more than just thought. Ryunosuke’s hands twisted a bit in his lap, and he’d stolen a breath for himself—a prelude to interjecting—before Lord van Zieks recovered all on his own. Quietly, the lawyer decided to table the more sensitive topic for another time. (When his companion was ready to speak of it.)

“Overseas?” Ryunosuke repeated, and he couldn’t prevent the lines carving perplexity across his face. “What on Earth would be the purpose of those if you’re never using them?” He didn’t intend it as accusatory. Absolutely not. But if there was one thing about all of this information that he couldn’t quite wrap his head around, it was the idea of having so many properties for the sake of . . . seemingly never even visiting them. (Was that a thing among the gentry . . . ? Or just particular to Lord van Zieks?)

By the time he’d been posed a curiosity in return, though, the bewilderment left him, smoothed the crinkles around his eyes. “Traveled . . . ? I— Er, no. Not really. I-I suppose I . . . didn’t necessarily have the time or funds to really— Well, I hadn’t even considered it.” A shrug rolled through his shoulders, and his gaze drifted to the window. “I ought to, though. One of these days. It’d seem like a waste otherwise.”

[soulscursed]

generally i do not have any vested interest in overwatch....... but after some months of playing ovw2 with my boys, i have finally discovered and am thinking so hard about genji shimada right now

[soulscursed]

naruhodo's words were nearly lost amidst the racket of the London traffic and crowds. He thought for a moment that he had imagined them... but the smile on the lawyer's face was assurance enough that Barok was of sound mind. All in the spirit of their casual rowing, no doubt, but still — the ever-present furrow of his brow deepened briefly at the comment.

❛ I wish you wouldn't. ❜

— wouldn't what? Spare him? ... for all his honesty, Naruhodo somehow still managed to perplex.

But he hadn't the time to puzzle it. By the time he'd taken his seat in the carriage across Naruhodo, Barok put it out of his mind. It would have been chased out by the sight of Naruhodo shuffling about unnecessarily. Perhaps he found himself stifling a smile.

❛ Courtesy is one thing, Mr Naruhodo, but there's enough room for the two of us. I imagine even a man of your stature could afford an inch or two to breathe. ❜

Though it was a bit of a low blow — though it must be, if he had any hopes of closing the terrible vertical gap between himself and Naruhodo — there was little bite to the words. He moved on quickly enough, considering Naruhodo's enquiry.

❛ There's London estate in Grosvenor's Square; and there is our family home, the country estate in Surrey, in which I spent the most of my years until university brought me to London.... It was to the estate that I retreated during my five years' leave of absence from law.

❛ Some private vineyards in Dorset — and in Alsace, though at times I wonder if it isn't a greater nuisance than it is an investment. ❜ The Alsace vineyards had had the fortune of escaping the first two decades of the great blight that had swept across the Atlantic and wreaked havoc across French vineyards and its wineries. But such luck had to, eventually, run its course. As though the chaos and the confusion of Barok's childhood years were not enough on its own after their father's passing, Klint's franticness and clear upset over his beloved orchards soon sent him scurrying from France and back, a then-small Barok with him. ( Of his own will. Thankfully — loathe as he was to speak ill of his brother, and of the dead at that... Klint could at times be a handful. ) Overseeing the vineyards' recovery was a decades long process that consumed ample time and resources; it had perhaps kept Barok sane in the years after Klint's passing.

❛ Our father owned properties, which he rented out and managed. Klint carried on that work, but I sold the majority. I hadn't the capacity nor the expertise for managing properties — my legal career was my priority as much then as it is now. As for my office, I rent... it once was Klint's as well. ❜

... again and again, no matter the direction he took, his mind and mouth circled back once more to Klint. It wasn't so alarming. This was how he had spent the decade past, after all.

But with company beside him today, regarding him with such bright-eyed curiousity, he could not afford to stew in his own bitter history. He shook his head, casting about for some way to push their conversation forward and elsewhere.

❛ I inherited from them several small homes overseas, though I've not had much use for them. And there are some pieces of land in the Netherlands, too, passed down to us from generations before. ❜

He paused a moment. ❛ ... have you travelled outside London much during your time here? ❜

There was something so much . . . gentler in their engagement, now. In any of their engagements since the conclusion to what had been years upon years of torment and ache for both the prosecutor Ryunosuke had once known as a defense lawyer, and the one striding alongside him currently. An antagonistic air that had previously breathed into every little thing Lord van Zieks did in Ryunosuke’s presence was all but cleared, making room instead for . . . what was this—? A lingering look here, a genuine smile there, a loose and comfortable jest . . . Well, mostly comfortable, on that last one; the manner in which Lord van Zieks hurried forward with a hardly perceptible (to those not paying attention . . . so, perhaps anyone but Ryunosuke) trace of regret swathing his face whispered an awkwardness that was positively endearing.

