Desire half stumbled into the kitchen intent on making himself some eggs. He was grateful to have a bed to sleep in, though from the moisture his fur could definitely use a comb through. The panther only wore pants as he opened up the fridge, pulled out some eggs and bacon, and started hunting for a frying pan and oil.
She hasn’t gone this far out in the city on her own before, however. She reaches the edge of the city by her own means, but with a specific destination in mind. Off the public bus, she stands alone on the edge of the sidewalk, as she takes in the sight Gotham’s cemetery.
It’s a vast, populated place. Tombs and stones lined and scattered, some more recent, others crumbling, some still holding freshly placed flowers. She walks among the graves, hood held over her head. She could’ve been mistaken for a Reaper herself, if one of short stature and missing the ever-telling scythe.
Avoiding the few faces present, she makes her way to the furthest end, to some secluded and forgotten corner. Vines and wildflowers have overtaken most of the aged, sculpted stones, and a broken gazebo has been left abandoned. Statues of angels, gargoyles and hooded figures stand weather-worn, the little details now rendered mute with age. Kichuna stops to stare up at one standing angel, its wings stretched outward, and its expression seeming hopeful.
She flicks out her hand, foot long shadow-claws appearing. In one leap and a swipe, she cleaves the statue’s head clean off.
She checks over her shoulder to see that no one had seen or spotted her in the evening light, then picks up the statue’s head to toss aside. She sprints out to another statue, a gargoyle, and cleaves its head off in turn. Collecting its head, she places it somewhere safe.
She continues her vandalism for some time. Collecting a shield from another angel, a sword from a knight, the correct color of blue stone, the right limb to be sliced and carved into a smaller item…
It’s night by the time she has all the pieces. Careful and with precision, she carves hooks and edges between the pieces, so they may fit as sliding pieces. She climbs up the ruined angel statue, and begins to slide the pieces in. One by one, they lock in.
She steps down, and moves back to admire her work. No longer a weathered, humanoid winged creature stands before her like every other winged creature here, no. There stands a beast, features carved to be tiger-like, fearsome, with its jaws set in a perpetual snarl. The feathered wings had been re-carved to be sharper, renewed, revived. A shield is held in one arm, a sword tentatively pressed against the other. A striped tail had been hooked in, carved from what had once been an arm to another statue. Blue marbles have been placed as eyes.
As the final touch, Kichuna etches Dimitri’s shield insignia on the front of the tomb. She lingers there, her face a mask, before she kneels before it, her forehead touching the stone.
In a world far from here, one known to a small group of adventurers, someone was staying awake.
In that world, full of strange beings, a small island floated on the back of a very, very large Zaratan Turtle. And on that island was a small tropical village by the name of Silverion. Darkness covered the land, but it was nothing unusual, considering the late past-midnight hour. Most buildings were quiet, dark with missing light.
The hospital retained light, however, if only a little.
Because she had to stay awake. Good luck falling asleep when your sole hate-friend is in danger.
Only one light was on by this point; the rest of the hospital had been dimmed low. Kichuna stood by the medical bed, and kept an eye on the large tiger-man that laid flinching, helpless by her. He had been brought in by his wife in a panic, and she had done everything she could to cure him.
It was only enough to stop him from trying to claw out his own brain, but not enough to bring back his mind.
“The fuck did you do to yourself, Dimitri…” The woman’s voice is rough, raspy, as if she were perpetually on the edge of getting over a cold, herself. The tiger’s wife had been since sent off to rest, if allowed to stay in the hospital itself. It took a while to convince her that he would be alright.
Though, Kichuna herself has no idea if he was going to be or not.
“His enchanted necklace heals physical wounds, so it can’t be something like a cut or wound… He’s resistant to poisons, can’t be that…” She recites under her breath in a frustrated hiss. “Mindshields to protect him from outside sources, nothing, but…”
She trails her fingers over the gold circlet she had placed on him; one of her own enchanted artifacts, to help bring one’s mind back. All this has done, however, is stop him from trying to claw out his own skull, and left him blank-eyed and speaking in another dialect entirely. Almost like some kind of incantation…
“…At least figured out how to stop the pain, for now.” She mumbled, her ears swiveling back. “I need help…”
She squints her eyes shut in trying to think. “Who the fuck would even know this kind of shit? Mage, incantations, stupid– I need Sai.”
