citylogs | EVENT: That Stuff Never Winds Up in a Pocket, Honest (July 2023)

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EVENT: That Stuff Never Winds Up in a Pocket, Honest (July 2023)

THAT STUFF NEVER WINDS UP IN A POCKET, HONEST.

THE THINGS I GAVE YOU.
» THE BANK — INTRODUCTORY NOTES

District 2 is open, bringing with it access to new and interesting locations—including the city's main bank branch. The bank is a large building with a stone exterior, wrought iron grating on the windows, and large, heavy metal doors that take surprisingly little effort to open, their hinges silent and well-oiled.

Early in the day on July 19, characters in the vicinity of the bank will hear first a low, metallic creaking sound from inside the building, like metal straining against metal. This is followed by the sharper noise of locks disengaging, and then the large, heavy doors on the front of the building swing open slightly, enough to let a person through.

Directly inside the doors is the bank lobby, and beyond that is the main banking floor, with elegant marble flooring and dimly lit chandeliers. It would appear that this was once the main commercial bank of the city, although it is now completely empty, with no tellers behind the counters and no cash in any of the drawers.

You may rifle through the tills and filing cabinets to your heart's content, but similar to the files in City Hall, there is no useful information to be found—all the papers are blank, or are empty forms without any personally identifying information. There are no monetary devices to be found either; this is, after all, not a city that operates on a cash system, so there are no coins or paper bills in any of the tills or, indeed, anywhere within the bank.

What you might be able to find, though, is a rack of delicate, burnished brass keys on a wall toward the back of the main banking hall. Each of these keys is attached to a stamped metal keychain bearing a name on one side and a number on the other. Some of these may be names you recognize, and some of them may not, but they are all names belonging to current residents of the city, and each key corresponds to a safety deposit box within the vault at the back of the building. Can you remember what you stored in that box for safekeeping? Maybe you had better go find out.

At the back of the main banking hall is a vault secured with a large circular metal door. The door is currently unlocked and propped open; it can be closed, but cannot be locked (intentionally, anyway) from either the inside or the outside. The vault contains row upon row of safety deposit boxes, each locked. Participating characters who are in possession of a key can open their own safety deposit box, but it is not currently possible to force open any safety deposit box that does not belong to them. After August 1, players will be able to use their safety deposit boxes to store their own belongings, and break-ins will become possible with prior player permission and appropriate consequences.

Below sections detail the safety deposit boxes for both choose-your-own-adventure players and randomized players! Please see the randomized matches for this event HERE.

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IT'S TRUE, PEOPLE TAKE THINGS BUT RARELY.
» SAFETY DEPOSIT BOXES — A SELF-GUIDED TOUR

For some of you, getting into your safety deposit box is quite straightforward.

You take your key from the rack behind the teller's counter and make your way back through the building and into the vault. It's cool inside, the temperature well-regulated and the air dry. On the walls are rows upon rows of safety deposit boxes, and it may take you a moment to find the one that corresponds to the number stamped on your key. Does that number mean anything to you? It may, or it may not.

When you find your box, it takes very little effort to open it. A slide of your key, a quick turn, and the safety deposit box's door springs open to reveal the metal container within. You remove the metal box from the wall and bring it over to the table in the center of the room, clearly placed there for this express purpose. Maybe there are others around, or maybe you're alone. Do you remember yet, what it was you put in here? Well, there's no time like the present to check.

You open the safety deposit box to find—something that shouldn't be there. It's yours, that much you're sure of, but you didn't bring it with you to the city. You reach into the box to pick it up, and the surge of memory is immediate, sending your mind back to your strongest memory associated with the item in your hand.

Then the vault door swings shut, trapping you inside with whoever else has the misfortune of sharing the vault with you right now. No matter what force you try, the door won't open again. There doesn't appear to even be a mechanism that unlocks the door from the inside, and from within several feet of metal and stone, no one on the outside will be able to hear you shout. It seems hopeless—how long can anyone last, trapped in a place like this?

