#denizens of the sunken

[hutiapendra]

Type Wheel

[montereybayaquarium]

Whale, whale, whale… what do we have here? 🤔🐳

As top predators, these mighty marine mammals have a massive impact on the ocean. But what happens to a whale’s body after it dies? For most of these titans, their sunken carcass—also known as a whale fall—eventually sinks to the ocean floor, providing a formidable and fortuitous feast for deep-sea denizens for years to come.

Learn more about whale falls.

🎥: Deepest thanks to our research partner @mbari-blog for the deep-sea footage.

[bookofthegear]

[Sorry these updates are running a little slow—chemo kicked my ass this week]

You decide that you are not quite ready to meet possibly hostile denizens of the labyrinth, and quickly douse your lantern. In the ensuing darkness, you see the faint glow of a light in the direction of the voices.

Without being asked, Jimmy hops between the bars in the direction of the voices. You briefly see his silhouette, black on dark gray, then he vanishes into the gloom.

You wait. The argument reaches a crescendo, assuming it’s actually an argument and not just one of those languages with a lot of aggressive emphasis. Someone spits a final phrase and you hear footsteps and see the light coming in your direction. A moment later Jimmy lands on your shoulder and presses a wing down.

The pressure is negligible but the message isn’t. You hastily flatten yourself against the wall below the level of the bars. Striped shadows flare on the opposite wall, then pass by. You breathe again.

After about five minutes of silence, you creep the rest of the way down the hall, until the floor drops away. (You tell yourself that no one is watching you in the dark. You tell yourself that very firmly.) Kneeling, you grope around and detect a further flight of stairs leading down. You go partway down, far enough to hopefully be hidden from the rooms above the sunken hallway, and re-light your lantern.

To your great relief, you’re on stairs made of perfectly ordinary concrete with the occasional scribble of graffiti. Jimmy lets out a relieved whistle.

“I couldn’t see much,” he says, “but I didn’t like the way they looked. They were too long.”

Long?

“Um. Long. Tall. Stretched?” Interpretive dance has its limits. Jimmy flaps his wings in frustration. “Look, boss, if humans were like normal birds, those guys would be herons or storks or egrets or something. Stretched. And pointy. And I didn’t like it.” He fluffs his feathers. “Sorry I can’t explain it better. But it was pretty dark, so maybe I was just seeing things.”

You reassure Jimmy that he explained it just fine, though secretly you’re a bit baffled by “stretched and pointy.” You share the remaining half of the open granola bar with him. Then you stand up, brush off crumbs, and try to figure out what to do next.

[breannasfluff]

Eldritch Ranch

The boys actually cheer when they step out of the portal. Four’s cheer is a little weak and he’s holding his stomach, but it’s there.

Wild looks around, but the landscape doesn’t answer the excitement. Twilight takes pity and joins him. “We’re close to Lon Lon Ranch. You’ll finally get to meet Miss Malon!”

Right, the elusive wife he’s heard about. Ahead of them, Time glances back at them and frowns. Wild can’t help the instinct to pull his shoulders in and hunch slightly. Things have been a little better between him and Time recently, but what if he doesn’t want the champion around Malon?

What will she think of him? He’s getting tired of wary looks at inns and in towns. Even when he layers himself together, the denizens of the era can tell there’s something off about him.

“How far until we get there?”

“An hour? Maybe a little less. C’mon Cub, Malon’ll love you.”

A bold statement, but there’s nothing to do but follow the group.

Time picks up the pace as the ranch comes into sight. He hurries under the wooden sign and the boys pile after him, heading straight for the porch of the big ranch house to drop their bags.

There’s something…odd about the ranch, buzzing at the edge of Wild’s senses. He lets the others go on ahead and paces the length of the entrance. When there’s no one near enough to care, he unwinds and reaches out and—

Ah. There is power here, sunken into the earth and winding through the fencing. A curtain of it over the sign, sinking out of sight and coating the area. Something has Claimed this land.

“Wild!” Legend waves from the porch. “Hurry up!”

Pulling himself back in, the champion steels himself and steps over the border of the ranch. Power sizzles and pops against his senses, then settles. Whatever it’s looking to keep out, he’s not it.

“Malon? Honey?” Time vanishes into the house, then comes back out as Wild reaches the steps. “Come on, she’s probably out back with the horses.” He sends another glance at Wild, who reaches for his aura on instinct and pulls it tighter.

The group trooped around the porch and down the back steps, heading for the paddocks and barns. There’s the shrill whinny of a horse and Time changes direction, heading for it.

Twilight drops back next to Wild. “Sounds like a foalin. The missus is probably helpin the mare.” There’s an extra spring in his step; he’s excited to be here.

All of the Chain are, spreading out and roaming the grounds. Sky and Four break off from the group and head for the cucco shed, although Four splits for another shed. The rest follow Time.

Wild stops at the door of the barn, peaking around the entryway. Time leans over one side of a stall, talking to someone inside. His face is soft in a way Wild’s never seen before.

The champion takes a few more steps in until he sees the woman who must be Malon. Her hair holds the sharp red of the Gerudo and the dark tan of her skin hints at the lineage. She’s grinning up at her husband, but one hand still rests on the mare in labor.

It gives another grunt and she turns back to calm it, keeping an eye on the hooves starting to emerge. A moment later the foal is free, the birthing sac breaking. Malon is quick to wipe its nose of muck to make sure it can breathe. The wet sides heave and twitch and tiny hooves kick; the foal is alive.

“Hello, sugarcube,” she says and reaches out to press the pads of her fingers against its forehead. “Welcome to Lon Lon Ranch.” Magic wells and sinks into the foal’s fur.

Wild is frozen, unsure if his senses are lying to him. Abruptly, he unwinds and reaches out. Those not Claimed grimace and shift away, but it doesn’t matter. He has to know. What did Malon just do?

Malon crashes into Wild’s senses. Long grass, wet with early morning dew. The safety of a herd at rest. Colts kicking up their feet and fillies suckling from their mothers. The pounding of hooves against dirt. The great bellows of lungs expanding and contracting. Steam puffing in cold air. The snap of a tail to shoo away flies. The rolling hills of the land, supporting the creatures grazing above. The freedom to run, purely for joy.

“Malanya?”

“What?” Time snaps around to look at him, but Wild isn’t paying attention. He’s watching Malon.

She gives the foal a final pat as it works to stand and brushes hay off her skirt. Leaving the stall, she quickly scrubs her hands in a bucket of water and soap, then takes the towel Time hands her.

Then, and only then, does she fully stand and meet Wild’s gaze.

Oh. Not Malanya. But similar; enough that it throws Wild. She’s a balm to his senses, calm and quiet as a contented mare. There’s no raw energy that Fierce exudes, but the champion doesn’t mind. Malon feels like home. Not in the way the evening does, or his Hyrule, but on a warmer, more personal level. Family.

Malon steps forward with a smile. “You must be a new hero. I’m Malon.”

Wild takes a faltering step forward, then rocks back, still unsure. She opens her arms and it’s permission enough. He rushes forward and buries himself in her hug. “Oh, baby, you feel familiar. We haven’t met, but I think I’ve missed you.”