Kichuna was on the hunt. But the prey is not a person, or even anything living.
She travels the seedier parts of gotham, hood up and cloak on. The lower half of her face remains visible, but here, she doesn’t bother to hide her teeth. She even makes it a point to leave her mouth partially open, as a means to alert those to stare too much, just what they might have to face.
She walks through the streets, medic bag slung over her shoulder, and her reflective cat eyes set to peer down alley to alley. Iris had mentioned the potential creation of Kichuna’s own underground medical office… She just needed a location.
She passes drunkards, whores, men pretending to be tough. The wiser ones already know to give her some space. Here, she doesn’t even bother to hide her tail.
She sighs to herself, however. No place brought inspiration, and anywhere she could find, would still not be enough. She decides to call it a day and turns back– … but she notices a trail of blood on the cement. Recent blood, still damp. She spreads it with her boot. “Hrm.”
Well, she still had some time to kill. She flicks out her fingers, and sets to follow the trail of drops.
“…I mean, I don’t even fuckin’ know, y'know?” Kichuna rasps out. She slouch-sits on the floor within the ship’s kitchen, back against the wooden wall. “And just, these guys, everywhere.” She waves a hand, vague.
A few bottles have been placed around on the floor. The cat-being seems to be experimenting with sampling a variety of the drinks, never really sticking to one in particular. She eyes one bottle of rum, dubious. She picks up a bottle of wine instead to stare at. “Shit man, then y'end up adopting some kind of lost… dark-elf thing and then you have no idea what the fuck’s going on.”
The day is early, and the feline girl decides to finally risk the outside world, out on her own.
Tiran had mentioned the need for secrecy. So she pulls up her hood, tucks in her tail, and makes a note to follow Arelas’ example; she’ll need to find herself glasses. Not to shield her eyes per-say, but to at least hide their obvious non-human qualities.
She sighs to herself at the mirror. Honestly, short of getting herself a burka, and even then…
But she tugs the hood forward an inch, and turns to the door. She can at least give it a shot. She fixes up the medic bag at her side, unlocks the door, and makes her way outside.
The dreamscape went from abstract ideas and incomprehensible blurs, to shape itself in recognizable concepts. The ground was of sand, but tropical grass kept piercing through. It was as if two worlds kept trying to merge with one another; one a barren, dry and arid desert, and the other a fantastical, lush and flowing forest of colorful plants.
The landscape was reminiscent of what would assume to be wonderland, except… Dry, cracked, with just a little bit of too many thorns or dead plants to be fully comfortable. But then there would be flowers, roses, larger than life, but then some plants were broken. Petals visibly clawed through, scars and imprints on leaves, poison-violet shadows on the edges of vines…
On occasion, locked gates are spotted against stone walls, antique keys strewn about. A lost gem or relic could be found embedded in sand and grass, as if simply abandoned.
A series of small stones provide the only mark of a path, even if sharp, triangular holes seem to be stabbed in the dirt on either side. Just now and then, another hole a few inches deep.
Kichuna scratches her nails through her mess of blond hair, She scowls in thought. “City-wide sermon, tch-heh…” She chuckles, like the sound of rustling leaves. “You make it sound like we’re tryin’ to preach a fuckin’ religion…”
She hesitates on the thought.
“Although…” She crosses her arms, and comes to lean against the tall window-sill. “There may be some merit in that. Could try n’ use some preexisting hero-gambit that everyone knows here… Or,” she looks on to Xerves, “Maybe we can pin it as someone’s fault.”
“Make a scapegoat. S'easier to be afraid of something, when that thing has a face. Easier to face it then too.”
Kichuna has yet to regain her memory. But she’s managed to settle in well enough; she’s figured out where her room is, what her items and possessions are, and a few faces in the household.