What was this? Ryunosuke didn’t yet have an answer, but . . . He was eager to find out.

And there, as the conversation coaxed another little quip from his companion, Ryunosuke equally couldn’t help adding, “I wish you wouldn’t.” Boldly. Shamelessly, some might say (and certainly, Kazuma would be proud of him). A reply to the prospect of sparing him, and that which he sneaked into that brief little moment right as van Zieks was ushering him into the carriage; Ryunosuke uttered it over his shoulder through a knowing grin, allowed the prosecutor to do whatever he wanted with the vague claim because perhaps . . . Perhaps even he himself wasn’t entirely sure. (Only that, at this rate—and dangerously so—Ryunosuke had decided he’d be quite content being in van Zieks’s company in any capacity.)

By the time Lord van Zieks joined him inside, Ryunosuke had just managed to pick a seat, a series of embarrassingly long seconds spent contemplating what side he imagined the man would prefer being on (and just as well wondering what sort of rules or courtesies London society had about this too). He’d taken to the position that set him facing backward, and as soon as his company settled in across from him, Ryunosuke shuffled just slightly to give him more room (needlessly, as well; of the two of them, it wasn’t like Ryunosuke was taking up space).

“Right,” he confirmed, all at once becoming too aware of the surprising intimacy of this enclosed carriage . . . and how long (or short, some part of him wanted to argue) they’d be here. Hands clasped neatly in his lap, his attention darted to the window, and he bit thoughtfully at his lower lip. “Do you, ah . . . How many places does your family happen to own, Lord van Zieks? I admit I don’t have much of an idea of what’s common for your . . . standing—?”

[soulscursed]

naruhodo's momentary pause did not go unnoticed. For a moment Barok feared that he had again frightened the man — or had otherwise made a fool of himself with such a ridiculous quip. He moved quickly, starting up a steady stride and keeping his eyes on the path towards the entrance of the Old Bailey; he could do little else to hide his brief floundering that surfaced in the tighter knitting of his brow and ( Heaven forbid that Naruhodo take notice ) the barest pink dusting his cheeks. What embarrassment.

The silence continued despite his added response, and he began to consider retracting his prior comment. But what purpose would that serve other than to draw further attention to his slip? Somehow, he had smothered their mildly awkward but otherwise pleasant conversation. There was no other choice then but to live with it and, with his luck, to weather through the rest of the afternoon in tense quiet...

So it was difficult to suppress the huff of relief when Naruhodo replied with a twinkle of humour in his tone. He dared to glance aside at Naruhodo — he hadn't imagined it, no. The sight of what seemed a genuine smile on the other man's face was reassurance enough that Barok's attempt at a jest hadn't left their chat unsalvageable, after all.

He slowed his pace ever so slightly, taking a moment to collect himself and to calm the odd skittering in his chest. And to mull over Naruhodo's unexpected ( but predictably apologetic ) thanks, to which Barok tilted his head lightly in acknowledgement.

❛ Indeed. Vampirism and its dietary limitations are not so glamourous as common rumour would have one believe. A change in routine would not be unwelcome. ❜

In regards to his tea routine... but the prospect, too, of a repeat encounter sparked a strange little warmth in him.

Enough to tease out further comment: ❛ And if tea proves enjoyable enough, then perhaps I can even be persuaded to spare you, Mr Naruhodo. ❜

His carriage was ready at the front of the courthouse. He waved Naruhodo in first, taking a moment to relay some instruction to the driver before climbing in and seating himself across from Naruhodo.

❛ It's about twenty minutes to the office. ❜ Though Naruhodo no doubt knew that already, having made the trip himself several times.

One of these days, Ryunosuke might get accustomed to the fact that his face was apparently as readable as if it were a book meant for children. As things were, however, he still successfully managed not to flinch at Lord van Zieks’s response—caught off-guard, certainly, but exceptionally less perturbed (or perhaps less terrified the man would take his playful musings the wrong way) than he once was. When he was offered little more than a begrudgingly patient response (though, again, Ryunosuke was convinced the “begrudging” part wasn’t entirely true anymore), his brows only partially stitched to complement a lopsided, slightly sheepish smile. 

Of course, that sheepishness would’ve faded away in an instant if not for what came next, and here . . . Yes, this was the part that officially threw Ryunosuke for a loop.