Read the rest here! And please let me know what you thought <3

[octomae]

okay i just saw the decipher.ink website, which is a site for translating the scripts in splatoon - it has all of the deciphered scripts as well as font files you can download??? i need to kiss somebody about it.

anyways, i saw this website and my worldbuilding brain gears started turning, SO, here's my personal headcanons about the (deciphered) splatoon scripts based on inkipedia + decipher.ink info. don't take these too seriously i didn't think too hard about it

Square Script - most commonly used script, this is probably a common-tongue script (if not that, maybe the inklish alphabet)

-

Bold Script - Used for advertisements; clothes, weapons, and the back of amiibo boxes. This is probably an urchin script or a common-tongue script

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Round Script - appears on buildings and signs; probably a jellyfish script or a common-tongue script

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Sign Script - most commonly seen on signs, but wasn't able to be deciphered fully until splat3's world premiere; a common-tongue script mostly used in the splatlands.

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Bubble Script - most commonly used to transcribe spoken inkling, so... inklish IPA? there are a TON of overlapping characters. might just be the inklish alphabet.

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Runic Script - sunken scroll script; octarian alphabet relative to octo valley

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Serif Script - sunken scroll script; octarian alphabet relative to octo canyon

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Halfmoon Script - deepsea metro. the alphabet the denizens of the deep use.

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Alterna Script - the last human alphabet.

[p0ssumkingdom]

ok heres my argument on why copperhead should be used for dirk x caliborn instead of dirkuu.

so we all know that name mashing is stupid and dumb. there are some good ones like katnep and rosemary but in general mixing the names of two characters, while making it reecognizable, is boring. dirkuu is the worst example of this, the names arent even mashed, and for some reason it uses caliborn's chumhandle initials?? when i see "dirkuu", i dont think of dirk x caliborn, i think of how stupid a name that is. if you wanted people to know what youre talking about, why not just say calidirk?? dumby

ANYWAYS... copperhead is a much better name for dirk and caliborn's relationship in a number of ways. first and foremost, a copperhead is a type of snake (in reference to caliborn) and copper is a shade of orange (dirk). beyond that, copperheads are native to and abundant in texas, and prefer semi-aquatic environment, which lines up with dirk living atop of the sunken city of houston texas. copperheads are also venomous and reclusive, both being traits of caliborn and his older amalgam self.

the cherry on top of the sundae is that the denizen of both caliborn and dirk just so happens to be a giant, copper-headed snake, pictured below.

boom. mic drop. yup. that just happened.

[dragoncarrion]

kimmie who's shrikeshed :) ?

AHAAAokay i really like her she's just a micro revival of my edgy teenager phase. this one will get a bit long so under the cut. also uhm. cw for mentions of cannibalism LOL she's my "I'm eating you because I hate you" gal

a little context here. ive been working on this wof fanflight (ashwings. basically like a little dragon subspecies or something) for a few years now, and shrikeshred is one of those, a moor runner specifically. ashwings all live in quivers which are way smaller than the canon kingdoms, each with their own rules and (most common) type of dragon yadda yadda. shrikeshred is the corvus of her quiver, a practical and almost religious leadership role in the moors. what a corvus does is oversee wyvern rearing in the community (here they use wyverns (smaller 2 wing 2 leg feral dragons) for falconry and as companions), officiate burials and influence which leader is next in line, so as such they're vital and very respected in their quiver.

shrikeshred had an almost uncanny TALENT with wyverns, and pioneered training methods and even discovered many novel things about wyverns (ecology, anatomy, etc), all of these things written in her journal-esque book, later on titled "way of the shrike". This is what she WOULD'VE been most known for had she not turned to cannibalizing other denizens. She became a sort of legend boogey man, both for her actions, and because no one really knows exactly what happened, why she turned on her kin and started just eating them. Some believe that lean times put pressure on her, and with Grasshopper, the accipiter (title for the leader) of that time being very incompetent, was what made her snap. While this isn't too far form reality, other things factored in. At first she only ate from already dead dragons, she was so hungry after all :p (this is the reason why corvus werent allowed at funerals for a while lol). but soon, that wasn't enough, something told her she needed more (the something here being a prion rabies disease that she got from eating people and slowly incubated over time lmao). half eaten bodies were starting to be found around the territory, but no one had a clue of what was going on. Shrikeshred was highly respected, so no one suspected her for a while. Hiding her scent with strong oils and perfumes also helped cover her tracks. After killing and eating Grasshopper, her sister, Whistlethorn, got the leadership, something Shrikeshred herself had orchestrated from loooong before. Whistlethorn was NOTTTT leader material: shy, nervous and weak willed, which allowed Shrikeshred to have even more control over the quiver than before. But whistlethorn trusted her, so this seemed alright with her kinda.

soon enough, hunger and illness turned to desperation, and her intellect couldn't keep her crimes hidden anymore. at this point, the disease had almost completely taken over shrikeshred's brain, turning her actions erratic and impulsive. after being found out, she vanished into the Misty Spires, a presumably haunted place sunken in a permanent fog (moor runners believe this fog to be evil or some shit idk). There was a short period of peace, but everyone was still on edge, which turned to outright panic when bodies started turning up again, all impaled in a signature stake (like shrikes do irl!). Whistlethorn was torn (hah), how could the sister she had trusted so much have turned like this? as much as she hated it, she missed shrikeshred, but something had to be done about her. One day, she packed some things up, and left for the spires. No one knows if she succeeded or if she was just another of Shrikeshred's meals, but what's sure is that both of them vanished and were never seen again.

To this day, many still believe Shrikeshred's ireful spirit lurks the spires, and prowls around in search for new victims when the fog descends into the moors.

alsooo i have drawn them ! here's the sisters (whistlethorn's tail tip is broken from playfighting with shrike when they were kids lol. i forgot to mention both of them but especially shrike are WAY bigger and stronger than the average skinny ass moor runner)

and her three wyverns, all of them species considered untameable, so no one has managed to train one besides her ever

[foxgirlbeans]

A Ninja's Guide to Eorzea: Part 2

Welcome back, warriors of light! if you missed part 1, this is a series where I'm taking a look at every dungeon in FFXIV and grading them based on how amenable they are to the ninja's oft-overlooked ability Hide. that's right, it's not just a mudra refresh button! sometimes...

today we're finishing up the leveling dungeons in A Realm Reborn, and then if we keep going at 6 dungeons a part we'll spend the next three parts on level 50 dungeons. dear god does ARR have a lot of endgame content.

The Sunken Temple of Qarn

just like part one, we're starting off really strong once again. the only enemy in this dugeon you can't sneak past are the giant stone heads you use to weigh down pressure plates, and you have to fight a few of those to get them on their buttons at all. this dungeon feels more roguish than ninjalike what with stealing ancient artifacts and treasure and all that, but grabbing those artifacts without any dungeon denizens noticing still makes this dungeon more fun than it would be by just hitting Hide and autowalking to the next boss.

you can even complete the scale in the final room without triggering any enemies if you time things just right, which I was honestly surprised by. I'm giving this one an A.

