citylogs | ( semi-open ) though it may hurt today

[ well, at least this new location holds promise - or at least that's what roland thought when he first entered the bank. but after riffling through empty documents and opening up cash registers to find nothing of note, roland lets out an annoyed sigh. another dead end, as per usual. when will this place give him something exciting to work with, already?!

luckily, he too is drawn towards the sight of keys, one of which just so happens to have his name on it. curious, he ventures into the faults, eyes scanning the deposit boxes until it lands on the one with his name, and when he puts in his key and opens it--

he freezes, his blood running cold at the sight of an all-too familiar pair of ebony-black gloves. at first he doesn't take them, choosing to stare at them in utter disbelief. didn't the hana association confiscate these gloves after they demoted him? he remembers that much, so why were they even here?

he swallows, gathers as much gumption as he can before he's stable enough to take the gloves. he has to take care of them now more than ever, but when he takes them out of the metallic box--

the memory is blurry, as if he's watching through a shaky camera. he doesn't remember the exact details, he doesn't ever want to relive it again -- and yet here he is, trudging through the countless corpses and debris the litter what's left of the streets of music. maybe he'd held on to the hope that angelica was safe, but there was no anticipating the first distortions this world had seen.

it was easy to identify her through all the mess; her long silver hair's the only thing that he can make out of the mangled corpse of his dear beloved wife. the fact that their unborn child didn't even stand a chance in this vicious world either... well, it's too much. simply too much for a man who just wanted to live an okay life. just the sheer sight of it all is enough to make anyone pass out in despair, but not roland. he carefully takes off the gloves angelica's wearing, put them on together with his mask over his tearful face, and goes to finish the Pianist all on his own.

the memory ends there, and roland screams in agony. even after the fault closes in on him and any other unfortunate schmuck who's now stuck here with him, he continues to scream until he collapses on his trembling knees, hands clutching onto the gloves that no longer cover her hands. ]

( ooc: hello! prior cr means people who had already threaded with roland as himself can tag this! that means cr made on the anonymous post he'd made a while ago won't count. that said i am willing to make exemptions, particularly the ones i made plans with on the plotting post beforehand, so let me know through there if you'd like to tag anyway! i just don't want this to be anyone's first time meeting roland like this, eep. )

[ it takes a a few days for roland to calm down after that. thankfully it doesn't take him too long; it's kind of like recovering from the couple of meltdowns he had at the library. he breaks down, then comes back up again. nothing to it.

he does make sure to keep his gloves in a safe compartment in his apartment for safekeeping, though. he's not ready to take it back to his deposit box, but he doesn't want to part with it either. but with how loose-lipped he's become since donning the gloves, it's safer if it leaves them back home for now as he goes out to do some well-deserved retail therapy.

but hmm. the shop he drops in this time - one of those boutiques that sell all sorts of nifty-looking formalwear - is promising? roland doesn't change out of his trademark black suit yet, but he's holding up five different ties, all in black, and tries to catch the attention of whoever happens to wander in here to look into the goods. ]

Hey, uh. Which one would great on what I'm wearing right now?

[ why only black, though? because he looks really fuckin' good in it, duh. ]

Edited 2023-07-20 09:42 (UTC)

[He doesn't recall seeing Roland around in the bank before now. Then again, all of that time spent poking and prodding and rifling for absolutely jack-shit doesn't seem real in the first place, with the way he's just been thrust back into the Smoke War yet again, the red, the red, the pieces everywhere of everyone else who can't regenerate, pieces of him, the flag, fluttering, and

Roland's screaming. Or just screamed. Hard to tell. Gregor blinks wetly, then tosses the flag across the vault as though it burns to touch. Wings, but they're both messes, on their knees just a few boxes apart. Roland's here.

Gregor better address him. Even if he's already sure that this won't end well in any capacity. Even if he's not sure that he can trust him fully, but damn it he wants to.]

........Hey. [Croaked out.] ...What'd your note say. With the-- whatever you got. Mine said something about sharing.

[but fuck that lmao!]

[Again.]

[Again he's helpless.]