Because there the great, scary prosecutor went again with a show of that humanity still kicking inside him, busting out piece by piece. On that devastatingly silky timbre of his, flat and easily mistaken for seriousness if Ryunosuke didn’t already know him better, he made a seamless quip of his own—something that came and went so fast that Ryunosuke almost wondered if he’d imagined it. He blinked owlishly even after van Zieks offered a real reply, but said reply was hardly what the young lawyer cared for in those passing seconds . . . which was incredible for a man whose priorities often did revolve around food of some kind.

His mind processed everything swiftly, yet in doing so, he stumbled over a plethora of emotions that felt wholly unfair with what should’ve been so small. Sheepishness, sure: embarrassment over the realization that Lord van Zieks remembered Ryunosuke’s silly preconceptions not long ago. But, on the flip side, a little trickle of being somewhat flattered he did recall what shouldn’t have needed to stay with him . . . or was that simply because it was so utterly ridiculous, nothing more—? Then, eventually, genuine delight, that which bared itself in the way a wider grin slipped across his lips, what practically drawled, “Was that a joke just now?”

What Ryunosuke ended up saying was, “That’s a shame. Must get awfully bland after a while.” His mouth quirked somewhat higher, cheekier, before he mellowed out in time to actually address that real answer he’d put aside until now. “Splendid. I admit sweets are my preferred when it comes to what to enjoy alongside tea . . . though I’d not turn up my nose at something else.” And as van Zieks sidled around him without another word, silently indicating they actually pursue these spontaneous plans of theirs, Ryunosuke perked and followed.

He stepped in close to the prosecutor’s side, only passively noting the swing of that impressive cloak of his occasionally skirting over his arm. “Thank you, by the way,” Ryunosuke offered, somewhat softer than before. “For taking my company on such short notice. I-I . . . suppose you aren’t entirely unused to the lack of planning, but— I could endeavor to be better about that in the future.”

[soulscursed]

to say that the whole professor affair has left a rather sour taste in Barok's mouth would be an understatement. But as of late, he has done his very best to think as little of it as possible. This cannot be healthy, he realises, but it is all he can do to compensate for days and weeks following the Reaper trial, when he had done nothing but think of it.

( Of his brother, Klint... of the lives that Klint had taken and the lives that Klint had destroyed, even in death. Barok among his victims. )

It's a task made difficult by Enoch Drebber's presence and by the reminder of recent events at the Great Exhibition, and of the decade old tragedy that those events had in turn unveiled. Barok has no fondness, either, for the way Drebber speaks his old friend's name.

❛ Well, ❜ says Barok curtly, though there is little reason to entertain the scientist. After all, Drebber is more than a simple graverobber and a criminal, despite the fact that he has few valid academic credentials to his name.

( ... though, in retrospect, that was a matter far beyond the man's control. Was he not, too, a victim of Klint's madness? )

Still, there is a slew of questions left unanswered. Barok straightens to his full height — though it's not much more, given the consistently near-perfect posture with which he conducts himself in all things — and fixes Drebber with a sharp, calculating stare.

( He pointedly does not think of the night in the graveyard. Of that wretched wax sculpture, or of Genshin Asogi's hand splayed out towards the man who had unearthed him from his grave — reaching out not with malice, but in hopes of long-awaited salvation. And of hope stolen away in a flash by the hand of his own fellow countryman... all of it puppeted by a mentor that Barok was foolish enough to have trusted with his life. )

❛ You will have to forgive me the discourtesy of being so blunt, Mr Drebber — but last I remember, you were being held and awaiting trial for murder. ❜ Spoken brusquely, perhaps even more than usual for a man ruthless enough to be christened Grim Reaper of the Old Bailey.

What plays on his mind now is the safety of his old friend. Abroad, he had believed Albert safe there from the influences of the real Reaper — though, of course, Mael Stronghart hadn't any real interest in Harebrayne. But Barok could not guarantee Albert's safety in Germany when it came to a man who had stopped at nothing to avenge himself, and to avenge a career and a life ruined.

His purpose fulfilled, Drebber would have ordinarily been little cause for concern... but there was the matter of failing to get away with it. It was Albert that Drebber had intended to pin for his crime. There's no immediate sign that Drebber holds a grudge of any sort, but Barok finds it difficult to trust a man who has been so nonchalant in taking and endangering others' lives for the sake of his vendetta.

The fact that Drebber stands before him now should be of some comfort. Better than having slipped away without a trace to board a train to Germany. But it wasn't Albert alone who could be in danger, was it?