Cutter's Cry

the first two rooms in this dungeon are basically arenas, so the sneaking starts a little late on this one. that being said, the (pray return to the) waking sands and the exploding blue flames in the dry sands and blue sands areas respectively make it a challenge to keep your stealth up as you move between bosses, so it's still just as fun to avoid fights as it is to get into them.

that being said, I do have to take points off here for not being very ninja at all, as well as for the wet sands areas. you can sneak through the wet sands perfectly fine, don't get me wrong, but it's just as easy to run through the place and grab a teleporter before the mobs catch up to you, so sneaking only really slows you down here. still, 2/3s of the dungeon are good, so B-.

The Stone Vigil

this dungeon has almost no checks between bosses so I was super looking forward to this one, but it immediately disappointed me. the dravanian outriders that appear in almost every pull can see through stealth, which given that they're scouts at least kind of makes sense? but between them and the ambushes of ice sprites, there's a grand total of two fights in this dungeon you can avoid through stealth.

technically you're sneaking through an enemy base and attacking their commanders, but most of FFXIV doesn't really make dragons feel sapient, so it really doesn't feel like it. that, plus Hide having almost no effect here, gives the Stone Vigil a D+.

The Dzemael Darkhold

speaking of expectations being turned on their head, here's that again but in the exact opposite direction. I did not think the darkhold could be stealthed all that well, but I was completely wrong once again.

what you would think would be the biggest problem- the timers you have to stand on to progress- actually aren't a huge deal, and like the pulleys in Halatali, these provide an extra fun challenge for anyone trying to avoid a fight.

the first few timers are complicated by the first boss of the dungeon flying around dealing massive AoEs of damage everywhere, but I'm fairly confident at least one of the two timers can be finished without a fight if you time it properly.

the second leg of the dungeon introduces exploding crystals that deal damage in an area around them, but they're slow enough to easily dodge without issue.

the third leg combines the two, forcing you to stay inside the crystals' area of effect in order to finish the timer. you'd think this would be a problem, but again you can time these so you're only revealed while everyone's back is turned, and then you can sneak away after the timer is finished. just be careful to avoid moving until you're properly hidden- I made that mistake before.

I'm not entirely sure what a "Darkhold" even is, but you are sneaking onto a rich family's property so that's roguish enough for my book. all in all, I give this dungeon a B+.

The Aurum Vale

like in Cutter's Cry, the acid pools and gas vents of the Aurum Vale make avoiding fights just as interesting as charging in headfirst, which is a good sign of things to come. the first boss can be reached without incident, as long as you don't get knocked into a pool of goldbile, and after that you'll have to contend with Morbols which can see through your Hide. that being said, in all cases they block your path forward anyway, so fighting them is a forgone conclusion.

this dungeon does not fit the ninja aesthetic at all, but it has easily the shortest runtime so far at less than five minutes even while sneaking the whole way. that alone gives it an A- as an invaluable asset to have while relic grinding.

The Wanderer's Palace

this is the first level 50 dungeon on the list, and if the rest are even half as bad as this I completely understand why people think Hide straight up doesn't work in dungeons. there's a couple ambush fights in this dungeon which aren't new, but the sheer breadth of creatures that can see through your stealth- Pug Pugils, Corrupted Nymians, and Tonberries (in the tonberry dungeon)- means there's a grand total of two fights you can skip throughout the whole thing- one of which still needs you to pull a lever in the middle of all the enemies, and the other can be spoiled if you're standing in the middle of it when an ambush starts.

all in all, sneak adds almost nothing to this dungeon aside from letting you ignore those giant tonberries that patrol certain areas, which really just raises even more questions! that being said, you are technically infiltrating a castle to free an oppressed peoples from their tyrannical king, even if it doesn't feel like it. D+.

[fandom-princeling8]

The old preist

I know this isn't what I usually post and it will probably rub some people up the wrong way but I'm really proud of this and felt like sharing so here you go😁

The old priest,

His back was hunched, as though the weight of the world was bearing down on him, his spine crumbling under the pressure, but was it really the world that was weighing him down or was it the weight of the guilt, the knowledge of the atrocities committed in the name of his God, his religion; the fairytale lie he'd dedicated his life to preach, the creeping black poison he'd eagerly had his hand in spreading. 

There's a tremor in his crooked hands that worsens with each passing day, he's old, and he's terrified; he knows what he's done, what his preachings have abetted and he can only imagine what's coming for him when he departs this mortal coil. 

His eyes are dark and sunken, weary from a life spent selling a fiction as though it was the only truth the world's ever known all the while sweeping the horrors that manifest in its shadow under the carpet of deception so carefully woven by his predecessors. 

The skin on his hands, his face, its thin and wrinkled like overused tissue paper and it clings to his bones with slowly slipping fingers, fighting a losing battle against the unrelenting force of gravity; or perhaps it's not gravity at all perhaps it's just the creeping tendrils of hells cruel depths trying to take back their own, if that's the case, hells winning. 

His jaw is weak and twisted he can't quite shut it all the way now, the muscles have been corrupted by the toxic lies he spouts so freely and his teeth, hiding behind thin, pale lips are gappy and worn they're almost pointed now, more like fangs than normal teeth; it seems his ‘faith’ got to them too. 

The clothes he wears are ill fitted and unflattering, the hem almost dragging on the floor; he tells people, himself even, that it's just the proper dress of his position. But is it really or is it to hide his twisted frame from the public eye? Is the length to hide a devil's tail? And is the hunch in his shoulders the result of an old man's bent spine or is that the shape of demons wings sprouting from his back?

He walks with a slow shuffling gait, struggling to lift his feet and maybe it's not because of his age or his weakening muscles, maybe it's the weight of the denizens trying to pull him down to hell, trying to claim back their own. His time here is almost up, he's done his job so well; spreading the creeping sickness of religion, doing his part to broaden the bloody stain it's left on humanity.

His times almost up and heaven won't take him, that's just a fairytale made up by cruel minds to make the masses do their bidding. And even if it wasn't, they wouldn't let him in.

[helluvaxhazbin]

@razzamachazz

She couldn't believe she was doing this. Just how far down had she sunken to need attention and affection from the lower class denizens hell had to offer? Oh fuck it. She really needed this. To just have fun for once and be paid attention to in a more positive light. "You there shark. Hurry up and buy me a drink already." Hopefully her beauty would be enough to make up for her rather rude introduction.

[hutiapendra]

habitat icons

[once-was-muses]

@judgcmcnt | Misc. Asks

It seems like someone has come back for seconds...

A rumbling growl sounds from the Executioner before he slams Talbot against the wall, looming over him with a tilt of his head. His grip tightens slightly, cutting off precious oxygen, and then loosens once more. The iron jaws open with another rumble as his tongue slips out, curling in front of the other's face for a moment.

Pyramid Head slowly licks up the side of Talbot’s face, a deeper noise bubbling in his throat afterwards, and his tongue returns to his mouth.

Don't think he doesn't know what you felt from your last meeting, alchemist. The stench of shame and desire is unmistakable to him.

