(catchall / open)

[paraselenes]

WHO: dimitri & others
WHERE: misc.
WHEN: november!
WHAT: event stuff, etc! feel free to ask me for a starter over at my plotting comment, or just wildcard me whatever, i love wildcards
WARNINGS: will update as necessary

November Event & Tasks outside catch-all

• w/Childe
  
• w/Augustine
  
• w/Lottie
  
• w/Felix
  
• w/Fukawa
  
• w/Joonghyuk
  
• w/D

Comments

[wrists]

[ the last time he was imprisoned, a part of him had been certain he would die alone, unnoticed, his body left undiscovered for an indeterminable amount of time. govart had imprisoned him in such isolation it wouldn't have mattered if laurent had cried or begged or screamed — not that he is prone to doing any of those things. he hadn't made a sound when the brand was pressed into his arm, and hasn't complained about the pain even now.

the worst is that he's been stripped out of his clothes, an impressive feat in itself considering his complicated attire, but now he sits in rags, ankles chained to his cellmates by a filthy iron tether. his mind outpaces itself with thoughts of escape, his eyes intent on the guards making their rounds, and he only looks over when he hears a voice addressing him, gaze flinty. ]

No and yes. No, because one generally accrues a punishment upon killing another man. [ unfortunately. ] Yes, because the life I took was not so valuable as to warrant all this. And you?

[paraselenes]

[ Despite being dressed down, there are notes to read on all the prisoners. The way they cope with the stress, how straight their posture is in a place where no one will see them besides the imprisoned and the damned, the way they speak. Dimitri's overall polish is worn, left in rags rather than royal blue and his hair fallen loose to nearly his shoulders, but he isn't cowed by this place.

Likewise, the way this man acts and carries himself speaks to something more than civilian. A once-convict, maybe. Someone from a noble home, perhaps.

His brows draw together faintly, expression taking on a more steely edge. ]

No. [ He belongs here more than most, most likely. ] How do you measure the value of a life?

[wrists]

[ the question casts a quiet air of judgment, perhaps an overall reasonable response but aggravating nonetheless. laurent turns his head now, long hair scattered over his shoulders, disheveled from the earlier manhandling. despite his haggard appearance, the glance he gives now is reptilian and dangerous. he knows less than a small handful of the other restless, having made little effort toward seeking companionship. the people in this cell are foreign to him, and therefore not to be trusted. ]

By whether they're trying to kill you or not. [ he has, rather unfortunately, far too much experience with that. ] He was a guard at the palace in Radiance, nearly completely taken by his Shadow. Hardly a loss, though there's an argument to be made that he was just doing his job. I doubt anyone will mourn him.

Did you kill to end up here?

[paraselenes]

[ He doesn't wilt under the frigidity of this man's stare, though it speaks more sharply and clearly than his words do. Dimitri's eyes are hard in turn, bright and searching before he shuts them for a moment. ]

Someone will probably grieve who he was, before. [ Most people are better than their Shadows make them. Or so he'd like to believe. ] Still, defending oneself is no crime.

[ Unfortunate, and often tragic, but not criminal. He's wondered about that—are the people here truly so guilty? How can anyone possibly judge without so much as a trial? Dimitri, though... ]

As for me, I nearly killed that trickster in the woods. Grievously injured. [ He admits as much flatly. ] I don't question my place here. But few that I've spoken to have cases that are so cut and dry, yourself included. [ Some people claim not to have done anything at all. ]

[wrists]

That someone will eventually forget all about their poor, dead friend. All it'll take is a good fuck. [ he turns his eyes back towards the path of the guards, waiting for the next rotation. ] I heard about some of the happenings in the woods, but I was admittedly preoccupied. We've hardly been told the rules here, in any case, and we certainly haven't been told what punishments await us for breaking them.

[ the branding and jailing seem excessive. laurent's gaze flickers down to the wound at his arm, then to the matching one on his companion. ]

This sort of treatment does not make me want to behave. [ he peers around the bars, listening for footsteps. ] I'm sure you're thinking of escape. Hit me. We need one of the guards to come inside so we can relieve him of his keys.

[paraselenes]

[ The sudden crassness stuns Dimitri too silent to craft a clever retort in time, lashes flickering in obvious surprise. He's always been taught prudence and this is... not that.

