2020-10-12: What Manner of Thing
- Log: What Manner of Thing
- Cast: Ida Everstead-Rey, Azoth, K.K.
- Where: Via Purifico
- Date: October 12, 2020
- Summary: In which Azoth has an encounter with the Trial Knight and gives wrong answers only.
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
It feels like it's been days since the Yevonites threw Cecilia, Ida, and Azoth into this cell. Ida isn't sure how much time has passed--maybe Azoth would, but she hasn't asked. What Ida does know is that the fabric of her mental health, already stretched thin by circumstances and lack of medicine, has begin to fray. A little while back, the Yevonites took Cecilia out for some reason they didn't bother explaining, leaving Ida and Azoth alone. Even though there was tension between Ida and Cecilia, Ida isn't taking it well at all.
Ida sits at the edge of her cell, her legs crossed, her hands on her knees. She takes slow, deep breaths, like her mother taught her, but trying to calm her racing thoughts is like trying to put a saddle on a rampaging bull. And it's obvious, to onlookers, that her captivity is taking its toll. Her hair is tangled and unbound, and her half-shirt and pants are stained with grime and soot and old, dried blood. She looks like she hasn't had a good night's sleep in days, and that's the truth. Even with Azoth's generous offer to act as a heated electric blanket, her rest is uneasy. At this moment, she can't sleep at all, despite being exhausted.
They've gotten out of worse than this, Ida reminds herself, as if repeating it will somehow make good things happen. They're trying to break you. You can't let them.
<Pose Tracker> Azoth has posed.
Azoth does, in fact, know how much time has passed within this prison down to the second. He knows how long Cecilia has been gone, down to the second. That's just how he acknowledges time. Or everything in general, when you get down to it. His life is one of specific measurements.
One of those measurements is his own power source. There's been precious little activity here outside of acting as a living(?) space heater -- whether nuzzled up to or not -- but Azoth has almost no data to accurately predict how long they'll be here. So he 'rests' when he can. It also helps the guards think maybe he actually does sleep.
But it isn't sleep. It isn't even sleep mode. There are too many threats to go that far. It's simply a stillness as he slumps against his own side of the cell, quiet with his own calculations while part of him is always listening, always sensing and scanning, for when it comes time to act.
Maybe it can give Ida the illusion of privacy, too.
<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.
"You are strained, Ida Everstead-Rey."
It's a familiar thing, the way that metal-flanged voice cuts through the once-unobtrusive silence of Bevelle's prison cells. The way it suddenly comes from almost everywhere and nowhere. The warp of it, making it so hard to determine much of anything beyond the commanding tone of its presence.
The way it always, always, heralds the presence of that white-armored knight, stepping out from the shadows as if they had always been there.
They are not part of the Yevonite's guard detail. They are not even, really, part of the Yevonites; adjacent, at best. Yet it does not stop K.K. from appearing all the same, as they ever do, with all the authority and presence in their stride that suggests they belong anywhere they deem fit.
How they got here, how long they have been here, are perhaps questions best not dwelt on overlong.
All that matters is the simple fact that the Trial Knight stands but a few feet from Ida and seemingly-slumbering Azoth's cell, white armor shining in the gleam of the prison's lighting. The tone of their voice an absolute. Ida is strained. It is obvious.
But their words, even when simple, typically allude to much more than the physically obvious.
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
'You are strained, Ida Everstead-Rey.'
Ida has heard that voice before, many times. It never fails to make her breath catch in her throat, if only for a moment. Usually it does more--like now. Ida's head snaps up, and her sunken eyes cast around the cavernous hall before falling on the catwalk in front of her cell. K.K. stands there, less than twenty feet away. As usual, Ida never saw or heard them until they chose to announce themselves.
There. Now, how are you going to make a fool of yourself this time? You never did get their approval, only their tolerance.
"What do you think," Ida says. It's not quite a snap, but the stress is plain and clear. She sucks in a breath, and lets it out in a full-body shudder. When she speaks again, she's marginally calmer. "I'm sorry. I haven't had my medicine in days. I wasn't able to convince the guards to give it to me." Framing it at least partially as a violent break in her treatment helps somewhat. It's not her fault her brain does this.
"I think I know... why you're here."
DAYS AGO, ON THE ROOFTOP
"Do you yet remember the importance of falling?"