Attacked yet again, cornered like easy prey- only this time there's no warning, not that he could detect at least. Of all denizens of the Fog, Talbot is perhaps most aware of the dangers in venturing between realms, and as such he keeps himself on high alert. At least, as much as his wavering lucidity allows. But, he's beginning to suspect, no amount of self-awareness could keep Him from the element of surprise. Regardless of sheer physical size, He seems to move more like haunted air than anything of flesh and muscle. And yet, once more snared within that iron grasp, it's very obvious that He is very real.

Talbot’s morbid curiously would be much stronger if not dampened by the torrent of other sensations roiling in his dried up veins.

Loudest is, of course, the fear.

Until that monstrous tongue leisurely licks up the side of his misshapen skull, no doubt toying with him, tasting the multi-layered shame now commanding the foreground of his emotions.

But the undercurrent he struggles not to acknowledge is ever present all the same.

Claws reach forward, this time digging into the heavy, bloodstained apron- the only thing draped over the solid, broad chest. Talbot can feel the almost subsonic vibrations within- is it amusement? Predatory hunger? God forbid, both?- and squeezes his sunken eyes shut. There's nothing he can do, after all. Maybe he's too resigned to the idea. It doesn't matter, he won't think on it- can't. Won't.

The responses of his own body are just that. Involuntary responses. They mean nothing.

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 8 Ep. 76: A Trek to the Temple

Early the next morning after the couples made up, August hit to the marketplace as it was opening, and got first crack at the day’s supplies for sale.

He stocked up on a large assortment of survivalist gear in the hopes that today they’d be better prepared for the inevitable surprises and denizens of the jungle. He told the others all about the new gear over Peachy and Jack’s delicious homemade breakfast.

---------------------------------------------

A light rain was falling by the time they were all dressed and ready to leave but they weren’t going to let that stop them!

Throwing on their trusty raincoats they headed out into the undergrowth, quickly bypassing the previously cleared archways. Eventually finding their way blocked again Jack took charge of cutting through the thick foliage, opening up a path deeper into the depths.

Scouting ahead of the others he stumbled upon a campsite very similar to the one August had described finding. In no need of supplies this day he decided to steer clear to avoid disturbing whatever creatures were surely sleeping within.

---------------------------------------------

It was a good thing Jack had chosen to keep his distance, as this encampment’s hidden inhabitant turned out not to be a creepy crawly, but a wild-eyed sim, who chased him through the overgrown paths while raving unnervingly.

He barely managed to evade the madman and was grateful to have Peachy’s arms to fall into once the others finally joined him.

---------------------------------------------

The group eventually found themselves before an ornate gateway flanked by fascinating carved totems that the amateur archeologists eagerly sketched.

Behind a final thorny blockade, a half sunken temple loomed, radiating the promise of grand treasure (and great danger).

They all paused to see if they were really willing to brave one of the secret hearts of Selvadorada culture. Working together they decided they could withstand any defenses the ancient temple might still harbor, so Jack once again took charge of cutting through the underbrush as the others carefully studied the ornately decorated walls for further clues about the huge building and the culture that had built it.

Picking their way carefully down a shady stairway, they looked around in wonder, mentally preparing themselves for a long, interesting, day ahead.

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Want To See More? View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[cwarscars]

@gcldfanged liked for a starter

his heart had finally given out - caved to the pressure of wounds, old and new. amazingly beaten again despite nothing worth living for. his daughters wouldn't want to know him anymore, every other love long gone.

the man once known as the general is now known as nothing more than a criminal. a ghost of the past that haunts the denizens of midgar.

like a demon, he'd lurked the shadows - searched for reason in a world, otherwise lacking. to come across the former-turk had been entirely by chance. to somehow be granted more than a second of his time? a blessing.

"j-jae-" he speaks, his head lowered - eyes sunken amidst the black bags surrounding them. his clothing is a ragged coat, black like the night - a shirt and pants as if no longer a man of war, but rather a man attending its funeral. with more streaks grey than dark, he's aged. old scars worn with wrinkles. "...i've nothing else. nothing else to offer but-" a long sigh, a shift of eyes around the room. the old don would be jealous. "myself. my skillset."

so, he no longer commands an army - heidegger is an army.

[grim-faux]

3 _ 36 _ An Apprenticeship in Dours

First - An Echo Rebounds Through the Silent City

Through the endless curtains of rain, always and ever present, the Signal Beacon blazed across the city landscape uncontested. It served as a peculiar focus point for the Thin Man as he stood on the abandoned balcony, observing the twinkling lure for the denizens of Pale City. Far below and near obscured by the sweeping blanket, those who once gazed upon the beacon light, kept that eerie ‘stare’ fixated on the balcony ledge high above them - adoring and oblivious, like bloated bodies suspended beneath the murky depths of a brackish pool.

He glimpsed the creaking figures lined at the roof edge, soldiers prepared to dissipate for a glean of euphoria. If not for how sunken the roof was and how high the edges had become to corral them in, preventing their trespass, their presence would be no more. They seemed content to wait, at least until the source of their fascination meandered off to address some new location. Who knew, there may have been no unobstructed level of the roof which would permit their abrupt release, not while they appeared corralled like the rabid beasts. The idea was not optimistic, after all a broken body could not wander. For as long as the citizens persisted to shuffle around, the threat endured, and he did not know of how they came to be trapped upon the rooftop.

With a puff from the cigarette, the Thin Man retreated back into the warren of the building. He navigated out of the derelict room with the slanted floors, to pass through a leaky corridor and glitter into a detached dwelling, with a more stable terrain where the walls did not murmur throes of agony.

It was perhaps cowardice that balked him from completing his task. Same as his aimless wandering of the city, and only sporadic bouts of trailing the correct direction – it was impossible to miss the croon of the Signal Tower – it never shut up. As well the boy – not the fact he could not ever shut up, but the child shared that streak of craven gutless when the world overwhelmed him. The child could never handle a little betrayal. Prospects upon his agency and eventuals aside, he did not care to deliberate on what he suspected to gain from this sport. He excused his withdrawal, though this time he had come close to approaching that wall. It never made a different which side of the Tower he arrived to, the doors always greeted the child from the streets.

Whatever might entail or the finality of the conclusions he so despised, the Child would regrettably find his place in the world, with or without him present. Who could possibly be waiting when the door next opened? The man in the hat existed perpetually, as the comical law of this drama demanded, the boy had to return to that place and carry on the current cycle. Then perish or not (the next Mono likely would not have patience), he will arrive onto himself and realize all along the cycle was immutable.

What has been shall always....

The Thin Man smirked, and took his seat at the desk flooded by notes and books. He moved aside stacks of pages hatched to pieces with his rapid strokes, and sought where he last left off and that derailed train of thought. He wondered what that boy would think when finally presented with his new reflection. What would the child think when he looked into the black pool of a television screen, and saw only the man in the hat observing his shock? A shame he would miss that – though he-himself had already contended with that reflection, long-long ago. And he did not enjoy recalling the incident.

He took the bottle from the table corner and filled the small shot glass. After he set the bottle aside, he lifted the glass alongside with the page it had been sitting atop. There was his stopping point. A rambling speculation based on the proximity of the Tower to the roads and rooftops, and where the Viewers always found themselves gawking into the sky like drowned vultures. Denizens of the Signal were captivated by the call, yet not the light or its flashing beacon. Naturally, they flocked to the source of the signal – televisions, certain... children.