But before he can get annoyed or flustered about it, his fellow prisoner moves onto more important matters. And it's true. From all that he's gathered, the people here were never told their crimes, their sentences, their fates. For all that he knows, they were simply locked away in a grand gesture of strength, a broad and blind threat to those who threaten the Hierarchy.

It's intolerable, and he understands the decisiveness. Agrees with it, even. With just one clarification. ]

I care not to escape.

[ He's got plenty to pay for. But repenting for his violence can come after a little more violence. ]

When we retrieve the keys, free the others in this area. I can fend off any reinforcements as necessary.

[ And then without another word, he pulls his hand back into a fist, striking Laurent just as the next guard gets settled in for his should-be lazy shift nearby. It's not a gentle or unskilled hit; Dimitri's never known how to pull his punches, and it needs to look convincing anyway. ]

[wrists]

[ freeing the others in this area is not particularly high on his list, though contrary to what those may believe about him, it is on the list. he does not like to see innocents jailed — there is the simple logistical hangup that he does not know which restless among the prisoners are actually innocent.

however, is the hierarchy thinks they can simply sweep them all up regardless of crimes, they can figure out who actually belongs here. laurent doesn't have time to speak before he finds a fist colliding with his face, just barely steeling himself for the blow. the man doesn't hold back, and laurent feels the hot gush of blood from his nose just as the guard yanks the bars open and stalks inside while wielding his club. laurent doesn't hesitate, springing like a viper to take the man down — he, too, is not unskilled in combat, and in less than a minute the man lays unconscious at his chained feet, the keys held in laurent's pale hand. ]

You're escaping with me. [ laurent frees himself first, shackling the guard to the wall with his chains, and then kneels by his companion's feet, unlocking the heavy irons around his ankles. he wipes his bloodied nose on the back of his hand. ] Or I'm not freeing anyone, and I'll drop these keys in the first gutter I pass. I'm Laurent. Who are you?

[paraselenes]

[ There's many molds of fighters out there—people built even taller and wider than he is, practically unsinkable when it comes to trading even blows. And then there's others more like Felix, slighter folk who strike with precision, speed, and a deadly, decisive lack of hesitation. It's easy to write off the latter, as their guard clearly does, ready to beat Dimitri over the head with a club but completely unprepared for Laurent's attack.

So, maybe this escape isn't totally hopeless. And it has rather suddenly become an escape on his part, too; considering that Dimitri both punched Laurent square in the face and expressed a disinterest in leaving, he stares in a beat of almost dumbfounded silence at how easily he was dismissed before answering. ]

...Dimitri. [ For a split second, it sounds as though he'd continue into a longer introduction, one practiced and made natural to him over time. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. But that doesn't matter here, and there's no second to waste on formalities. He plucks the club out of the knocked-out guard's hand as he leaves Laurent to deal with the door. ] I—

[ Then, a sigh. Rather than arguing, ]

If I'm to accompany you, then you can focus on finding a way out of here. [ Navigating, freeing the other prisoners, what have you. ] I'll protect you, so don't look back.

sincere apologies for my eternal slowness

[wrists]

[ he senses the faltering beat, the weight of an expectation after the name dimitri that doesn't come. there is something familiar here — the man's demeanor, the ease with which he issues commands, even the way he carries himself now that they're both standing. laurent spends a moment studying him, his gaze completely blank even as his mind whirs. ]

You'll protect me. [ he repeats the words slowly, somehow making the noble offering sound sour. ] Would you like to get on your knees and suck my cock, too?

[ he is almost certain dimitri is nobility, and the worst kind at that. virtuous, honorable, righteous. or at least there is the facade of these things. a man can be all of these things and still be a prince-killing akielon dog.

laurent steps lightly into the hall after sliding the door open as quietly as possible, now focused on his task as if nothing has transpired between them. he peeks into the other cells. ]

There are only people here. I want to find my clothes. [ nudity might be commonplace in vere, but this tattered sheet is uncomfortable. ] If it's guaranteed to cause chaos, I'll unlock all the doors. We can slip away easily in the ruckus.

ur good!!💕

[paraselenes]

[ It's hard to place this man, Laurent. He moves like someone tutored in combat, carrying himself with a familiar assurance, but his words are uncouth, bitter as anything; is the vulgarity meant to unsettle him? Is it a provocation?