"I do," Ida whispers. Her voice is a dry, pained creak. "But Yuna--"
'Kill them.'
Ida's eyes focus on Seymour, calculating the odds of her being able to do anything meaningful.
And then Yuna does the one thing she can do to seize control. A strange sort of relief settles onto Ida, despite the panic. She pleads, but Ida does not move. She still has a conversation to finish.
"I fell," Ida says, her voice pained in more ways than one. "And though I fly, the mud still clings to me. But she--she was born flying." Perhaps not the most tactful thing to say while Yuna is threatening to hurl herself to her death, but it's K.K.'s metaphor, no thers. "She does not see the mud. She sees me."
"And I..." Ida's hands tense into fists again. "I have faith in her, as she has faith in me."
NOW
"I meant what I said," Ida says, and it's true, but a hollow feeling settles in her throat anyway. She shifts her weight, and puts her hands to the bars, the birdcage-like cell swaying gently.
<Pose Tracker> Azoth has posed.
K.K.'s presence is one Azoth only would have had the chance to catch once before, very briefly, during the wedding crash -- the white knight who had their sword to Ivan's neck. Even with his eyes closed in false sleep, Azoth knows a new presence is there, sudden and sure.
That alone is enough to be frightening without all the other questions that come coiled with their presence. Even a storm gives warning before it arrives.
Alarms may pulse in Azoth's calculations, but his body remains still as death while he listens. There aren't hostilities. Yet. Will there be? He doesn't have enough data on this individual to put forth a hypothesis. Not being recognized as present may be Azoth's best chance at getting that data.
...It's data on Ida, too, whether Azoth means for that or not.
<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.
'I'm sorry.'
It's an odd thing, perhaps, to give apology to an entity that nearly drowned an entire planet in the foulest taint.
Perhaps odder still is the simple fact that, rather than rebuke, the self-proclaimed Adversary of Mankind simply inclines their head in wordless acknowledgment.
"Cages do not exist for succor. Those that provide such provide them only so as to illude the truth of their nature."
That horned helm tilts. There is no face to the faceplate that covers them, no visible eyes to speak of.
The presence of their stare is more of a thing felt in its weight, when it falls briefly upon Azoth.
"... But it cannot deceive those who have already known what it means to be free of their gaolers. It can but torment them further with the obviousness of its bars."
And then it is gone, as soon as it was there, falling once more upon Ida as she makes her hollow assertion.
Clawed, armored fingers spasm in an arrhythmic pattern at their right hand.
"The get of man means many things they say. And oft times they mean it still when they say exactly the opposite, upon another day. You are a multitude of stories. 'Tis the nature of you. 'Tis the selfsame root of your poison." Their head cants to their left. They seem content to stand where they are, devoid of weapons. But there is always that strange, instinctual feeling to them, that they are ready for violence at any moment. Even now, in the midst of this conversation, with little to threaten them. As if it were simply a part of their nature.
"You meant it," they repeat, slowly. "What do you mean now, caught within your cage?"
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida looks up at the ceiling of the cell. There are chains attached to either end of it, granting it some degree of stability--perhaps the one mercy the Yevonites included in its design. No amount of furious struggle can send it careening into the walkway, or into another cell. Ida tried. She gave it a few solid strikes before giving up. Whatever the bars are made of, it's possibly stronger than Gear armor--she suspects sorcerous wards. The same wards also keep them from falling out, despite keeping the illusion that it could happen.
Having looked around her cell, Ida's gaze falls on the Trial Knight's hand. That tic again. Always that tic. Why?
Ida swallows. She saw that look at Azoth, and she leans forwards, as if trying to draw K.K.'s attention away from him. The cage sways just a little more in that direction. "Yuna never knew me as I was," she says. "But even if she did, I do not doubt that she would've risked everything to rescue me from the hell I made for myself. She has shown me nothing but kindness and patience--kindness and patience I do not deserve." Tears slick her eyes. If Azoth's got chemosensors active, he'll notice a small spike in the already-high levels of cortisol.
"When she came to my rescue, she did not free me. She gave me--restored my power to free myself. So I--" Ida swallows. "I had to come here."
Don't lie. It was the guilt. Guilt has driven everything you've done since you were Purified. Especially that.
Ida's eyes narrow. As if in defiance of that hateful little voice, she whispers two words: "Shut up." They aren't directed at K.K. She clenches her right hand into a claw, feels a tiny ember of the power that sustains the world.