[What can he do? His hands are shaking, holding the photograph worn with years of age, showing damage from an incident he just is now trying very hard to deny he just relived, even for the moment. Vergilius stares over at Roland, feeling like the scream was something he should've let out when it all happened.]

[But he never did.]

[He didn't even cry.]

[His breath is ragged - he keeps staring at the collapsed Fixer, before he finds his voice again, as hoarse as ever.]

Roland. R-Roland.

[Roland, snap out of it.]

[ considering sinclair is the one who usually gets their clothing,

don being here would be something of a surprise to those who know that fact. in reality, while she doesn't have much of a mind for fashion and the like herself (what's suitable is suitable, so long as she can fight in it it's fine) she has become fond...... of matching with friends....... she is here for accessories.

sort of like how roland's just here for ties, apparently, and don peeks above the glass case of sparkling bracelets by the registers across the way.

... ... ... ]

The polka dot one, for it gives thee a sense of fun!

[ gotta have a bit of pattern. she's going back to press her face against the glass. they're so sparkly. she can't take them. that's absolutely something she can't do. that's basically stealing. at least the other ones they could reasonably pay for should the owners return, but not these... no, not with how pretty they are, heart-achingly pretty... ]

As would a bit of color, Sir Roland! Why not try a red? Or green? Mine allies of a similar paleness to thee have looked quite good in the darker shade!

[The sounds of thread through cloth, needlework exquisite. Black hair curling over shoulders like a curtain, a smile. Stitches upon stitches upon--

The pained scream jolts him out of his headspace. It'd been easy to get wrapped up in his own thoughts, even after the memories of the sewing kit filled his mind. All he could think of was her and then her, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. Death is meaningless.

He bites down on his lower lip, hard enough to make it bleed before he's turning to face Roland. A sound he'd never thought he'd hear from the other man, who has only appeared easygoing, but Daan knows what it means to wear masks for others, too.]

Roland.

[At first, the name is whispered, and he makes his way slowly over.]

Look. Look at me. Talk to me.

[It's hard to speak, his tongue feels too big, mouth too dry. That scream Roland made only echoes his own broken heart, after all.]

[ in the midst of his mind palace falling apart, gregor's trembling voice manages to come through to him. roland blinks at the other man, vision already blurry with tears, and he swallows. bro don't you see he's fucking breaking down right now, come on. just give him a moment to recompose himself, breathe in and out as he holds back the urge to cry like a little kid because that's such a mood right now, haha!!

...the note lies at his feet. how convenient.

he picks it up to read it, but he's so stressed at trying to comprehend any form of word that he just shakily hands it over to greg instead.

it's the same one greg has. go figure. ]

Edited 2023-07-20 23:41 (UTC)

[ vergilius. he can hear vergilius amidst the dissonant noise in his head that sounded almost like the eerie music the pianist was playing while it all went down. that's right, vergilius is the only one here who knew-- ]

...Angelica.

[ he manages to croak. he refuses to look at the other man, his tears welling up and dropping onto the soft fabric of the gloves. ]

It felt like it happened yesterday. It can't have, can it...?

[ is it really stealing when you plan to wear them at some point... they really need to figure out Intent as a whole when it comes to taking what you need in this city - whether it be food, clothes, or somebody else's life.

but hey, don's back! as expected. and judging from her usual chipper demeanor it looked like nothing much has changed too, at least on the surface. roland will try asking her about that later on. ]

Your allies of a similar paleness...? [ girl you are talking to a white man wdym ] Uhh, they just don't look too good on me. The other colors, that is. I prefer blending in the background even if I sorta stick out with my monochromatic style anyway.

[ some are particularly lacking in sunlight............ if they can look good with color so can mr white man. but yes, here she is, chipper as ever, even as she asks: ]

Is it that thee wish to remain in the background, or is it because thou'rt still in mourning?

[ ooh... that one has star-looking jewels in it. how pretty. rolling her cheek on the glass to look better down the line. there's some neat looking green ones too. like little flowers for rings. ]

I daresay some color would look good on thee, but thou simply have yet to find it! Shall I assist thee? I have much experience with the rainbow!