Should you turn back to the open safety deposit box, you might notice a slip of paper resting on the bottom. The paper looks aged, like it's been in the box for quite some time, and in printed text it reads: "Nothing is yours. It is to use. It is to share. If you will not share it, you cannot use it."

Maybe it means you should let another hold the item you've retrieved from the box… or maybe it means you should share the weight of memory. Try to interpret the meaning in whatever way you can. But should you decide to unburden yourself, and share with someone else the weight of the item you're holding in your hands, you may find that there's a means of escape after all.

Once you free yourself from the vault, for the next several days you find yourself feeling rather honest, like you may not be able to stop yourself from confessing the truth about the item you now carry…

Characters who wish to participate in the event, but who do not wish to randomize the contents of their safety deposit boxes, can open their safety deposit boxes to find an emotionally significant item belonging to the character—player's choice as to what the item is. The only guidelines are that it should be small enough to fit reasonably in a pocket and may not have any magical or weapon properties. Similarly, players are able to choose the memories associated with the items in the safety deposit boxes. The vault door will remain closed until the characters in the vault explain to each other the significance of their items and the memory associated with them, at which point it the vault mechanisms will disengage and the door will swing open as if it had never closed to begin with. However, for the four days following the event, characters who carry their safety deposit box item on their person will feel oddly compelled to tell other characters about its significance and meaning.

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A CRASH-SITE IS SACRED, WE'RE FAITHFUL.
» SAFETY DEPOSIT BOXES — A JOINT VENTURE

For others of you, the contents of the safety deposit box may be considerably more disconcerting.

You also take your safety deposit box key from the rack behind the bank teller's counter and make your way back through the building and into the vault. It's cool inside, the temperature well-regulated and the air dry. On the walls are rows upon rows of safety deposit boxes, and it may take you a moment to find the one that corresponds to the number stamped on your key. Does that number mean anything to you? It may, or it may not.

When you find your box, it takes very little effort to open it. A slide of your key, a quick turn, and the safety deposit box's door springs open to reveal the metal container within. You remove the metal box from the wall and bring it over to the table in the center of the room, clearly placed there for this express purpose. Maybe there are others around, or maybe you're alone. Do you remember yet, what it was you put in here? Well, there's no time like the present to check.

You open the safety deposit box to find—wait, what is that? It certainly doesn't belong to you. Tucked inside the safety deposit box alongside the item is a slip of paper with another name on it, as well as a cryptic message: "Nothing is yours. It is to use. It is to share. If you will not share it, you cannot use it." The item isn't yours, but it does appear to belong to another resident of the city. Maybe your safety deposit boxes somehow got mixed up? It seems like it would be a good idea to find this person and return their property to them.

Whether you encounter the owner of the item in the vault or elsewhere in the city, when it comes time to hand the item over, two things happen. One—the doors are locked tight, refusing to allow either you or the item's owner out until you both understand what the item is and what it means to the other. To unburden your heart is the only way to free yourself.

And two—as the owner of the item explains its significance, you find yourself oddly captivated, resonating strongly with whatever emotion the item's owner most closely associates with it. You may not be able to see the memory that the other person describes, but you can certainly feel the emotions they felt—after all, the easiest way to unburden oneself is to share the load with another. Isn't that right?

Once you free yourself from your enthralled state, and once you have your own belongings returned to you, for the next several days you find yourself feeling rather honest, like you may not be able to stop yourself from confessing the truth about the item you now carry…

Characters who opted to randomize the contents of their safety deposit box during the plotting post, or who plotted a joint experience with another character, will open their safety deposit boxes to find a small, non-magical but emotionally significant item belonging to another player character in the city. They will need to find the owner of that item and return it to them—this can either be inside the bank vault or in another location within the city. Regardless of where the meeting takes place, the character holding the item will find themselves unable to leave until the character who owns the item explains its significance; as they do, the holder of the item will find themselves swept up in the emotional highs and lows of the memories associated with that item, allowing them to share all of the feelings, regrets, joys, griefs, and rages that the owner experiences in the telling. Additionally, for the four days following the event, characters who carry their safety deposit box item on their person will feel oddly compelled to tell other characters about its significance and meaning.

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WILDCARD.