<Pose Tracker> Azoth has posed.
Every action is a calculation. Every smile is a conscious decision on Azoth's part as much as every flinch or twitch. The weight of K.K.'s presence, however heavy and unsettling, does not provoke Azoth into dropping his unconscious facade. Whether this should be perceived as stoicism or as the same response a newborn fawn would give is up for others to determine.
It's Ida that makes him question if he should. Ida is strained, and this conversation isn't helping. Shut up. It's not for K.K. ... It might not even be for the other she's bonded to. He does not want her to feel alone in this.
But he doesn't know what K.K. is capable of, or what K.K.'s objective is. If anything turns violent, even the smallest upper hand of surprise is so much more crucial to Ida's well being than than whatever empty comfort he could provide.
Azoth's calculations painfully conclude to keep where he is, recording Ida's words into memory.
<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.
"Compassion is oft a cage of most insidious design. One that suffocates in its endless mercy, unaware it does little but show its captors a cruelty of a different stripe."
The words are a calm thing, following in the wake of Ida's tearful words on Yuna's kindness she has so abundantly shown the Galadan heiress.
"And this land ever-relies on such kindness and patience to keep its bars mighty indeed."
This is, it seems, a thing that has dwelled in the knight's attentions for some time now. How long, who can say? There's little telling how long K.K. has been aware of Spira, or how much they truly know of it -- or when, even, they resolved themself to their current course regarding it. But make no mistake:
There is nothing but resolve in their words. The resolve of someone who has come to a decision, and intends to see it through.
Whatever it might be, however, it is not what brings them here -- and it is not where their attention nor even interest ultimately lies, at this moment. They watch Ida for a moment, tears making her eyes shine, hissed words whispering past her lips. Right hand curling towards a claw.
"... Yet you remain your cruelest gaoler. You have but exchanged one set of bars for another. You are not in accord, Ida Everstead-Rey." They pause here, for a long moment. When they speak next, their words are a pointed thing.
"I would ask you this: what do you -truly- deserve?"
It seems it is not a question they intend to have answered now -- or at least, not one they have interest in hearing answered at this moment. No. It's a thing difficult to tell, in the subtleties of their stoic body language, but Ida has experience with them well enough to know by now: their attention is no longer on her, anymore. As if her forward lean had simply drawn attention away from her instead of towards, their unseen stare returns once more --
"... What manner of thing is this?"
-- to Azoth.
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida sucks in a deep breath, and endures the Trial Knight's words. As usual, everything they say is true--pointed and hurtful, but true nevertheless. "The Maesters said as much," she whispers. She endured those horrible words, as well, though there and then she was silenced and all but paralyzed by Yevonite wards. "They're no better than the wicked old men back home." Ida's right hand squeezes into a fist, the ember of Moor Gault's power waxing bright within it. "Propping up their rotting empire on the bodies of heroes. Heroes like her."
...And whether Yuna realizes it or not, Ida thinks, she hasn't broken free. The moment of realization flickers in Ida's eyes. K.K. can see it. She swallows hard, and endures the rest with a single nod.
And then K.K. looks directly at Azoth, and Ida's heart leaps against her ribs.
Idiot girl. Did you think they'd ignore him forever?
"He is no enemy of yours, Adversary," Ida says, her voice tight. There's a protective edge in Ida's voice. She moves to sit directly between Azoth and K.K.
<Pose Tracker> Azoth has posed.
The knight speaks of Spira. Again, Azoth questions their objective. They drew a blade on Drifters, but that does not necessarily make them allies of Yevonites. Yet their tone carries the weight of someone with purpose, and the unfortunate truth about purpose is that sometimes the most powerful strategy to fulfilling it is keeping it from ever being fully known.
What manner of thing is this?
Thing.
A broken memory rakes in Azoth's core. The images don't come, but the feedback does, raw and like a tangle of spikes, echoing over and over. What manner of thing.
But the positions within their cell quickly becomes compromised as Ida moves, her between him and this unknown threat. Blue light blooms from behind her. Azoth grips his fingers gently around her arm as if he'd never been sleeping at all, his glowing eyes open. His voice is low and urgent.
"Don't."
Don't defend him. It isn't worth it.
<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.