This was a no brainer. Even the boy was keen to this hostility adoration? the Viewers expressed when his presence was detected. Though the question was, did the child understand that it was his connection to the transmission which compelled the Viewers? Hmm… the Thin Man had not pondered on this, he had only presumed the boy would know. Though that gave the child’s awareness generous leeway.

He drained the cup, then set to work organizing the scrapes of pages he had carved with rich layers of interpretations. It sufficed in place of progress and the research he so sought, but had yet to quench with anything credible. He settled to archive everything he was currently wise of to the Tower’s properties and mischief, despite possible inaccurate patches of his own memory. He only held speculation, ideas, a theory or two – and nothing substantiating.

He had only seen the Tower’s guts, and lived within the walls comprised of flesh for (possibly) centuries, even if discounting the other Thin Man and the long lineage of successors. Yet, he knew no more than what that boy did. Frustrating behemoth. At this rate, it might be possible She knew more than them both. Now There was a thought.

Why did the Tower – the Flesh – affect Her in such a way (not that he was complaining), it pique his curiosity. Was there some secret to Six, to Her own eventuals? Or was it perchance a common side effect all children (himself excluded) suffered, when brought within the walls. He never saw the consequences of the ‘friends’ he brought into the sanctuary, nor did he care. They were all the same, all of them like t̶̳̃h̶̼̀a̴̲͒t̵͚͒ ̷̡̍Ġ̸͖i̶̳̚r̴͈̈l̷̩̓. Abandoned him at the first opportunity they saw, and then reaped the disaster of that ill begot scheme wrought.

In any case, it would be ironic if some unique unknown contributed to Six's metamorphosis. It was just another malicious machination to tack from his doomed destiny.

Isolated in this apartment and barred distractions, he worked industriously on polishing his notes and rewriting paragraphs, illustrating a hypothetical picture in a dead language. The Eyes. The rolling waves of Flesh. The Tower housed all horrors – himself included. He carried some portentous ripple of pride with the notion – the world doomed and decayed, all on his whim. Indeed, he was a coward, but even he deserved retribution for all the cruelty the world subjected him to.

The glimmering light above the table poured out a blistering sheen, while the door across from his station became dark and deep. Outside somewhere, a monolith toppled beneath the last tap of rain, the agonized howl rattled through the narrowed walls of the room where the Thin Man scribbled away, dismissive of such theatrics. The world crumbled, the buildings wailed, the Flesh crammed into its Tower sniggered about the phantom that slipped away.

Ȋ̸̜̲̠̚T̴̗͚̰͊̾̕

̴̪͓̅

̵͈͘

̶̧̝̼́̍͌Ḓ̶̛̠̊̃E̴͓̿̎̑M̴̨̓͐A̵̹̬̓͗̾N̶̻̪̈D̷͈̩̭̃̃͐

̶̨̳̋

̶̤̗̒̉͘

̵͙̮͑̾͝Ẃ̴̠̩͑Ḥ̴͓͌͗Â̴̫̽Ṱ̴̇̈́

̷͖͇̯͐͂̽

̵̧͕̿̏͜͝B̴̥͓̊É̵̗̺

̶̡͖̺͂̈̈́

̶̭͚̎͑́Ś̸̛͚H̵̲̲͎̿̇̾A̶̛͉̫͝Ḽ̵̫̊͂L̴̳̰̋̌̿

̵̘͌͑͐

̷̳̦̂̓B̶̹͒͝R̶̞̬̱̀̑Õ̸͔A̴̠͕͍̐̃D̸̫̍C̵͉͕͋͝A̶̫̳̣͝S̷̗͙̐͐̈́T̷̪̦̞̿E̶̥̣̝̓̚͝R̵̡͝

̷̹̃̕

̶̞͗̂A̷͖͈̪̅̉͝L̶̘͍̿͝ͅW̵̟͆̏͑A̸̤͋Y̶͇̠̪̎S̴̪̼̝̋̄

̷̮̤̽͋

̴͇̎́͠Ẏ̸̢̗͓̏̊Ö̶͍̣̈́̃Ṷ̸͕͈̃͘R̶̢͒͗ ̶̼̗̳̈̄S̸̳̉U̸͈̱͘C̴̢̝̀Ć̴̠̞̞͆E̴̦̘̞̾̒̅S̴̭̄̎S̴̟̘̮͛Õ̴̺̦̤̿̒Ř̸̛̹̉

A distant clatter inspired a drawn-out sigh from the man in the hat. He tried to refill the small glass sitting on the tabletop, but found not a drop remained in the bottle. Once relived of his grip, the bottle rolled enthusiastically off the edge of the table and much like a Viewer, joined the glitter of colorful pieces dashed across the floor at his shoes.

“A̴̧͊l̷̝̍a̸̰̍ș̵̛.̵͎́ ̶͚́ Ḯ̶̜ ̴͇̅ H̸͕̎a̶̦̍v̸̘́é̵̖ ̴̯̌ F̶͉̚ŏ̷͉r̵̡̆g̷̬̈́o̸̙̽t̴̖͆t̶̬͋è̶̬n̸̹̋ ̸̽͜ T̵͚̐h̷̫͑a̴̬̅t̴͈̀  ̴̤̐Ȁ̵̻ ̷͍̈́ S̷͎̈́p̵͍͠a̸̰̒ŕ̸͕e̵͖͌  ̵̗͊M̷͖͠ő̵̦m̴͖̈́e̴̼͝n̶̩͠ţ̴̈́ ̴̻͝  T̶͕̅ǫ̶̋ ̶͔͊ M̸͚̈́y̸̙͌s̷͖͒e̸͍͘l̴̮̍f̷̜̕ ̵̲̆ W̵̳̄a̶̦͆s̵͇̈ ̸̮͂ Ņ̸͝o̵͉͝t̷̨̏ ̷̓ͅ Ä̴̠́l̵͓̓l̴͕̑o̷̳͘w̵̻̉è̴̙d̵̅͜.̴̟̆” He plucked up the small glass, but gave it a bemused stare when he realized it was still empty. Revoked from dulling his ‘senses’, he pushed back from the table and departed the chair.

The Thin Man did glimmer and pulse between the corridors, each bulb in close proximity flashed and sputtered with his intrusion. Until he reached the kitchen, where the scamp was likely to have nested. The only light was a timid lamp, laying on the floor in the corner of the room, where a desk or spare drawer had collapsed. The cast sheen formed many weedy blades across the floor, each swaying as if aflame.

Groaning, the Thin Man rubbed his temple. “Ṭ̴̾ô̶̺ ̴͎̒ W̶͖̾ȟ̷̻ä̶͙́ṭ̷̇  ̴͇̒D̵̰͂o̴̡͠ ̸̛͉ I̸͝ͅ ̷͖̀ Ò̸̦w̸̤̋e̶̺͂ ̸̧̇ T̶̲͗h̷̝͒ě̶̢ ̷̩͝ M̸̫͂i̴̟͠s̷̟͆f̶̡̐o̷̩̕r̶̹͝t̵͚͋ù̷͎ǹ̷̦e̷̱̅ ̷̡͝ O̴͈̚f̶͚̽ ̸̣́ Ỹ̵̻o̵̥̽ǘ̴̝r̵̛̗  ̴͓͒I̷̖͆n̸̞̄t̴̤̑r̶̉ͅu̴͈͂ṡ̸̺i̸͝ͅo̷̬͊n̴̯͝?̴͜͝” Shockingly, the child did not reveal himself. However, one door of the lowest cupboards did creak inconspicuously.