The city is by no means small, and there are plenty of things for you to see. There's no rush in exploring, so feel free to take your time looking around and peering into various nooks and crannies and alleyways—and don't worry, you're not very likely to find anything peering back.

If none of the above prompts appeal, feel free to check out the Locations and Maps pages and write your own freestyle prompt using one or many of the available locations.

This month's event headers come from "The Things" and "The Gatherer," two poems by Brendan Constantine. The text of the paper slip comes from Ursula K. LeGuin's The Dispossessed.

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No, just the one. Unless you're scandalized at the very idea, in which case I'll carry the entire stock out with me.

[ Midnight is very rarely so forthcoming about the ways he's aware he can get under other people's skin. It's just funny. Kaveh's so very funny to him. Most people are, but when Midnight can manage to get past the barrier of having to step gently around a stranger... Well, it's simply more fun to be a nuisance, is all.

He scoops up both the herbal and the fruit beer in one hand, but opens the bottle of water first, taking a sip and wincing slightly at how sharp and sweet it tastes. Well... he needed that, apparently. How awful it is for food and drink to taste refreshing. ]

You mentioned you were poor company earlier. Why is that? I can't begin to imagine a reason to think so.

You little - [ kaveh begins, and then, suddenly, the realisation sinks in. kaveh is only ever this caustic with alhaitham.

kaveh cuts himself off. not because the realisation is anything to have a mild crisis over, but because midnight just flinched at drinking water. what manner of man, kaveh thinks, a little despairingly, must you be to live a life where the taste of water has become foreign. the rest of the script practically writes itself: kaveh reaches to filch both beer cans from midnight, an architect's knack for balancing more than his fair lot of things in one hand coming into play with three cans stacked in a single hand, one of which is open - and graciously uses the other hand to tilt the bottom of the bottle that midnight's holding back up to his lips.

bottoms up it goes. ]

One more big sip. Preferably one that drowns you. Oh, I know you, one only gets that odd about the taste of water when it's been at least seventy-two hours without it. Come now, this is happening before you dehydrate yourself again with alcohol. What was this about me being good company?

Edited 2023-08-14 09:51 (UTC)

[ There it is. The first obstacle to Midnight's heart has been cleared... but at what cost?

Midnight's smile drops, but more into bewilderment than any personal offense, as his precious alcohol disappears from his grip and he is led to water like a burdenbeast. ]

Bit dramatic, isn't it? It's been less than seventy-two hours, I'm sure. [ This is in a self-possessed murmur, less petulant than it is simply a bit puzzled, but he obediently takes another sip. He isn't going to drown himself. His survival instincts might be lacking, but his fear of death is still alive and kicking back there.

But there we are. The flashbang of being cared for out of the blue can't last forever. Levity floods in to fill in the void, fast and loud like a broken sound barrier. ]

I'd insist you were good company, really, on account of your concern for my level of hydration, but I would like my beer back. How much water until I've reached quota, sir?

[ masochist! kaveh thinks, with the utmost despair! and a proper exclamation mark to boot! not one of those little anemic ones with a bit of an academic lilt, a proper exclamation like a plea to divinity. the trouble is, the only divinity that kaveh's ever prayed to, in joke or in passing or otherwise, is lesser lord kusanali, and nahida would absolutely like midnight for whatever the reason. she has a soft spot for lost causes. this really isn't helping kaveh now that he's realised that what's behind the door of deflection flirtation is just sassy flirtation.

the water bottle empties itself into midnight. kaveh observes it with a critical eye, red and sanguine and entirely unimpressed. ] One third of the bottle now, and one more third before we get to city hall. You get your beers back once both those conditions have been fulfilled. [ kaveh is already reaching for another reusable tote bag - he loves these, and more so that they're plain, because they can be painted over and decorated - and begins slipping a few more water bottles in. ... and midnight's beers. ] And caring about your hydration level has nothing to do with good company, and everything to do with preserving what little sanity I have left. This is about the bank, isn't it?