Sakura was the ‘leader’ and the one that owned the house (Who also seems to be dealing with amnesia, but attempts at figuring out the cause were leading to nowhere). Bing is her room-mate, amicable enough (If always smelling of weed, but she has a feeling she’s smelled worse things before). Javilynn is rumored to live there but not always seen… Savira is the leader’s daughter (and enthusiastically responsible for the furniture), Xerves is the mouse that provides information and seems kind and quiet enough, Ramura is the inventor that goes missing for days…
And then there was him. That cloth-covered, glasses-clad, jumpy deer-of-a-drow.
What was he doing here? What was he? … She noticed she possessed a great deal of medical books on drow. Was he some kind of planned project of hers? For the matter, why is he even here? Above ground, so far from any other drow settlements, eating and drinking human food– what was he doing here?
So it’s there she stands in the middle of the room, wide electric blue cat-eyes staring at Arelas from behind.
It hasn’t occurred to her yet to actually say hi, lost in her thoughts as she is.
Shaken. That’s what Kichuna feels, and the only word she could use to describe it as she wandered the island night alone. She returned from her trip with Dimitri and Sai, only to make the discovery of the island’s state.
It was ironic, really. She spent all this time being on her own, in solitude, seperated from the others … And now she truly was alone.
She held her cloak tight around herself in an act of self-comfort, her security blanket in the night. Not that it made any real difference, but once in the past, it did. She could feel her throat tightening, and she passes her sleeve over her eyes.
At least alone, no one could see just how terrified she really is.
Getting outside help as an outsider is at times, a bit tricky.
For one thing, these lands were filled with humans. Kichuna would have more luck finding someone able to figure out what to do with her from a veterinarian professional than from a hospital worker, and that’s if they’d even want to approach her. Being a non-native species of cat-being leads to interesting problems.
Considering the list of symptoms she’s carrying, she doubts a vet would know how to deal with possible schizophrenia or brain damage, either. So it’s with hood up and under the darkness of the night, that she’s set off on a very specific chase. Rumours. Rumours of another questionable doctor and practitioner. Having dealt heavily with demons and spirits previously, finding the right signs came easy enough.
Doctor Arro Caine. This is the name she’s found, and the office is located. She briefly considers the option of breaking in herself, but, a new, novel idea crosses her mind.
Hair Style/Color: Dirty shock blond, boyish-short but slowly growing out
Clothing Style: Black, brown, greys. She enjoys layers and clothing that allows her to hide her body. She recently seems to enjoy gothic-lolita, though functionality must come first. She’s rarely without a cloak.
Best Physical Feature: She can be rather visually appealing as a whole, being fit as a gymnast, and with a pixie-like built. (Just don’t get her to open her mouth)
LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE
Your Fears:Everything, Being taken advantage of, physical harm
Your Guilty Pleasure: Cutesy items, ‘Japan-kawaii’ things
Your Biggest Pet Peeve: People who intentionally mislead, unwanted romantic advances
Your Ambition for theFuture: Settle, maintain a job, work on improving her crafting skills
LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS
Your First Thoughts Waking Up: “Where are my weapons?” (Kichuna you don’t need those you are the weapons)
What You Think About the Most: People, and how everyone is Mad
What You Think About Before Bed: Bedtime stories of monsters and boogeymen
You Think Your Best Quality Is: “I cut to the chase.”
LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?
Single or Group Dates: “Get those away from me.”
To be Loved or Respected: Respected
Beauty or Brains: “Brains. You see some shit with shapeshifters.”
Dogs or Cats: “Cats. Foxes are alright, though…”
LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?
Lie: “Rarely. The truth is far more powerful.”
Believe in Yourself: “Eh… I guess?”
Believe in Love: “Mm. Depends what you mean by that. I know it’s a thing someone needs for stability, and to be happy. I believe in it’s power, but it shouldn’t be over-estimated, either.”
Want Someone: “Eh… Want is… A strong word. I’m fine on my own and what little contacts I have.”
LAYER SIX: EVER?
Been on Stage: “I don’t think so, but I have been 'in the spotlight’.”
Done Drugs: “In small, controlled doseages, either to test the potency of something, or as self-medication. Never recreationally.”