No. This is...

[His throat feels dry. He swallows, as if that will help. The thud of his heart beats against his chest, time and time again, as if to remind himself that he's alive, his kids are not.]

[His still-shaking hand moves to self-consciously run through his hair, uncertain whether to approach, uncertain about anything. It hurts, like an open wound.]

Something is...wrong here. I...I saw something. I assume, you did...you saw...

[Her.]

[ he can only manage a small nod, still trembling from the effects of that memory he'd thought he buried away, along with the thousands of corpses he's responsible for in his wake. he wishes he could've had his mask with him, if only to spare everyone trapped inside this embarrassing sight - but vergilius would've seen through him anyway, no matter how dark it gets.

he swallows, misty eyes landing on the worn photograph in vergiliu's hands. the sight of smiling children stab at his heart. it doesn't take a genius to figure out what happened, if vergilius is close to tears about this too. ]

They... they're gone too, huh.

[ he gotta ask anyway. if he dwells on this more, he might actually go into another meltdown, and he doubts that this vault is prepared for a realization battle. ]

...They are.

[They only could live for so long in that City. Beautiful, pure young souls. And they were chewed up, spit out, like they were meat in a grinder.]

[The more he thinks on it, the more other emotions come to the surface - ugly, nasty, horrific emotions. The type that roil and burn in his chest like a flame. In that space of memory, he had seen her again. Those glittering snake-like eyes, that wizened mysterious smile. A mentor once. But then...but then she...]

[His lips curl back in a grimace.]

She did it. She released that thing. A monster of flesh. I thought she was dead, but she came back, and...

[He couldn't even stop her.]

[The words hiss out of his teeth.]

Iori.

[ roland's used to being approached by his fellow cityfolk about this. vergilius more than others, but they all know how horrid their city is to them, and there's no lack of stories like this. roland would know, from all the books he'd gotten from countless people he'd received in the library.

but not with someone he'd only met here. he does hear daan amidst all the noise in his head, he does see roland amidst the tears in his eyes, but the words don't register at first. can he really talk about this? is it really that simple?

of course not. it's ridiculous to think so. he doubts that daan is even trained when it comes to psychiatry in the first place. a flash of murderous intent comes and goes, and roland takes a deep, shaky breath. ]

I... My wife...

[ he looks down on the plain black gloves he's holding, voice sullen as he strains to keep himself together. ]

These were hers.

[Were.

That's the word the sinks in. Somehow, Daan never thought his heart could be broken more, but here they are. Daan's eye closes, and he feels a tremor pass through his body again, trying to hold everything back. He hates this, he hates feeling so vulnerable; he's learned again and again to protect himself because the world won't do it for you, but he has no where to turn here.

And right now, he almost sees himself. Roland is a mirror to his own mourning.

Slowly, he kneels down in front of the other man.]

I'm sorry.

[And he means it, so much more than words alone can express. He wants to tell Roland. He doesn't want to. The urge to scream with him.]

What was her name?

[ he's sorry, he says. if roland had come from a world that treated him better, that treated death as something more than a mere inconvenience, he would've taken that laying down. but his fists clench until his knuckles turn white, and he's doing all he can not to punch the good doctor.

so he inhales, and exhales. swallows around the lump forming in his throat, until he can finally unclench - but he doesn't make any attempt in stopping the tears that fall down his face. there's no shame in crying once you've been pushed to that brink, after all. ]

Angelica. [ he manages to croak out. ] She... She used to be a Fixer, like me. But we stopped for a while, to... To settle down. Have a kid. She was coming along, last time I remember.

...Something like that.

[ it's a bit of both. he won't elaborate on it. ]

Much experience with the rainbow, huh? I didn't take you for a fashion expert, Don. [ he smirks, putting down the collection of ties he'd grabbed. ] Sure, gimme your best shot. Why don't we start with... white?

[ roland. ]

[ excuse me, this is most certainly the height of fashion when paired with her trusty rocinante, ever present on her feet. it's most evident when she pops up at the suggestion and throws herself past him into the thick of the clothing almost immediately, undaunted by... the monochromatic challenge.