[ - abruptly, kaveh stops himself. and merely stops there, the words bitten off like the heads of truncated snakes. ]

[ The full stop is disguised by Midnight simply not noticing it in his eagerness to smooth over the whole thing with more words. He is so very good at words. ]

It isn't, actually, although I do wish I could convince you otherwise. If you acted any more like my mother, you would have written the letter in my... pocket.

[ ... The sentence dies. Lets out air like a sad, half-dead balloon. Midnight thinks back, finds the smooth, flat stop Kaveh's nagging hits, and extrapolates back to this moment fairly quickly.

He looks into his water bottle, then back at the door. The bottle is still two-thirds full, and he never heard the tumblers in the lock clicking into place. Eventually, he lifts the water to his mouth, drains it to half, and recaps it. ]

Let's start walking. Did you need anything else?

[ the silence that follows is, apparently, the audible noise of two grown-ass men cringing. mother's letter, kaveh thinks to himself, and he is suddenly angry. this isn't a particularly odd state of being for kaveh, who knows his emotions tend to run high highs and along low lows, but there's an inherent injustice in the audacity of which whatever this odd experiment is trying to achieve. how dare they make them say things that they otherwise wouldn't? how dare they compel what is not theirs to do so?

kaveh's breath seethes between his teeth. and then, his brain catches up to him, and he follows the trace of midnight's gaze.

um. ]

Well, no. [ ... with phenomenal self-restraint, just on this side of brittle: ] Why are you looking at the door like that? [ ... with slow, dawning deliberation: ] Does this place lock too?

I don't know. I didn't hear the door lock, though.

[ His hearing has been a little weak, though, so he walks over to try the door... Which swings open as easily as anything. He breathes a little sigh of relief. Well, they're not trapped, at least. ]

We should leave. I don't want this place changing its mind on us, no matter how partial I am to your company.

[ Midnight pushes the door open for Kaveh, leaning his head toward relative freedom. Well... They're not obligated to share at the cost of their freedom, at least, but it seems as though they're not quite off the hook. This is much more preferable to being stuck in a bank vault, though. Midnight doesn't like being trapped in places with others. Or, rather, he doesn't like the idea of others being trapped with him. He's not at all claustrophobic, just... Wary. People should be free to leave him. ]

[ kaveh's little inhale sounds a bit much like a man gathering the shattered fragments of his temper around him. but it's fresh, that indignation. it follows him right out of the convenience store in tow, like a shark's eddy in wake. ]

You really ought to stop saying that. It gets old, you know. [ is what kaveh says instead, after gauging the moment for safety. because that's certainly what's happening here - the careful picking and choosing of words, and then the dance around a compulsion that is suddenly a third wheel in this entire conversation that kaveh has never been comfortable with. ]

Then what do you suggest I do? Lie? I can, if you like.

[ Midnight, on the other hand, is measuring how much truth he can deposit into the conversation with regards to the letter in his pocket so he can satisfy the city's appetite for schadenfreude, relax, and have a normal conversation. He's quite aware that just thinking about this in terms of having a "safe conversation" may inflate the threshold of what the city thinks would suffice, though... ]

I generally use my lies much more wisely. Well, unless it's amusing to lie. I'll make an exception for that.

And it seems to amuse you right now to say whatever it is you're saying, so isn't the probability of it being a lie quite high?

[ or rather, kaveh knows his own measure - he is not, in fact, good company on most days, especially not on days where he feels like he's being taken and contorted into a shape not of his own making, and that midnight is saying so despite all evidence to the contrary is a good indication that this compulsion bullshit is - ] And in the case that you are not and this is simply you being compelled to say things you genuinely don't mean to assert as any form of truth, I'd like to point out that I liked it much better when we weren't being emotionally candid and having to consistently swerve around the topic of what's in our pockets-

[ ...

this is, in fact, the sound that an anemo slime being stepped on by a cat might possibly make. ]

- the audacity of these people! [ the bright flare of kaveh's temper leaps, ] Who do they think they are to compel me or you to say things we don't want to? Do they think they're gods? Because I happen to know one that's been reduced to a heap of scrap metal in a basement somewhere, and that's exactly what's going to happen to them if this continues.

