[open] a cat's the only cat that knows how to swing

[limbical]

WHO: Daan (limbical) & YOU!
WHAT: July catch-all. Event, non-event prompts, you know.
WHERE: A bank! A restaurant! Maybe the clinic!
WHEN: J-July
WARNINGS: Severe depression, alcoholism. CSA mention in the thread with Midnight, marked.



A. IN THE VAULT [event]

[With the possibility of a new place to explore reveals itself, it's only natural for the floodgates to open; there are plenty of people here, and Daan is but one of them, nosily investigating for any clues. Though typical as ever, there is nothing to reveal whatever secrets the city holds, or whoever their captors might be. No useful files, no names, nothing.

Then there are the keys.

Sorting through them is interesting at first, as he recognizes some of the names that they go to. They're names to people currently in the city. Which also means...

Yes. There is one for him too. Daan | Daniël is embossed on the tag, clearly indicating him. It's bothersome enough that the name he goes by mostly is there, but the other...

He scowls, plucks his key free without a word, and marches into the vault to find where it belongs. There are rows of safety deposit boxes, but finding the corresponding one isn't much effort at least. He opens it, and inside is a note. Something or other about sharing, which he pockets for now in case it does end up important. But the item inside...

How could he forget?

A little box is inside, which Daan delicately pulls out, his eye wide. His shoulders bunch, and he swiftly walks to a corner, as if he could steal the semblance of privacy. Lips quiver as he opens the box, revealing inside polished tools for sewing.

The sight of it almost seems to bring Daan pain and he shuts the box swiftly before he presses his forehead against the wall, shaking his head to himself. He always tries to keep his mind even and cool, even if it is a pretense, but it seems that this has successfully shaken him to his core. Absently, he whispers to himself:]

How the hell did they get this?

[And then the vault door slams shut, jolting him out of his thoughts.]


B. DRINKS ARE ON ME [post-vault]


[He couldn't rightfully call these his worst days. After all, Daan has lived through those; he's remarked that his time in this city so far has been more like a vacation in comparison, and frankly that is still true. However, that doesn't mean he isn't still miserable.

The weight of the little wooden box in his pocket indicates as such.

In one of the restaurants, Daan is behind the bar, mixing a drink for himself. By how much the whiskey bottle has been emptied certainly indicates how many he's had, but he isn't in the mood to stop. The bank and the dreams he's been cursed with both haunt him alike, along with everything else he's ever put up with, and he's had enough.

He almost misses the Pocketcat's ever closing in steps and rotten promises.

When you enter, he forms a smile that looks too sharp, almost cruel as he lifts a glass in some toast that only he knows.]

Shall I pour one for you? [And then he proceeds to drain his glass.]


C. WILDCARD [choose your own adventure]

[If you'd like a specific prompt, hit me up and I'll make it happen!]

Comments

B

[unrequite]

[ How exactly does Midnight and his doctor keep running into each other? Midnight may not believe in fate, but two incidents in a row is one away from a third. At a third, the numbers tip from acceptable happenstance to the beginnings of a pattern.

Midnight does have his planner in his hand, pen still in his fingers, but he'd closed it on his way to confirm that he wasn't just seeing things, that he had just point blank run into Daan again. He's got a bit of a wry grin on. "Would you believe me if I said this was a coincidence?" ]

Sure. Cash that raincheck for me, doctor.

[ He walks to take a seat, sticks hand in his pocket and drops the planner inside. He's aware that this is the second time they've met outside of scheduled meetings. Here's what he thinks, sans poetry: A third accident is no longer an accident. It's a fatal lack of awareness. ]

[limbical]

[Ah, here they are again indeed. If it's fate, then it's twisted up in a wretched knot; his pocket burns with weight, the reminder prickling at him. Daan lets out a loose, cold laugh before he finishes the contents of his glass.]

Of course.

Any requests, or shall I surprise you?

[unrequite]

You did say your specialty was an old-fashioned, didn't you? I'd like to try that.

[ Well, this is the second coincidence, but it's their third meeting proper. Out of the three Daans he's been acquainted with so far, this is the first one he's seen in a certain mood. Something unsympathetic, if Midnight had to put a word to it. This Daan is different. It's good. It's good because it's different. (It's also a little frightening, but that's par for the course.) ]

[limbical]

That I did. An old-fashioned it is.

[For him, these are old practiced motions. Maybe not quite as long as he's been a doctor, but he wasn't always a doctor either. A bit of sugar, water, and proper whiskey with ice, added with an orange peel and a cherry.

Only, Daan makes two, because one is for him.]

Do let me know what you think, old sport. Cheers.

[unrequite]

To you.

[ Midnight raises his glass to Daan and takes a sip... then another. He looks in his glass, eyebrow raised a bit. ]

You're not wrong. This is lovely. [ ... ] You'd give many a bartender a run for their money.

[ It's a compliment. He means it. It's not all that common to be more than one thing at once. ]

[limbical]

I should hope so. Mixing drinks is much easier than healing people.