The Thin Man plucked a cigarette from his coat, and then approached the incriminating door – barely hanging by a breeze. When he tapped the edge of the cupboard with his shoe, it thudded to the floor causing several shades of bugs to scatter.

“I will divulge to you that M̴̩̅y̴̧͊ ̷̨͝  P̷̙͝a̵̧͂t̴̥̒ì̵̭ë̵̖́n̴̢͌c̶̠͒e̶̺͘ expired L̴̦̄o̷̱͝n̵̟̉g̶̭̈́  ̷̛͈B̸̩̌é̸̙f̸̨̈́o̸̩̒r̵̗̈́ę̸͊ you opened T̸̖̈h̵̘̋a̴͙͐t̷̛͎ ̴̭͆ D̷̖͝o̶̪͛ö̸͖ṛ̶͗. On your behalf, Í̶ͅ ̵̗͐ H̷͖̊ą̴͝v̶̩̈́e̸̹͒ ̴̛̞ D̷̼̒i̸̦͆s̸̨̑p̸̭͌ḽ̸̕a̷̖͑ỷ̸̖e̷͔̊d̴̩̒ a wealth of R̸̰̀è̵̠s̷̳̈t̸̘̾r̸̥̚a̷͎̅i̵̞̾ṅ̶͇t̵̰̚.̶̫͐” Rather await a response – or an attack on his shoe – he knelt down to peer within the musty depths of the cabinets passage. Unsurprising still, no sign of the child – not even a tattered swaddle of cloth scraps or shredded plush beast. This boy… really tested him.

Sighing through a thick bank of smoke, he went to work fumbling for cabinet doors and hauling them open, peering into the dank interior cluttered with sunken cardboard or heaps of pots and pans. True to his nature, the child fumbled in a drafty fashion among the petrified clutter, giving only a chink or creak and there, where his weight bore down wrong. All the same, he knew the child was present despite the boy’s expert skill of erasing his sound as with his presence. If he knew no better, the Thin Man might mistaken the whisper of cloth for the usual howl of gale crashing into the shattered windows.

“M̴̼͠y̵͍̓ ̸̟̑ T̴̠̀i̶̼̊m̵͖̍ê̷͇ ̵̹̎ I̷̻̽s̴͙̾ ̵̬̈́ B̵̖̑è̵̜t̸̼͛t̷̺̂e̶̺̽r̵̨̀ ̶͇̈ S̴͈͋ṷ̴̊í̸ͅt̶͌ͅē̸̟d̵̫͝ ̸̰̅ F̴͍̀ȏ̷̮ŗ̸̍ ̷̺̿ O̴͚̐t̶̩̚h̸͓͊ė̸̦r̷̦̐ ̸̳̅ Ţ̸́a̵̠̽s̶̻̃k̴̯̈́s̶̺̅.̴̱̉” He kicked one of the kitchen chairs aside, so it smashed into the ovens broken window. “M̸͔̓y̵̲̽ ̶̝̀ P̵̘̚r̸͔̉e̴̪̅o̷̹͛c̷̛͇c̵̦̒u̸̕͜ṗ̸ͅȁ̴̼t̴̛̩ḭ̸͊õ̷͓n̵̜̽s̷̞̐ ̶͕͂ Â̷̢r̴̛̬e̶̍͜ ̶̹̏ B̵̮͒e̸͔̊y̷͕͆ȍ̷̡n̶̖̋ď̴͍ ̸͔͠ S̴͘͜a̸̫̒n̷̞͑i̵̳͆t̴̙͌i̶͕͠ê̷̲s̸̯͑ ̷̬̃ Ć̴̻ỏ̶̗m̵͉̽p̵͙̊r̷̭͐ë̵̼h̸̝͐e̸̮͝n̴̥̂s̸̝̋i̶̞̒ö̸̢́ń̸͎.̵͑͜” He stepped out of the kitchen, barely glittering after the flash of clothing that vanished into the nearest corridor.

In truth, he his goal had been another bottle of something strong. One of the rooms came fitted with a few arm chairs, a decomposing desk, and a squat cabinet shaped in the same sense of a nightstand. It had made the place worth visiting and spending time filling his pages and reviewing books – though none ever enlightened him, some tomes did manage to inspire a recount of memoires of the Tower itself. Now that the brat had discovered him, and the supplies had gone dry, he debated on a relocation.

He ducked into one of the second rooms in the hall, the bulbs pulsed against his presence and succeeded at pestering the faint pinching between his eyes. After taking a faint draw on his cigarette, he pushed at the aggravated spot, then, gave the room a idle glimpse. At least it was quiet, and suitably empty but for a toppled table over beside one wall. He was about to inspect the spare vertical drawer in the furthest corner, but his focus snapped to the hint of movement under the table. A poor hiding choice.

The Thin Man was already knelt and reaching under the broken table, when he stalled. Recognition broke over his awareness abrupt and painful. Three things occurred to him simultaneously.

This scenario was very reminiscent of dark and distant time, almost unrecognizable in his present state.

The child had a multilingual presence of horror and dread in his eyes, uncharacteristic of his constant scowling and wrinkling nose.

And also, he was certain without a shred of doubt, this was not his child. Almost… without a shred of doubt.

Massive, saucer eyes gaped at him in a comical fashion, but never wavered or twitched. Nothing concealed the tiny figure but for tatters of cloth, shadow, a mound of newspaper – not enough for hiding, not unless the Thin Man had not been so keen on the pursuit. Neither he nor this other child moved, he did not believe it was even breathing. Despite the proximity of his hand, the other child had not budged. Terrified beyond comprehension. At the same time, it occurred to the Thin Man that he had certain duties to perform.

Duties he once faithfully upheld, until he was afforded the dreadful axiom of his existence and destiny. He could almost recall the sensation of snatching a child out from under a table, tear H̸͍̟̩̊͝ẻ̷̻̕r̵̨̬̈́̊ from the moorings of reality and whisked her to the Tower.

The Thin Man gave his head a shake. This was not T̵̘̳͛͒͆͜h̸̰̰̾̎a̸̛̠͂̕t̴̡̢̳͌͊̽ ̴̡͐̀̐ G̶̼̣̓͛ị̸͕̳̈r̵̈̾̏ͅl̴̳̟͗̂. This was some other random child, another idiotic nuisance that could not even flee, let alone hide proper.

Shaking from his stupor, the Thin Man exhaled a puff of smoke and reached under the table for the miscreant.

“Lì yaecun!”