[ Midnight is suddenly reminded of Miss Orchid in one of her implosive meltdowns. It's not an image that one would normally find flattering, but he often thinks about what it would be like to kiss her mid-sentence, while she's still filled with indignation. It's not a dissimilar feeling, watching Kaveh sputter his way through unkempt rage at a terribly unfair world. That spark of spiteful enthusiasm tucked under a professional weariness. It's comfortable, in its own way. Kind, or the shadow of it. ]

I can start by talking about my mother, if you like, then take the lead for the duration of this conversation. I don't mind the sound of that.

[ kaveh whirls on midnight. the finger not holding onto the open can of beer jabs into the open, plunging neckline of his jacket. the laden tote bag swings forward with the motion. ]

And you! Don't oblige so easily! I thought you've a stronger sense of privacy than that, if not a stronger sense of self-preservation. Who am I to be allowed to hear things of you that touches the core of who you are?

[ Midnight smiles down at Kaveh and that accusatory poke. Sweet Kaveh. So full of fire. He says it as gently as he can. ]

And who am I, among others, to hold parts of who I am at such a lofty height of sanctity? My mother isn't here, Kaveh. As long as I'm aware of the consequences — as long as I'm the one making the choice — what does a little honesty hurt?

[ ... To be fair to Kaveh, though, Midnight's saying this to reinforce the idea to himself as well. It doesn't matter. The past is no longer in a position to hurt him. He's said as much many, many times before. He tries to mean this, if nothing else. ]

[ midnight smiles. kaveh stills. the accusatory point of his finger curls inward, as if a single tallow wick melted by the mere memory of flame. and because he is kaveh - he looks as if searching. the red of his gaze rests somewhere on midnight, somewhere past midnight, as he scrutinises that man that comes with those words. my mother isn't here, kaveh. a letter in midnight's pocket. a choice that one makes.

kaveh's jaw works as the words him in struggle to find some sort of coherent order. it's about the feeling, as it always is. you couldn't always put those to words. you shouldn't always try. ]

You, actually. [ is what kaveh says at last; the kaveh who remembers lines in the sand and who knows what it's like to draw them. ] Do we not carry the love and the grief with us wherever we go? Are we not made of it? Where else would it be allowed to go? Your mother isn't here, but you are.

[ Here's the challenge: Acknowledging someone's kindness toward him without making light of their concern. Which is very difficult, considering that he doesn't take his emotions very seriously, or at least not with the same sort of caution that others seem to give him. For whatever reason. ]

I tend to leave those sorts of things in the past. The present, the future... those interest me more. So digging up the past is more of an exercise in tedium for me. Just a record of things that occurred, decisions I've already made. Nothing terribly happy or sad, just irrelevant most of the time.

Which is why volunteering it doesn't require that much from me, if you understand. [ Midnight shrugs. It's not a big deal. ] I just tend to be choosy about it. I curate all the lovely parts so I don't get bored.

Yes, but Midnight - you are the one who said to me just now this: that who are you to hold parts of who I am at such a lofty height of sanctity? [ kaveh shakes his head. he looks. ] Midnight, you are you. Having a modicum of privacy isn't some lofty, sacred height to which you ought not aspire to. It's a basic right. Just because you don't value yourself doesn't mean your value is somehow less.

[ the moment kaveh says this, he thinks - he's done it again.

but this time, the shards of the diadem are like that stone in that well. the well didn't ask to have the stone tossed it. it didn't ask for its insides to be churned. it didn't ask for the ripples to spread and the laughter of something cruel and innocent both haunt its echoes. but that's what happens to wells, and some wells are terribly empty for it.

kaveh pushes on: ] No. I will start the conversation. I'm going to talk about this stupid, haunting bauble in my pocket, and you will listen to me. You will listen, right?

[ ... How very strange. Midnight is about to tell Kaveh that he's already evaluated his feelings on the matter, and since he'd reached very deeply and found none, it was all right to share even terribly jagged and awkward spectres, the ones that did hurt him at one point. Because it's done. It follows that there are no feelings left to be had about them. Midnight would value his own deeply, like he values those of others. Of course he would. If he had any.