Ida interposes herself in her cage, between the Trial Knight and the new focus of their interest. They take a single step forward, the bootfall ringing upon the catwalk like a precursor to words. Yet --
Don't.
... with one word, and the grip of a hand around Ida's arm, K.K. comes to a stop.
"... 'Twould seem he needs not the bars of your succor, Ida Everstead-Rey."
Their head cants, a curious angle to the left.
"And whether he be an enemy mine is not yours to decide, lest you would make his will your own."
They stand poised as if ready to keep moving forward, like they might simply raid that bird cage without second thought; yet the knight never moves past that single step, still as a statue save for the single motion that brings their armored arms folding at their chest. But their scrutiny -- that is an all too active thing.
"So you see fit to join us now, creature." The term isn't quite condescending. Or even dismissive, necessarily. Almost as if K.K. is unsure just how to quantify Azoth, and so simply settles for something ultimately other.
"You wear man's face, but you are not of their get. Are you? I ask again. What are you?"
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
In an instant, the field changes. Ida hadn't realized Azoth was still conscious; she jolts a little as she turns to face him, eyes gone wide in surprise. "Azoth," she breathes. No, she wants to tell him. You can still escape from them. Don't do this to yourself.
Twould seem he needs not the bars of your succor, Ida Everstead-Rey.'
It's as if K.K. knew what she was thinking.
Would you throw yourself on that grenade to protect him?
Ida is trembling, her hands clenched at her side. She says nothing more, for the moment--to do so would be to deny Azoth his own voice.
<Pose Tracker> Azoth has posed.
As Ida shakes, Azoth gives her arm a small squeeze. Reluctantly, he relents his grip. She may need to move.
He looks past her to the white knight, taking in their visage in full for the first time. Their armor makes their face as telling as his own wouldn't be. It could be only words between them, if they so chose, with all other data points silenced and left to guesswork.
For a moment, Azoth considers that with a face matching the puppet that he is. Thing. It still stings in his thoughts, but more because he cannot access the memories it scrapes against. K.K. has already -- for better or for worse -- acknowledged Azoth as something a little beyond a thing. A creature is fine. But before he speaks, he decides to crack an awkward smile instead -- a deliberate display of pushing past nervousness for attempted bravado.
"Do any of us truly know what we are?"
What? It seems like the kind of statement a cryptic knight who materializes from nowhere might appreciate. His smile fades. He's not here to risk their wrath, either. This could prove difficult if K.K. begins to demand details. Time periods. Origins.
"In this place, I believe the term is 'machina'."
<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.
There is a smile there. Something anxious, yet affecting bravado.
With purpose.
The only response for a time is Azoth's own expression reflected in the faceless polish of the Trial Knight's helm.
"..."
They offer no response to Azoth's question. It lingers in the air as if it were meant for him to find the answer to, not the knight it was ostensibly asked of. The discomfort of that silence lasts only as long as it takes for the would-be puppet's - creature's - thing's - smile to fade away, and for other words to find the stillness of the air.
'Machina.'
Their clawed hand lifts to their chin, their first, most obvious reaction since the conversation began.
A show of curiosity.
"The automaton," intones the knight, almost to themself.
"Azoth."
The name is uttered into the air almost testingly, as if to see if it might provoke response. How they know it, well -- Ida might be able to make an educated guess.
The knowledge of it commits them to focus upon Ida's cellmate with what at least feels like renewed interest.
"... I see. You are no get of man, but perchance you dangle from their strings all the same. I've a question for you, machina. 'Tis one not to be answered in haste, but 'tis an answer you will have, whether you know it or not."
It's sudden, their movement. The way they suddenly -stride- across the catwalk crisply and with purpose. The way they -reach- out across that gulf --
-- to snare the bars of Ida and Azoth's birdcage when it is just close enough, holding upon it with an iron grip that refuses to relinquish.
"'For what does your heart beat?'"
Until they have the answer they require, one way or the other.
The iron in their grasp groans under the pressure of their passion.
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida scoots back slightly, getting out of Azoth's way. As terrified as she is for his sake, she has to hold it together. In its own way, the shift in K.K.'s focus is a blessing; Ida breathes deeply, and focuses on the cold cell floor beneath her body. The chill in the air. The scent of stagnant water. The glow of the distant lamps.
The sudden, terrifying lunge, as K.K. moves to seize the cell bars with both hands. Ida startles, but in its own way, this is familiar.