... ... ... ]

[ ... ... ...

shuffle shuffle. humming. her short form seems to bob and weave through the various racks and stands like a hummingbird looking for flowers to suck off -- even if she isn't miss fashion, she does seem to be having some fun.

don'll pop from behind him though with some pieces in hand, along side a choice of a tie. ]

What say thee?!

[ hopeful... ]

[His wife wanted children, he remembers absently. When she said that, Daan felt a brief internal panic. What example can I even live by? His own parents were worse than useless, how could Daan fair as a father? It never got to that point, though, and Roland was actually planning--]

What happened to her, if I may ask?

[As he asks, he's taking out a handkerchief, silently offering it to the other man. His heart aches for so much, but right now he feels the most for Roland.]

[ kaveh looks. it isn't the first time he's been asked this question, though the last time there had been a man with a bug arm and some kind of joint neurosis involved - this time, kaveh has an armful of what looks to be jackets of various cuts and shades, colours brimming forth from the already bright-yellow of the jacket he's chosen to don today. the blue of the thin, ruffled cotton shirt beneath trails in a way that complements the float of the teal feather tucked behind his ear. across from him, in contrast, is a man wearing the sagacity of the deep night, dark against white on a canvas of sharp lines and narrowed eyes. he is also holding an array of ties. they all happen to be black.

well, kaveh thinks, they're congruent. and then, because he's been asked to, kaveh really takes a look, ]

Well, first is that the blacks have to match. Do you plan on wearing what you've got on already? And where do you plan to go? [ that shouldn't be a question, though, kaveh realises, because this is the city where there really isn't anywhere to go. but it could be a date of some kind, or someone might want to dress up nicely for a fight. kaveh's seen enough these past few days that he's too tired to rule out any shenanigans.

he shifts his bundle of clothing in his arms carefully, then considers the man up and down. down, then with a slow elevator crawl back up in a series of mental measurements. ] And with your height, you'd want a tie that's a little bit shorter, unless you plan to tuck it beneath your lapel. Come here, stand in the light where I can see you a little better. Is your suit cotton? Did you have it tailored?

[ he hesitates, before picking up the handkerchief and dabs it at his eyes. the feeling of embarrassment is setting in, but it's nothing compared to the hollow feeling of reliving it all over again. ]

I was... away, on a mission. A favor for a friend. But then a Distortion appeared in our district in the form of a Pianist that-- that played music. Blasted the most beautiful, dissonant music that... that killed virtually everyone in the surrounding area. Including my wife and our unborn child.

[ he sounds hollow, but talking about it does make him feel better. kind of. it helps that daan is patient. you sure you're not a shrink, doc? ]

[There it is. A cruel end. Behind Roland's outward nature is that loss, and that's... something he knows too well. A family stolen away, and the world doesn't stop turning for you to mourn. The world doesn't care.

Daan takes a moment, then sets down the tiny box that was left for him in his safety deposit. Opening it reveals a set of elegant looking sewing tools: scissors, needle, thimble.]

This was my wife's. Her name was Elise.

[ roland blinks, taking in the sight of sewing tools. and then it hits him just as quick.

was. ]

...Ah.

[ his pitch-black heart aches. of course daan would understand. he knows the pain all too well. the sheer realization of it thankfully isn't enough to make roland transform into an eldritch being for now, but he clutches at his own chest all the same. ]

What... happened to her?

...When I was a young man, her father took me in. Baron Eihner von Dutch taught me how to be a doctor, and in return I educated him all I knew on the Old Gods. I thought all I was doing was satiating a man's curiosity. An indulgence.

When I returned home from the war, both the baron and Elise were dead. The baron killed himself, and presumably his own daughter in some ritual. A god I didn't know.

I... gave everything to try to bring her back. [Absently, he rubs at the edge of his eyepatch.] I sacrificed parts of myself, but it was too late. I was too late.

( semi-open ) though it may hurt today

a. it's true, people take things but rarely. (reserved for ones with prior cr)

b. out and about. (ota)

:)

a;

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