(Is losing empathy for oneself really the same thing as losing it for others? Whisperain may have been onto something with regard to the long-lived and their many ghosts, but in terms of the effect, rather than the cause.) ]

I will, if you're certain this is what's to be done. Of course.

[ Kaveh lives in a world of his huge passions, of grand gestures. A world where memories mean something. How wonderful it is, to care that deeply. Why wouldn't Midnight give Kaveh the room to show him what that's like? ]

[ midnight lets him. kaveh understands that he is being indulged. it is not a kindness so much as it is a necessity - because midnight had only brought up speaking about the thing in his pocket when kaveh showed he was unwilling to do it. this isn't a decision that kaveh particularly wants to make, but none of the decisions that kaveh typically has are ones that he wants to make. it ought to be enough that he is looking the hurt, the grief and the terror in the eyes and channeling it for something other than just flagrant self-pity.

it ought to be. kaveh looks. and then, because city hall looms in the near distance, he pulls out midnight's can of beer. the mango one comes to hand. he tosses it over to him, and without another word, downs half of the cider that midnight had procured for him earlier. there's not enough alcohol content in it to burn his throat, but it scalds anyway, as if something unseasonably warm. ]

Drink. [ kaveh says, breathing out, and doesn't manage to cough. ] I don't want to be too sober for this, and you might not want to be either. [ there's a lump in kaveh's throat that won't go down. kaveh forces it anyway, and the words come. they always do: ] Because I'm about to tell you how my father died.

[ "He keeps telling me not to contact you, but I think it might be his last wish..."

Don't worry, Kaveh; Midnight will tilt his head back and drain the waterbottle dry, his mouth and throat cramping from the sudden effort, catching the other can one-handed out of the air. He swallows one last time, then pulls his own can open, taking a pull from the can before he's prepared, feeling everything go down unpleasantly, before he's prepared. They should definitely have something stronger than this. ]

I know a good bar near here, actually. We should sit.

[ He's visited this one enough to know the hard liquor selection rather thoroughly. The lighting is fine, the seating is comfortable. A very normal bar among all the other normal bars around here. It'll do. ]</small.

[ midnight goes through seven stages of hydration in a heartbeat, and kaveh suddenly realises that perhaps he's not the only one in need of a drink. ]

Near here? It's not the one with the terrible pot lights, is it?

[ but the complaint is perfunctory at best. the city hall recedes into the distance as they make their way into the bar proper. the bartop counter is an excellent place for kaveh to slide both elbows onto as he cracks open the sealed bottle of what looks to be rum. the taste promises to be anemic, but the percentage of alcohol seems promising. he offers the lip of it to midnight, first, before he takes a dredge of it himself.

ugh. kaveh winces. horrid. kaveh's finger skim the flat lines of the bottle as he considers where to start. ]

I was nine when I sent my father to his death. [ the beginning has always been such a letdown. ] Both my parents were good people; I think that was the issue. If my father hadn't been such a good person, he wouldn't have gone off based on a whim I had when I was nine, and then never came back from it.

I will pretend I know exactly what that means. No.

[ He's lying, of course. He just said he would. Lies are fun, sometimes, as long as everyone understands what the lie is.

It's not the worst rum Midnight's ever had, but not the best, either. Something good enough. Just good enough. He sighs, letting the rum sink in, hot and piercing, then looks behind him, grabs a bottle at random — a small amaretto, fine — then finds a couple bourbons on a lower shelf. He'll find a couple of glasses as well, he'll involve their beers at some point. He's pregaming. You don't start a story like that without some preparaion. ]

Go on.