[The grin he wears continues to lack any real mirth, almost a frustration to it. And how so little he smiles to start with, only to be all edges. An abandoned cat in an alley, ready to hiss and swat anyone who gets near.]

Ah, maybe that's how it should have stayed. Better a butler than whatever the fuck I became.

[He has a drink from his glass.]

[unrequite]

[ Midnight hums, continuing to nurse his drink. It really is perfect. Among one of the best he's ever tasted. ]

It bears mentioning that whatever you became, it ended with you here, in a position to help me. When it comes to what you could or should have been, I like that you're here now. I'm a bit biased, in that respect.

[ It's a bit merciless, relies on his ignorance, but still completely honest. Without knowing more, what else can Midnight be but grateful? ]

[limbical]

Stop that.

[Abruptly, his glass sets down sharply. Not enough to break, but loud enough to clack against the counter. His eye is narrowed as he glares at Midnight.]

Who the fuck do you think I am, Midnight? A selfless doctor? You hardly know anything about me, and yet the way you looked at me is seared into my memory.

I've seen dozens of patients look at me with such longing after I used that spell. That's what it does. But you, you just--

[He grips his glass tightly.]

What do you want?

[unrequite]

[ — Ah. So he did notice. Midnight looks at Daan for a moment, single visible eye wide in surprise, before looking down and back at his drink. ]

I'm very capable of getting everything I could possibly want, doctor. Practicably speaking, this includes you.

[ Absolutely, maddeningly self-assured. Psychopathic, honestly.

Midnight takes up his drink and sips again. ]

I'd like another one of these, though. And your company. [ Midnight looks up at Daan again. ] How do I get that, doctor? Tell me. I've many options, but I'm open to suggestions.

[ The timbre of Midnight's voice is calm, his eye contact is steady. He's telling the honest truth.

(He has many, many options. The old ways. Options that smell like fear and blood on mountaintops.) ]

B

[fanstheflames]

Underage, Daan-san!

[ It's a cheerful response from someone who looks a little more pensive than she is, but Tsuruno brings with her a bottle of water, which she sets on the bar counter and pushes towards him. He doesn't have to drink it now, but it's there for when the alcohol hits him in a Not-Fun way. Or so she assumes. Clearly she doesn't drink. ]

[limbical]

[Ah. He might be a few drinks in, but he's still not thrilled to have Tsuruno see him like this. It isn't a matter of pride in so much as there's that part of him that has the urge to want to spare the kids as much as possible with... anything, if he can help it. It's not like Tsuruno hasn't had difficult experiences, but he still would spare her if he could. Though his eye acknowledges the bottle of water, he makes no effort to reach for it.]

Oh, but there are things I can make for the underage, too.

[It takes but a minute or two before he presents her with a Shirley Temple, cherry and all.

Hey, it's better than milk.]

[fanstheflames]

[ Considering her last encounter with milk was to get clobbered by a bottle of it, she will happily take this fun little red drink with a cherry instead, wriggling up onto a barstool in order to drink it in style. What style? Eh.

He made her a drink which means she can stay and fuss over him and that's his own fault for encouraging it!

She's never had a Shirley Temple before, but one sip has her brightening. ]

Oh, that's really sweet!

[limbical]

Hopefully you like sweet. I'm afraid all the non-alcoholic drinks I know are usually that way.

[Idly, he finishes his own glass before he sets to arrange a new cocktail for himself.]

So. Did you end up in all of that business at the bank?

[fanstheflames]

Oh, the boxes? Yeah.

[ Is that why he looks as though his edges are all razor sharp today? He's softened around her, or at least that's how it seems, but Tsuruno pauses, then reaches into a pocket to place a mug on top of the counter, beside her glass.

After a pause, she picks up her glass again for another healthy swig o' Shirley. Clearly she doesn't mind sweet things. ]

It got a little complicated, but it worked out in the end.

[limbical]

[The mug is a cute little thing, he muses. You wouldn't usually see something decorated in the Kingdom of Rondon unless you had the shillings to pay.]

It's endearing. [He says it quietly, his fingers resting on the counter but not quite touching the mug. As if he would defile it somehow. Here you are again, Dannyboy, old friend.]

Is it yours?

[fanstheflames]

Yeah.

[ She gazes at the mug, fondly but there's something bittersweet about her smile for a few seconds. ]

A friend of mine--her grandma had a villa. She lives there now and kind of takes in people who need it [ i.e. other Magical Girls who definitely can't go home for several reasons ] and in our immediate friend group, everyone has their own mug. Sort of like a little family, you know?

[limbical]

[No, I don't know are the words almost on his lips. Does he? Doesn't he? That's part of the problem, isn't it? He doesn't even know what was real for him anymore. And he still lacks all of the answers he seeks, lacks closure. That's part of the problem of being stuck here, but would he do any better back in his own world? Prehevil only gave him more questions. He never should have bothered with any of that.

He blinks once, as if that knocks him out of his disassociation, then has a quick drink from his glass. The familiar burn wakens him, at least a bit, to realize her expression. Bittersweet. Something happened.]