There is nothing Ida can do to save Azoth, now. The best she can do is be there for him. As the iron groans in the Trial Knight's grip, Ida settles her hands on the android's shoulders, and squeezes tightly.
Neither of them are alone.
Maybe that will be enough.
<Pose Tracker> Azoth has posed.
The automaton. As if K.K. already knew of him. Azoth is still and emotionless again.
By opting to emote at all, the decision not to becomes its own tell. It's an oversight Azoth hasn't learned to account for yet. He's a manipulator in his own right, but ironically its his sincerity that becomes his strongest asset in that. And, until now, easy targets.
Calculations run rapid as K.K. approaches. The speed of their movements. The force of their step. It's scraps of data, barely enough to build a reaction on at all. They reach out, and the cage rattles. Azoth's empty gaze never leaves K.K.'s masked face.
As if Azoth has a heart.
But he isn't being asked for a literal answer.
At first, silence. Then Azoth pointedly responds rather mechanical set of beeps. Azoth's voice gains a synthetic reverb, losing all sense of boyish cheer, uncertainty, or any life at all. It is a concession in and of itself for Ida to have to see it.
"You do not have the authorization to access that data."
<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.
You do not have the authorization to access that data.
In the space leading up to that cold, coded response, K.K. holds fast - holds strong upon those bars. There is tension in the chain from which is swings, as if the knight might simply tear it from the ceiling with one mighty yank at any moment.
And yet --
As Azoth's voice bleeds of cheer just as his face becomes so flat it might as well reflect as much nothing as K.K.'s own helm --
As that reverb wreathes his standardized message and his gaze empties of all semblance of the heart K.K. seeks answers of--
The fingers of those hands tremble once more, briefly, along the bars they hold.
"... We see what we think we are, Azoth."
The chain creaks with mounting tension.
"And in so doing, we wrought the bindings that keep us from seeing what we could be."
And that grip abruptly releases.
Tension sends it into a swing as the Trial Knight steps backwards, their hands falling back to their sides. Their horned helm tilts, looking towards the exit for a long, quiet moment.
"No. Mayhap I do not have that authority.
"Such shall not stop me from tearing this 'data' from the heart of you all the same."
There's a little bit of a delay in their saying 'data,' like they were feeling out a new word they have only context to understand the meaning of. But don't mistake them:
The rest of it is intoned very terrifyingly if you ignore that one part.
And with that declared like a promise - like an inevitability - they pivot, crisply, upon their heel.
"'Twould seem you were wrong, Ida Everstead-Rey. The automaton is my enemy, down to the very core of him. The bars that hold you both are not so dissimilar."
They begin to walk... and only pause, halfway, to look over their shoulder.
"... And you, girl, do not know what you deserve. But you will."
And unless stopped, they will begin to walk again -- shimmering white motes of light rising up to begin the process of whisking them away as abruptly as they arrived.
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida looks at Azoth for a long, quiet moment as he speaks. How much of their interactions, she wonders, have been a facade? Is this what's really behind all the smiles and cheer?
Ida breathes out, and sets the thought aside, gently. Her hands stay where they are, on Azoth's shoulders. It takes effort to keep them there, supporting him, as K.K. makes a terrifying display of strength. Her heartbeat quickens in her chest, and she falls backwards--if Azoth doesn't grab something, she might send him tumbling with her, because she does not let go. It wasn't so long ago that K.K. made a similar promise to her, a promise that yet hangs over her.
Find your purpose, and find it soon, or they will turn your home to ash.
'The automaton is my enemy, down to the very core of him. The bars that hold you both are not so dissimilar.'
"Then I will be there for him," Ida whispers. Not 'save'. Not 'protect'.
'And you, girl, do not know what you deserve. But you will.'
Ida has no answer to that. Instead, she turns to Azoth, tears glimmering in her eyes. "Are you all right?" she breathes.
What does it look like? Idiot girl.
<Pose Tracker> Azoth has posed.
Azoth's answer holds. No matter how powerful a being K.K. might be, no matter what feats they may be capable of, their presence does not change Azoth's code.
The program is absolute.
If the Trial Knight wants answers, there can be no words. Only action. Brutal, merciless action that leaves no room for Azoth's own ploys. And that is exactly the threat he hears in K.K.'s promise.