The sound more than the rhythm startled him enough that he twisted his head around, only to be met with sparks and whirling confusion. By the time awareness restored to a manageable degree – alongside his scattered dignity – he came to terms with the fact he was lying against the floor, like a moth chewed carpet; limbs sprawled at his sides, and his vision still popping with embers and colorful ribbons that agonized his goopy thoughts. He had to make up something to drag up some sense of what occurred – the thundering steps fading away, afforded a hint.

Something barked at him. When he turned, his face aligned spectacularly with something unpleasant and stiff, like a chair. Of course, it would have to be a chair, of all things in nature and irony.

The static burned at the bulbs spared in the room, each popped and ruptured if only to soothe him with blissful mute black. It took a minute more to organize his head and shape, and glimmer into an appropriate stance. He gave his back a stretch and cracked his neck – even if he did not need to. With a flash of his coat and a shiver of sparks, he marched out of the room, the spare child long forgotten.

Rocketing steps bounded into the distance, departing the corridor and stampeding elsewhere. It was peculiar of a Viewer or any other terror the city produced, to be racing away from him, reputation aside; few creatures regarded him as anything but an enticing obstacle. Viewers especially. He knew nothing of what might warrant the assault, but he would damn assure this sort of offense would be the last. 

Placing himself into the entryway of the dwelling caused a pulse of color and sizzling chatter to work through his head, but he could still make out the clomp-stomping of boots somewhere - displaced and muffled by distance and physical barriers. The entry door led onto a winding catwalk, and a broken stairwell connected to the floors below, as with the upper levels ascending the interior of the buildings structure. The punching echo lunged upward, from somewhere far below, mingling with the hiss of rainwater and yowling creaking. He debated forcing the entire structure into a sloppy topple, but that would be excessive, and as well he was not in the mood to navigate his way out of such mayhem. He did that once already and he despised revisiting such a memory.

To begin, he gave time a halt and marched on his way. The noises of the gale and whimper of droplets faded as the echoes crowded the dimensions about him, all nearly smothered completely beneath the distortions on matter. Only the sharp tick-and-tap of his heels carried over the suppressed hymn as he proceeded, seeking the direction from where the distant rattle of boots rolled from. He supposed that the creature was restricted to the walkway and steps – the stairway was a distance away, but he skipped the trip and relocated in a sputtering crack in order to cut the aimless diversion of winding steps.

Children could be swift, but this stride was miles short of those taller and longer. He had dealt with a dozen or more Viewers, and always they caught him by surprise with their random assault out of nowhere. It did strike him unusual that he was searching out another adult willingly, but he did not take kindly to aggressors – not on his time, and especially not while his guard was preoccupied elsewhere.

Just as the lights in the corridor entrance flashed out, time restored its practical pace. And there ahead was the adult, not focused on him but fixated on the iron lattice of the gate. The noise rattled across the walls as the box cart filled the slot, and another grinding of metal commenced as the gate slide aside. With some help from the adult.

The elevator box was already descending by the time the Thin Man approached the doorway. With a mere thought, the grate scrunched up to the side in a disorganized fold of jagged metal and spears. This did not impede the cart squeaking below, at least not by much. He glared on the rusted cable rolling through a gleam of light. With a swipe of his hand, the metal coils blazed bright yellow and orange, then a moment after the cord frayed like cotton. A deafening stillness rolled through the claustrophobic chute when the last tether snapped, below the ledge his shoes perched upon, the box descended in a musty sigh. Aside from a clang and shriek further below in the cavernous darkness, no evidence of the whereabouts of the elevator emerged. Leaning over further, the Thin Man supposed it descended into the core of the Tower itself. Good riddance.

Satisfied with the task done, he began to shimmer and lean back. However, much to his irritation, he caught a glimmer of light not far below. An opening. As well, a shape flashing out of view.

In a sputtering flash, he appeared in the open passage with a flurry of sparks. He took a moment to gather his surroundings, and tuck a cigarette between his lips. He delayed lighting the tip in order to focus on slowing time and resume on the adults course.

The adult appeared clearly now in the fresh lights that had not caught a whiff of his presence. They moved quickly, arms tucked to their sides and holding a coat close to their form. This invader appeared dry, thus they must have been wandering in shelter for some while – a realization he did not care for.

How had he missed them lurking in his quarters? Why was this creature there? They were not a Denizen of the Signal.

Soon though. All gave into the crooning promises of release and comfort.

Time reasserted its common pace, which did not favor the adult in the slightest. The creature ran, but forwent checking doors or peeking through tattered walls, or ducking out of sight. At his casual pace, the Thin Man followed. He bided time as his powers reshuffled, and he determined how to distribute their use When the adult swung around a corner ahead, the Thin Man appeared at its heels. The other wore a shawl or wrap reminiscent of the Hunter, and through the fabric it rasped alongside the hefty blows of the wind across the windows. Rain lashed through the cracked window frames, the adult nearly lost its footing on the soaked floor panels.

No such hitch impeded the Thin Man. The only stall that mattered was when the other adult flung itself down a break in the floor and onto the lower level. Dragging time to his bidding, the Thin Man relocated in a flash of embers. The adult appeared to be running aground of wits and energy, it was stumbling over nonsense such as heaps of garbage and whatever else went discarded in the corridor.

When time sorted itself as before, the adult managed to duck out of his range by barreling through a bent doorway. A tall lamp beside one wall flashed and burst, but light cast from distant windows afforded vision to any that were not washed by the static. The Thin Man was almost intrigued when the creature found itself at a drop off, where a portion of the wall crumbled.

He does not bother to zip across the floor and arrive upon the cracked edge, not after the other adult leapt into oblivion. Tapping to the opening, he observed as the other creature plunged through the air with one, lone arm outstretched. The neighboring building wilted, banked hard and very close to the skyrise where the Thin Man remained and held vigil. It is odd to witness such a leap from an adult, though he does not ponder the risky conduct. He merely watched as the adult snagged the edge of a shattered window frame one armed. After first chucking something through the window, the adult was able to haul the rest of it up and over the slanted sill. Out of the rain and further from the abyss awaiting below

He will never be certain of the reason or lunacy working at the adult, but he waited until after it was fully and secure inside the warped and disjointed room. From within the murk and miles of rainfall, the other creature glanced back.

And then the Thin Man teleported into the room, beside the adult.

A wisp of soot smashed into the creature’s face before it could react. The room both villains occupied wailed with pained acknowledgments, the rickety space was already unstable with its current occupant, but when the Thin Man arrived and displaced the peculiar web of drafts that slithered among the suffering plywood, the floor disintegrated. Due to the sharp angle the building waned at, everything throughout the room and across the multitudes of levels was under duress. The jagged xylophone of paneling groaned beneath the wallop of a vortex, and the already traumatized boards rattled hard and heaved sideways. All surfaces from the walls to the ceiling and the floor, churned into a rabid frenzy of a raft crashing through whitecapped rapids, though the waves the adult was caught within was not liquid, it choked no less from the sour bellow of the howling building.

Parched furniture and coarse curtains reduced to greasy reeds, lashed across the frenzied piano keys drumming a wild crescendo. The violent plunge shuddered to a halt, but only for a brief moment, then, banked sharply to the side and sent the shorter adult rolling and staggering – it managed back onto its feet for another two seconds as the floor found equilibrium in the madness of powder and vaporized wood. In the turbulence it lost track of the tall-tall man in the hat.