[ the potlights are terrible. the look that kaveh sends midnight for them is equally so. but they're settled like birds along a skewer, slowly at risk of roasting along an open flame, and so there's nothing to do but to lean back beneath the awning yellowed lights of them and contemplate the circumstances. kaveh hadn't wanted to have this conversation, he knows. neither did midnight. once again, the blame falls somewhere between happenstance and circumstances outside of kaveh's control, but if kaveh were to be honest, it had been him who cornered them both the moment he had decided on this course of action.

it is, in fact, kaveh's fault, kaveh concludes. and it ought to be.

the rum is tacky on his tongue. kaveh's fingers scrape across the uniform, uninspired labeling. ]

I was nine when I'd learned about the interdarshan competition. [ kaveh begins at the beginning, slowly, with the care of someone who has traced the path of this story enough times to know its rise and fall and cadence, and still know to brace for it. ] That's a competition between different schools of study, where each will compete in various trials and challenges for the prize - a diadem donated by an alumnus of some fame, along with a monetary reward. I hadn't known about any of this, nor did I care, not at the age of nine - all I knew was that it was a competition, and I wanted my father, whom I looked up to, to compete and to win. I told him so.

So he did. On my whim, he competed - and of course, he lost. We're not a family blessed by some prophecy or meant for some ultimate destiny. We were a normal family of three in a city of scholars. He competed, and he lost, and he was despondent.

[ an understatement. but kaveh sifts through his memories, and finds the right words for it: ] I hadn't cared if he won or not, in truth. I'd just wanted my father to be a part of something that I felt was terribly exciting. But he took it to heart, I think. He wasn't the same after. He became listless, and depressed. He withdrew. And then, one day, he went on a research project to the desert, and he never came home.

[ Midnight knows this drink, at least. He sets up the glasses, pours a bit of amaretto into each, but waits a bit on the brandy to see if they can't finish the rum first. He wasn't planning on spending today completely plastered, but if duty calls... ]

A child blaming himself for the decisions of adults...

[ Midnight leans against the bar, looks into Kaveh's face. He's sure they both understand that's what's happening, right? ]

What's in your pocket, then?

[ you sound like alhaitham, kaveh nearly says. he doesn't. not because the observation wouldn't stand, but because the observation is in bad faith. kaveh knows optics well enough to understand how the story looks to anyone bothering to look in - but that's the thing, with optics. you didn't live the experience. the ones who are able to look upon it weren't there. and humanity is such a messy thing. kaveh is a messy thing.

the shrug is almost helpless in nature, as is the little self-deprecating smile tucked away along the corners of kaveh's lips. ]

Not quite.

[ midnight fills their glasses. kaveh slips a little bauble from his pocket, green, inlaid with silver and garish gold. it sits there as a singular shattered, jagged piece of a greater whole. it once would've fit well on the head of something purportedly royal. now, it barely fits a small shot glass.

it's startling, how easy the words come. kaveh resents it. ]

This is a piece of the diadem of knowledge - it's the prize for the interdarshan competition. That's what neither the child nor the adult knew that day - that the entire competition was a sham. The man who funded the competition is a researcher named Sachin. He had done his doctoral work on the nature of human conflict. He had gone out into the desert and seen all manners of human atrocities, and no matter what parameters he set for his research, no matter who he recruited and how he collected the data, the truth remained: that humanity was morally bankrupt, or so he thought. He funded the interdarshan competition with his vast wealth and bequeathed the diadem to it; he then vanished. He vanished into the diadem, you see. He had been looking for a successor to his research. He wanted to see if anyone could debunk the conclusions he had drawn.

[ kaveh breathes in. even air seems sharp for it. he takes the glass that midnight had filled for him, and downs it - like drowning. like air. ]

He found my father through the competition. He possessed part of his mind. So when my father left for the desert, he wasn't himself; he hadn't been himself. He'd died like that. I found this out when I participated in the competition myself, and had Sachin's mind come for me.

[ sachin had called him familiar. he had reached into him. it had been like an entire world upended. it was like someone reaching into the threads of your soul and weaving their name into is canvas. nothing human ought to survive that sort of thing. and sachin only targeted those who loved humanity.

slowly, in the way of an ending to a fairytale: ]

After my father died in the desert, my mother was never the same again. I watched her wither away. She was an architect, like me; she could never again draw a draft, or pick up a pencil without her hands trembling. She left the country to get away from it, the memories [ and him ]. If someone destroys two lives, we call them a criminal. Even a child understands that. [ the words, like conviction. kaveh finally lifts his head to look. the rims of his red eyes are sanguine. ] Even children can sin, Midnight.

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