The cage swings, and Ida's touch leaves him. He grabs the bars and reaches back with calculated precision, taking hold of her arm to keep her from falling and steadying them both. Other than that, he remains haunted by stillness.
He's a puppet on taut strings. A doll. A cryptic knight can speak of hearts and all they wish, but it does not give Azoth one. A machine wearing the face of a man stares back at Ida as the Trial Knight vanishes behind him.
The light of Azoth's eyes glistens off of Ida's tears. He ignores her question.
"... You do deserve them," Azoth says instead, his voice back to the gentle facade it was before. "Patience. Kindness."
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Azoth catches Ida before she falls. He holds her in place, effortlessly, as she regains her balance. The sickening vertigo doesn't leave her--not entirely. There is genuine shock in her eyes as she looks at the construct. If Azoth was horrified by what Ida told him, Ida is horrified by that moment when the mask dropped.
He wears a mask. Just like she wore one for so long. What's beneath it? For a moment, Ida looks at Azoth as though he isn't the gentle person who held her and kept her warm while she slept.
Only a moment, though. It all comes pouring out in a rush--a wave of stress and empathic pain all leaving her at once. Ida grips Azoth tightly, and starts sobbing into his shoulder. It's a good few moments before she's coherent enough to speak.
"That," she breathes, "was the Trial Knight. The Adversary of Mankind. They who test Heroes to greatness, or to destruction."
<Pose Tracker> Azoth has posed.
Azoth holds Ida's horrified gaze with his own, unyielding. It hurts. But his face is unchanging. It hurts, but to try and deceive her further with a smile would hurt even worse. Once she's steady, he carefully let's go.
That's it, he thinks, until suddenly she's upon him, sobbing.
Azoth hesitates before setting his arms around her, resting one hand on her head. His body heats up, just slightly, to the temperature he'd observed her finding most comfortable when she used him for warmth before. He says nothing. This is an important stress relief for organics. He can give her his share of water to make up for it.
"The Trial Knight," he repeats, softly. "Then I should be of no consequence. I'm no hero."
They called him an enemy. But even what that means isn't fully clear.
"...I shouldn't have left you alone with them so long. I'm sorry."
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
'I'm no hero.'
Ida shakes her head. "They saw something in you," she says. Her voice is low, grave. She's still shaking, even with Azoth holding her, warm and comforting. "They will not rest until they have what they seek. It--it was like that for me. They were here for me. I--"
Ida swallows. She doesn't finish the apology. "You have nothing to be sorry for. But I... I know the feeling."
<Pose Tracker> Azoth has posed.
Saw something. Saw something. Azoth permits himself to indulge in a laugh. It's an awkward, glitched sound coming from his voice box. Unpracticed. Broken and without joy. Or maybe that just reflects the mood of that particular joke.
If that's so, then maybe the Trial Knight is as easily manipulated into the lies as everyone else. A fool, if an extremely intimidating one. Ah, but they would say the same of him -- minus the intimidation -- wouldn't they? They work from two entirely different data sets, perhaps each incomprehensible to the other. There is so much threat in the knight's words, but Azoth can't deny his fascination.
"I'll keep that in mind," is all he can think to say to that. "...Thank you. You need to rest. You don't have to sleep--" That was too much before-- "But lie down, please."
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Azoth laughs. It's a horrible sound, made even more horrible because it cuts her right to the bone, reminding her of a past self she is not at all proud of. Strip out the mechanical elements, and change the pitch, and it could've easily come from Hellion Ida's lips.
Ida pulls away just far enough to meet Azoth's eyes. "They will test you," she says, her voice like a razor's edge. "They will torment you. They will do everything in their power to break you."
Azoth tells her to lie down. She does, but her gaze doesn't waver. "Do you understand? If there's--if there's any truth behind that mask, Azoth, then please, I beg of you."
"I don't want your blood on my conscience."
<Pose Tracker> Azoth has posed.
They will do everything in their power to break you.
They would be doing everyone a favor if they did.
Azoth lowers down with Ida, allowing her to use him as a pillow if she wants. But he doesn't push it if she doesn't, because -- If there's any truth behind that mask--
It hurts. Who's supposed to be the trial knight here again?
He carefully sets his hand over her head, warm still. "You will not be to blame for what they do, Miss Ida," he says quietly. "I understand, all right?" He probably doesn't. "Please... just rest."