After all — it was Ryunosuke Naruhodo who had gotten in Drebber's way. Naruhodo who had upturned the trial in his typically absurd manner. Naruhodo who had saved an innocent life that Drebber had so cleverly offered up in place of his own. Naruhodo, to whom Barok owed his eternal gratitude for defending his dear friend... and Naruhodo, who had gone on to save Barok's life.

It was only natural, then: to desire to guard Ryunosuke Naruhodo's life in any way that he could.

Barok van Zieks is an intriguing man.

Enoch has heard the news. The truth of the professor case, finally revealed to the world... it makes him want to laugh, to think about how it's all come out now - too late for Enoch, who nobody ever had ever believed; who had had his future taken away cruelly and abruptly as a result, because if there's one thing that this world is - it's unfair.

It does strike him as ironic, how they've both had their lives ruined by the same incident - though for very different reasons. If he were to try, maybe he could even muster up some sympathy for the man... as someone who's also been exposed to the unfair judgement of society, and who sees the world for what it is - a farce.

But instead, van Zieks... irritates him somehow. Maybe it's because he still seems to care about justice in this world so devoid of it. Though it's not like Enoch knows the man at all, so it might be that deep down, Barok is just as selfish as the rest of them, and he doesn't truly believe in justice at all. Who can say?

What the prosecutor is here for now, Enoch has no idea. But there's one thing he has to ask - even if it makes him feel sick to think of it, and he hates the feelings that stir inside him as a result.

"That mockery of a scientist... Albert Harebrayne. Tell me. How does he fare?" That's what he asks, but... looking at Enoch's face, it's difficult to tell whether or not he truly cares about the answer.

@soulscursed ( starter! )

[soulscursed]

thin lips curl into a sneer beneath his mask, but he offers no further response as he watches Octane scatters his belongings carelessly across the counter. Traipsing around Caustic's lab with such familiarity and such audacity, rifling through the doctor's personal belongings as though Octane had in any way earnt his temporary place here... delusional.

The very idea sickens him.

He pushes the items on his table away from Silva by the back of a gloved hand, sparing no effort in dissecting the words coming out of the other man's mouth. It is unlikely to be anything but moronic and boastful, and nothing of particular value. He'll have to disinfect his possessions later, when he's finally pushed Octane out — who knows where those hands have been and what substances the junkie's been handling. Silva's presence alone is cause for concern, frankly.

But Caustic's tolerance does not go unrewarded as Silva places yet another object, this time with unexpected care, onto the counter.

He casts a glance at the vial — quick and covert, enough to conceal any interest, no matter how vague. It wouldn't do to give Silva any indication that he and his pet project ( whatever it may be... and despite himself, Caustic does find himself curious ) are welcome here. Still, it's not something that he would expect the junkie to have in his possession.

He circles to the other side of his work table, putting an appropriate distance between himself and the boy, and huffs out a long-suffering sigh. " Explain yourself, Silva. If you must. "

Before his patience runs thin.

Octane tilts his head just slightly. His grin only widens.

"Oh, but I guess your ambitions are great enough to protect your life's work enough to keep me out, right?" Pointedly, he holds up Caustic's keycard and wiggles it in his hand. "I gotta say, I think this is my best break-in yet. No broken science stuff, no blood..."

His last foray into the depths of the chemist's lab hadn't panned out so well; he'd ended up on Bloodhound's doorstep covered in glass and chemicals, mobilizing the hunter's skills to help him clean up the evidence. He's still not sure if Caustic is any the wiser about that particular incident, not that the good doctor would make it known until it's maximally useful to him. That's fine. Octane works with what he's got.

Caustic's calculating gaze lingers on him and it's reward enough, truly, but Octane won't complain if he doesn't get thrown out.

"And what if I did? Would that be so bad? Thought you liked when people acknowledge your galaxy brain." He snickers, hops off the stool and swings his arms out wide. "Thought you might be proud! I didn't even steal anything this time!" He pauses and holds up a finger while he roots around in his pocket. Something jingles. He gasps dramatically. "Oh, no, I forgot took your keyring." He pulls out the keys and tosses them on the counter, useless to him now-- their purpose only to show Caustic that he took them. He has no idea what they go to. "Oh, and your wallet. And, uh, whatever this is." He tosses both the wallet and some device that looks like an inhaler over by the keyring wordlessly, though it's easy to glean by the contractions of his exposed abdomen that he's laughing under his breath. He approaches Caustic with a little triumphant jaunt in his step, metal legs skittering over sterilized floors. He's practically shaking with giddy excitement, anticipatory as always to be closer to something that could kill him without blinking. He sets a large vial on Caustic's desk. Within, a volatile substance bubbles up in bright reds and purples. "Nah, actually, I did have some questions. About this."