Either way, Dimitri only answers by fixing him with a hard look, unamused. ]

...The guards travel alone, and if their power is nullified as ours are, then we should be able to overrun them with numbers.

[ The blatant overconfidence would work in their favor, though the problem then is finding an escape route. But given how worn and fractured the buildings are here, he can't imagine it's impossible to slip through the cracks. ]

I'll deal with the next patrol. [ They can't just keep knocking guards out ad nauseum without someone catching on, but it'll buy some time, at least. ] —Your clothes can wait.

[ Not a priority! They can escape in rags for all that Dimitri cares. And with that, he hurries down the hall, wasting no time in clobbering a lazy sentry mid-yawn as they turn the corner. ]

[wrists]

[ his clothes are a priority, thank you, but dimitri scampers off like an overly confident dog before laurent can point this out. the man is strong, at least — for that he's grateful, considering laurent would rather use his head than exert himself unnecessarily. while dimitri takes down another guard, laurent quickly searches the body, leaving the cumbersome club behind when he finds a short blade instead. this is much preferred.

laurent makes quick work of the rest of the doors, each lock clicking open, and stops to free a handful of shackles before leaving the keys with the prisoners to help themselves. he joins dimitri at the corner as people begin to rush around them — and sentries start streaming in, though they're far outnumbered by the newly freed prisoners. ]

We need to find a way out. Don't waste your time playing the brute.

[ laurent beckons dimitri with him as he takes off down the winding hallway, the lights fading to near perfect darkness. the screams behind them fade, and laurent spies an arrow painted on the wall, a dark bloody red. he places a palm to the cold stone, hesitating only briefly before he steps inside, the temperature plunging. he can no longer hear the prisoners, only the steady sound of dripping water, the stone damp beneath his feet as he traverses the underground mausoleum.

phosphorescent fungi clings to the walls, just barely offering enough light to keep him from stumbling, but laurent keeps his hand grazing the stone to watch his steps, his eyes wide in the dark. he can barely see dimitri, but he can sense his presence nearby. a skittering little creature runs by, small and glowing. laurent has half a mind to grab it to use it for light, but it's possible it could bite. ]

We're below the surface. [ he can readily tell from his brief imprisonment below ground courtesy of govart's attempt to kill him. ] We just need to find a set of —

[ something cold and wet wraps around his ankle, and he's abruptly pulled to the floor, landing hard and dragged unceremoniously across the rough stone. on his back, he comes face to face with a mottled gray abysmal, caught in one of its tentacles. he sinks his knife into the slippery flesh and pulls, blood spilling over him before another tentacle slams his wrist to the ground, the knife clattering across the stone. fear swells in him and he swears the creature bares its teeth in hunger as if in response. ]

[paraselenes]

[ They've equipped the others with what they need to escape, their hunger and fury overtaking the sentries with ease and stealing their weapons to beat back fresh guards as they stumble in, confused and in disarray. The freed prisoners do more work than Dimitri can with a single club, though part of him hesitates to leave the din all the same. It takes a moment to convince himself to follow Laurent, and perhaps only because he's taking off alone, in more danger on his own than the escaping throng of prisoners here.

And he did say he'd protect him.

...As it turns out, navigating a dripping, dark cave of a ruin as they are, that was probably the right move. Dimitri only hums in agreement, the dank, stale humidity of their surroundings suggesting that this is some underground channel of sorts, but he's more focused on squinting into the dark at what might possibly, maybe be a passageway?

But it only takes the length of that one sideways glance for something to go awry; his attention snaps back at the sound of Laurent taking a hard fall, the luminescent plants capturing the vague, writhing outline of tentacles.

And—for better or worse, a brute is exactly what he is. And it's only another instant before he answers the call of violence with violence, eyes flared wide and digging his nails in to get a grip on the slippery, mottled tentacle that's pinned Laurent's arm; something wakes then in his blood then, dozing and sealed away as it'd been in their cell, the barrier's effects finally flagging. It takes one tug to tear the tentacle off the Abysmal's main body as his strength answers him. It rips viciously free in rubbery sinew, dark blood—the monster rears back with a ripple of motion and limbs and unholy noise and he chases after its momentum like a hound, unyielding.

A stray bolt of electricity or two arcs off of Dimitri in the meantime, flashing bright enough against the mausoleum walls for Laurent to find that knife of his—or, even better, an exit. ]