...That is considerate of her.

You miss them. [It's not much of a question. It's a statement.]

a

[luciole]

[Lucinda had been nearby after finding her own key and narrowing down the deposit box with the matching number. Though she had noticed Daan, the medium had planned to mind her own business unless what they found gave any useful revelations.

Instead, in her box, she finds a jade bracelet. It's a pretty little bauble and for a moment she's uncertain what it's for until she picks it up.

And freezes.

Huyen sits on the bed listless as the maid gingerly buttons up her silk robe and her mother slips the jade onto her skinny little wrist.

"Alright. Make sure you sit with your back straight. Even though your powers are the real deal, you really need to sell your image to make it even more convincing! You're so pretty Huyen, so fortunate."

The gall of her to tell her say that after shutting the door to the basement and locking it behind her —

Daan's voice and the consequent shutting of the vault door snap her out of that overwhelming memory. Lucy's head whips around, eyes wide.]

Oh—! Daan, did someone shut us inside?

[limbical]

[Numbly, Daan turns around to look at the door. He half-realizes that Lucinda is here with him. Maybe there are other people, but they feel like a mass of shadows in his peripheral vision. Silently, he stumbles toward the door and touches it, as if that would somehow open it.

He swallows and closes his eye, gripping the tiny box in his hand like a lifeline. Threads upon threads, she loved to sew. Make clothes, make dolls, it's like assembling a puzzle. Stitches, stitches, stitches--]

I believe so, yes.

[His voice sounds like a whisper, and he's trying to get his mind to be clear, but all he can feel is the weight of her lifeless eyes twice made, and how badly he'd love to be anywhere but here.

Losing it again, old sport? How many times do we do this song and dance? Oh, but I'll always greet you with open arms.]

[luciole]

... Daan.

[She clutches the bracelet in her palm and moves over to him, saying his name softly.]

What did you find in your deposit box?

[Calmly and cooly — that's how she should be approaching this. First, just say the items that their personal keys led them to, gave them a psychic vision. It's like having psychometry but the association was already inherent in the object, not the person drawing it out themselves.

(She will not grow meek from just remembering.)]

[limbical]

What?

[For a moment, he almost doesn't hear Lucinda. Daan looks genuinely confused before his eye settles onto her. She... asked him a question. Right, the thing he found--

Daan grips the tiny box tighter and suddenly finds himself feeling overprotective. Like a stray cat backed in a corner, he wants to scrunch up and hide himself away. Look bigger, act meaner.]

You first.

[luciole]

[She reads his body language and reacts accordingly. Lucinda doesn't protest and doesn't try to pry anything else from the doctor. There's a nod.]

Here. This is what I found.

[She doesn't have anything to hide though the way she draws out her jade bracelet is deliberately slow. Even under the dull lights, its surface is smooth and its hue a lovely pale green.]

... The little gold character, here. [She points to the Chinese script carved from gold.]

It means "good fortune."

[The irony is palpable so she doesn't make light of it. Unlike Daan who clings to his box, Lucinda looks and sounds as if she's trying to detach herself from this piece of jewelry.]

I don't like wearing jade anymore though.

[limbical]

[It's a beautiful bracelet, but clearly its existence brings her pain. Daan gazes at it, listening to her voice, recognizing enough that this item has done something to her, or the memory of it.

But he is a man who was trained to believe in equal exchange.

So he does.

With surgeon steady hands, he opens the tiny box, revealing the elegant sewing tools inside.]

...This belonged to my wife.

[Belonged.]

[luciole]

[Ah. Her dark eyes scan the sewing tools, taking in their intricate design and elegant shapes.]

... I see.

[A widower. Sadly, that is not uncommon in Lucinda's experience. What she is experienced in are the words she practiced when addressing those who grieved, wrecked by loss, wanting to pay anything just to share one more moment with them.

... And at that moment she's weighed by the shame of not being able to muster anything meaningful. She hasn't been a proper medium in a long time.

Lucinda closes her eyes. Opens them again and gazes at the doctor unwaveringly.]

You love her still.

[Not a question. The woman moves to the side where the vault door is, with one hand tracing the seam and the other by her side with the jade bracelet barely hanging onto her fingers. They're stuck and all they have are tainted treasures in their hands.]

Was there anything else in your box? I'll doublecheck mine.

[She goes to retrieve hers and as she picks it up, she ruefully remarks.]

This wouldn't be the first time I was unwillingly stuck in a room.

[limbical]

Yes. I do.

[Despite everything. Whatever the truth is. Will he know? Will he ever know? The body is more muscular than typical, but that isn't unusual--
Here we are again, old sport.

Wait, Lucinda asked him a question. He's unraveling again. Daan takes a moment to breathe, wishing desperately that he was anywhere but trapped with someone else. Alone, given a moment to think, have a drink or ten.]

There was a note in mine. I didn't think much of it at first.

First mistake, hm?

[He offers it out to her.]