Changed Who You Were to Fit In: “Heh. Once, gave up on it. Became who I wanted to be, it went swell until my partner died. And then I got better.” She shrugs. “I changed, yeah, but not who I am.”
LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES
Favorite Color: Yellow, Gold
Favorite Animal: “Venomous things that bite. Snakes, spiders. Leeches. I guess I like bats, too.”
FavoriteMovie: “Haven’t seen too many. I guess I like documentaries.”
Favorite Game: “Violent Tag”
LAYER EIGHT: AGE
Day Your Next Birthday WillBe: October 26
How Old Will You Be: “My real age is pretty fucked up, but if we’re going since my … 'restart’, I’ll be 20.”
Age You Lost Your Virginity: “I think I was sixteen in my old life. Did not want.”
Does Age Matter: “Heh. First guy I liked was … er… young.” She clears her throat. “…We never did anything, never got that far. Never saw him again.”
LAYER NINE: IN A BOY OR GIRL
Best Personality: Hardworking and Honest
Best EyeColor: “Don’t care.”
Best Hair Color: “Eh, black maybe. Don’t care.”
Best thing to do With a Partner: “Discussing work, how to improve techniques in a field, I guess sharing interests in some cause or some shit.”
LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE
I love: “Pushing buttons and seeing people flinch.”
I feel: “Tentative.”
I hide: “My heart.”
I miss: “… My half-brother, but only because I enjoyed cutting him down so much, heh.”
I wish: “I could deal with people better, or would want to.”
LAYER ONE : THE OUTSIDE
Name: Mius Quill
Eye Color: Warm Gold
Hair Style/Color: “Candyfloss” mint-teal green, curly and defying gravity.
Height: Changing, but generally around 5'6", add a foot for his ears.
Clothing Style: “Mage-scholar” with heavy French 18th Century influences. He enjoys looking both noble and magical, with decorated longcoats, frills and shiny little details. He enjoys color.
Best Physical Feature: Everything, Bright eyes and a winning smile. The hair is also impressive.
LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE
Your Fears: Making mistakes, being subpar, or anything less than impressive and well-liked
Your Guilty Pleasure: Getting hurt, reading smutting fanfictions, sex
Your Biggest Pet Peeve: Poorly thought-out characters, people stuck in a cycle, bad grammar and spelling. 'Filler’ interactions.
Your Ambition for theFuture: Create a book.
LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS
Your First Thoughts Waking Up: “Who am I? What am I doing?”
What You Think About the Most: The next big twist
What You Think About Before Bed: Abstract concepts, until he passes out, or Ink tells him to sleep.
You Think Your Best Quality Is: “I like to listen.”
LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?
Single or Group Dates: “Oh tough choice. Either one! Each has so much potential!”
To be Loved or Respected: “Love. What are you doing with a past-term there? Rather ominous, that. Though if you mean as a state of being… Yes, yes, loved. Nothing better.”
Beauty or Brains: Mius frowns, unsure. “… Is there a seperation between the two? The unspoken intellect of true beauty, and brains is a much more well-known form of beauty… I see no difference.”
Dogs or Cats: “Ink.”
LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?
Lie: “Sometimes. Maybe? I don’t know.” He smirks.
Believe in Yourself: “I believe in those who believe in me.”
Believe in Love: “Absolutely. Love is a fantastic drive, an unstoppable force when used correctly! Fascinating to watch, though I am fond of Hate as well…”
Want Someone: “Eheheheheeheh does it count if he’s already here?”
LAYER SIX: EVER?
Been on Stage: “I honestly don’t remember, and frankly the whole world is a stage, so… Yes?”
Done Drugs: “I am the drugs.”
Changed Who You Were to Fit In: “Mm? I do enjoy the masquerade now and then…”
LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES
Favorite Color: “Pastels, mint, mother-of-pearl.”
Favorite Animal: “Ink.”
FavoriteMovie: “Oh I have so many, I don’t remember any of them but I enjoy movies! One I do remember however is Paprika, I ought to show it to Ink sometime… I think he would enjoy it.”
Favorite Game: “Improv theater, where I’m the only self-aware actor.”