The fatal glint of an eye appeared in a ribbon of static, before the Thin Man reformed completely. Before the floor had settled peacefully a fifth time, the adult wrenched around for the precursor of chattering static, but was too late, and stood not a chance either way.

The Thin Man stabilized the room, then took hold of the creatures face. Or what he presumed would be its face, if not for the swab of cloth fitted around its shoulders and body. He tried to take a puff on his cigarette, but only now realized he never lit it. Never mind. He passed all his attention onto the withering adult, whose skull fit snugly in his palm. A tight grin splint his face as he arched over the smaller adult,  his entire form blotting out what timid light occupied the corner high above his angular shoulder. The Thin Man was not enjoying this, but he could not help but feel gratified.

Usually the repulsive Viewers terrorized him in the steed of the boy. It was odd some mediocre adult would find some suicidal sport in harassing him out of the blue yonder. This would be—

A wail bellowed forth. Shortly after, something swatted at his shin. Again and again. And... again.

The persistent beating stole his attention off the creature – which clawed at his arm and chest, without success. With the creature much-much shorter than he was, it was not difficult to gaze past a bent elbow and search the floor. Then supply a frown to the small figure right beside his shoe. It took a moment to recognize the animated shape, along with the crooked 'tool' it wielded. Another whack, and another chocked hiss. Dumbfounded, he watched as the child struggled to raise the pipe once more, this time onto his ankle. This went on for at least three more times, the scoundrel trying with all its frail being to hack down his leg like some tree.

He kicked the child away before it could rally for assault number eight. During the faint recess, the adult had recovered some resolve and locked its fists into his collar. The Thin Man made to shrug it off and dispose the horrid brute, but his adversary had anchored his feet into the floor and heaved them both into a rigid pivot. Taken off-guard, the Thin Man did not get himself orientated and dissolved out of the situation – the other adult slammed down onto his chest when they both fell, the impact rebounding through the floor and causing another howl to rise forth.

At the same time, both spiraled across the floor when it sank to the other side. This time it was a struggle for the Thin Man to focus and restrain the entire floor from full on dissolution. He caught himself on his hands and knee, before he plowed into the wall or doorframe – he could not see where he was through the disturbance and thick mist of rain. Despite how tilted the floor remained, he managed to uncoil to his full height.

“Devi você corrur. Não fique. Fugir.”

It was habit to try and take a breath on the cigarette. The Thin Man tried to take a huff, and turn his head to the snarl that manifested from the adult. From where he stood further down the incline, it placed them nearly on eyelevel.

The adult brandished a table leg, from one of the multitudes of slaughtered furniture of the room. The pitiful armament was not his focus, but the man in the hat gazed a bit over the ragged shoulder and into a broken section of wall caved out by the violence.

That is where the other child had vanished off to, though not entirely. It huddled partially hidden by a jagged curve of the wall, eager to witness mortal combat. Or a massacre.

With an abrupt swipe of his hand, the other adult hurtled skyward and smashed into the bent floorboards peering down onto the carnage of the floor below.

The Thin Man glistened, and appeared a foot or more back. Far enough to allow the rabble of drywall and wood to splatter across the floor in a jumbled heap. The gutted upper rooms gushed downward - bent timber, chunks of chalk mingled with ripped paper, clothing from the former tenants, and a ravel of kitchen cupboards. While the gravely blanket enveloped the swells of mist, the Thin Man at last could light his cigarette. The silken trail he was awarded, mingled immediately with the caustic breeze.

It did not appear much of the adult would remain, not after how the floor croaked and the mound settled. Maybe a torso, and an arm. One less hazard lurking, perhaps trailing his trek. He did not need anomalies infringing on his infrequent spare moments of quiet.

By the Eye, the other child had not evacuated the scene after the Final Act.

The peculiar figure emerged from a curtain of soot, practically a piece of chalk carved from the crumbling drywall. It picked its way around the mass of destruction, poking at a chunk of wood here or a scrap of shirt there.

“I̶t̸ ̷I̴s̶ ̴O̷v̴e̶r̷.̶.̵͙͑”

The child froze at a remarkable close distance to his form and gawked up at him, those same saucer eyes glowing white against the bleak gray. Once the shock wore off, it did withdraw from his proximity by an inch. However, it had yet to abandon the space entirely, and instead persisted with intense watch. The chambers was less a room and more a dungeon of destruction, yet there could be no shortage of escapes. Children had a knack for locating some crevice to wriggle into, or creating a break in the floor to server as liberation. They had such ways of slipping away when it was most convenient.

Once the haze cleared further and he recuperated his wits in a more practical sense, the Thin Man took leave of the scene. Unbelievably, the child had not fled despite his presence, despite what he meant, despite the chaos unleashed. It might even still be there, even long after he flashed from the room - he would never know for certain. He could not know what the other child thought, with the muddy ravines glistening on its cheeks, and its eyes searching through layers of dust for something. As was with the fashion of all the children left over in this world, it was quite pathetic. The stray thought alit on his ruminations, his curiosities wondered how long it would linger beside the pile of ruble cooing, and what it hoped to gain with the pawing at splinters. Such mysteries may very well need no answer, just as it did not concern him for any extraordinary length.

Next

[ruki--mukami]

The sea spirit looked as though she was in a deep thought for a few moments, her head was tilted to the right as she eyed the vampire, he felt familiar for reasons that she couldn't explain, at least for now, and then, the spirit held her head up once more

"While I have not, in fact, seen any blade the way you explained it, perhaps it's sunken below. Come down below with me and perhaps we will be able to find you brothers missing item. Because for the time being, it is causing more pollution in my sea. "

The sea spirit explained before walking --or floating?-- closer to the vampire, and held out a hand, it was extremely pale, and yet it looked dry enough for him to hold..

"Terrestrial creatures, without solid ground, become simply... Helpless. Take my hand so I can guide you through."

Hey, jass, don't forget to rest, okay? I see that your blogs are almost always active! Don't forget to sleep!//

"Ah, that's unfortunate. Perhaps it really has sunken near the bottom after all, although I'm uncertain just how deep these waters go. Lucky I just so happen to be a decent swimmer," the Vampire smirked a bit, confident in his aquatic abilities after seldom moments of relaxation in the Mukami manor's pool. "And, about my breathing, there's no need to worry about that either."

Reluctantly he took a hold of the sea spirit's hand, perplexed at the surprisingly dry texture of her palm despite sharing a similar ashen complexion as himself.

"You seem to know this territory far better than myself, so I'll place my trust in you for the time being. I do hope that this search isn't for naught."

As they both descended into the vast blue, Ruki propelled himself in simple kicking motions, each swing of the leg met with minimal resistance from the cavernous currents. Light filters from above, shining through barriers of bubbles and other small creatures that may float about, minding their own business during the hunt for Azusa's lost knife. The whole time underwater, he kept a close eye on the surroundings, head swiveling back and forth for any metallic objects that stood out like a sore thumb.

"It must be here somewhere," Ruki thought, "I don't know what to expect from these denizens of the sea, but I suppose I'll find out soon enough just what her true colors are."