LAYER EIGHT: AGE
Day Your Next Birthday WillBe: “I don’t think I have one? I could share the same one as my Vessel’s– I mean, Mun, here… Mun is what is used here, yes? August seventh, then.”
How Old Will You Be: “The oldest I’ve ever been.”
Age You Lost Your Virginity: “Ahahehehhh…” Mius gives a nervous, grinning shrug. “Ask Ink.” … “No I am not going to look it up!”
Does Age Matter: “Well that depends entirely on what you mean by 'matter’. For a story? For the laws of a culture? I need context!”
LAYER NINE: IN A BOY OR GIRL
Best Personality: “Frighteningly intelligent.”
Best EyeColor: “Gold.”
Best Hair Color: “I’ve grown a fondness for blond…”
Best thing to do With a Partner: Mius flusters bright red. “..C…Collaborate.”
LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE
I love: “Conflict.”
I feel: “Caffeinated.”
I hide: “My relentless sadomasochism.”
I miss: “Adding to my uh, special records on what Ink and I do alone…” … “S-shut up! I like to read back sometimes!”
I wish: “I could consume Existance, all within it, and reach a state of being in which I experience everything that ever existed in a timeless moment. Forever.” … “But that would be silly.” He laughs.
The caterwauls of cats fighting echo out in Gotham’s alleyways. It isn’t anything out of the ordinary, except for the volume.
Within the alleyways is another scene altogether. The black feline has her daggers out, and is running for her life. Close behind is the white feline, shadow claws out, fangs bared, and a mad cackling, screeching laugh following suit.
“Fuck Fuck FUCK Fuck Fuck FUCK FUCK!” The dark feline swerves and sprints, dodging under pipes and crawling over boxes. The white feline claws her way through metal, through wood, through wire fence as she follows after.
The dark one reaches a dead end, however, and turns to face her chaser. She swallows, and holds up her knives at the ready. “You don’t have to do this.”
“But I want to.”
“Don’t.” Kichuna Mochi’s eyes narrow, her ears pinning back. “I don’t want to have to kill you.”
Kichuna Sly grins further, approaching step by step. “Fuck if I care. C'mon, let’s dance. You’re pretty when you’re scared.” She hisses. Her claws flick out, and she lunges forward.
Only to have a foot come striking upwards, a kick straight up against her chin. It’s enough to stun her for a second, and Kichuna Mochi takes the opportunity to wrestle the white cat to the floor. Arms interlocked, head kept in place, the pinned white cat can only snarl and screech in fury.
“Eeeeeee…” The dark feline whines. She’s stuck holding on.
[[When she was ’re-raised’ by Ink from child to young adult, she chronically hissed as a kid.]]
[[Not even to threaten or anything, she just, hissed a lot. She wanders into a room, going ‘sssss’, collects a toy, wander back out while still hissing away at nothing in particular. Meanwhile Ink is just sitting in his chair with tea, pleased as can be.]]
[[I have this because it amuses me and I find it weirdly adorable.]]
Kichuna hurries to the bathroom, and takes claim of the full-length mirror. He checks his new jaw, neck, the shoulders– and in a fit of shocked emergency, shuts the door to the bathroom while he’s at it.
He removes the cloak, the dress, and strips down entirely. Bare in front of the mirror, he watches himself with pure, unadulterated fascination. “… Whoa.”
He twists around to see himself from whichever angle. “What? … Huh. Hah-heh. Hm.”
Well, this was one way to stop worrying on the lives of others. He gathers up his clothes, and pokes his head out of the bathroom. “…”
He wraps a towel around himself, and sneaks off to the laundry room. He sets to dig through people’s things for clothes. Pants, boxers? … She’ll steal Arelas’ clean boxers, those are probably safe. Ragged jeans, tshirt… And he’s for a moment, surprised at how little clothes he actually needed in order to be considered decent. He gets dressed.
He takes one last ‘venture in front of the mirror. Sharp features, vaguely punk, his hair a spiked mess… And the last thing to add, a simple black jacket.
He grins his Cheshire grin. He won’t need his security-cloak today, no. “Keh-heh.” He licks his teeth in thought.
You know what? Let’s go out for a bit. He heads out the door.