2024-05-29: Hie Into the Dark
- Log: Hie Into the Dark
- Cast: Loren Voss, Gwen Whitlock
- Where: November City - Downtown
- Date: May 29, 2024
- Summary: Loren encounters Gwen in November City. Unfortunately for him, all too soon does she realize that something is amiss.
<Pose Tracker> Loren Voss has posed.
Loren never did like cities such as this. Whether it's here, or it's Guild Galad, or the markets of Aveh, or the bustle of downtown Adlehyde, or the plaza of Etrenank, it's all the same. It's the noise. It's the people. It's the feeling of standing out in the middle of a crowd.
And it is indeed a crowd. November City attracts its fair share of the Badlands population at some point or another, particularly among 'those who come and go', as the turn of phrase puts it. But that doesn't mean that they're welcome in all parts of November.
He's not welcome here.
But of course, there are few places where he is welcome. He can still feel their stares like the points of needles pricking at flesh.
He keeps moving.
There is no order that's send him to November City. No command or deed is wished here, even in spite of their attempt to destroy it but a month ago. It's this and only this:
The song had stopped, and stopped... and then it had begun once more. And he, helpless in its face, had followed. Would acknowledging the fact of it make it better?
Or would acceptance only make it worse?
It burns in the pit of him already after that first acceptance.
He moves through the crowd, shrugging off the dirty glances and sidelong gazes of November's well-to-do.
Why here? He doesn't ask. He doesn't dare ask.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
In comparison, there are few places Gwen *isn't* welcome. This is a function of her meticulously maintained business persona and manner; somehow, few of her clients even know she has an ARM of any kind, much less anything that would detract from her image as an approachable, warm, agreeable person.
It gets harder every time she launches herself into some situation or another, but hopefully, by that time, a client is too aware of how easy it is to do business with her to even think of overcoming that inertia.
As for the force that enables both Loren, Lan, and Gwen, Gwen's never had to explain any of that. It's just been at the back of everything, biding its time, every incident too spread apart to draw suspicious glances from people who aren't already aware of the danger the Stranger offers.
It's hard to say what part Gwen herself plays in the Stranger's machinations, and whether halted song the Stranger wishes to hear is something Gwen is meant to complete, perform, or be someone who emphasizes with his situation.
But in sharing this part, a part of the song could be said to be lodged in Gwen herself, if in memory. For someone who is drowning in a salt ocean and in need of fresh water, it will suffice.
And, for better or worse for Loren, it's getting closer, and closer. The young woman, her head and upper half covered in a hood, is approaching Loren from the back, slowly closing in like a cat upon a clueless sparrow.
Then, when the woman is close enough, the fragment in her coaxing Loren's acceptance, she speaks, just behind him.
"Follow me."
Gwen knows better than to approach Loren openly, right now, where the wealthiest of her potential clients could see her. But does Loren seem to know? Why is he here?
If he accepts, Gwen will lift her hood just enough for Loren to see it's her, as she leads him smoothly down to one of the few anonymous alleyways that remain here; an almost claustrophobic-feeling length that is barely wide enough to allow for the passage of servants back and forth, out of sight and mind.
"Loren, what're you doin' here? You're liable to get killed, walkin' 'round here!"
All the same, this is the source: Gwen Whitlock. But would Loren be surprised?
<Pose Tracker> Loren Voss has posed.
The song is--
It's shifted. It's coming in from behind him now. Did he become turned about? Did something change when he wasn't paying attention? Did its source move--?
And all at once, the panic that starts to rise -- froth on the foam of a dark tide -- is quelled. The sea is as glass. Loren doesn't so much as turn his head.
'Follow me.'
He knows the voice. He knows Her. She calls. He cannot but obey.
Without a word he follows the hooded figure -- the source of the song. Something's wrong picks up the fragment of his awareness still skating across black glass. Something's--
And she lowers her hood once they retreat to one of the back alleys of November's upper class district and there the spell breaks. Loren startles and takes a step backwards. "What-- what are you doing here!?" he sputters, the darkness within spiking along with his own alarm. "And what do you mean, 'get killed'?!"
Why is she the source? Why is she-- here?
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
It's odd; Gwen woul've suspected some resistance from Loren. She'd almost bet on it, with 'come along quietly' simply being a hopeful dream scenario.
And yet, that is what happened. What exactly is happening in Solaris?
And why does she feel something familiar, yet again, in Loren? Not the spark of a Primarch, but something else--
The spell is broken, as soon as Gwen reveals herself.
Ah, so that's it, huh? "I take it you were expectin' someone else?" Gwen asks, with a brief show of a teethy grin.
It doesn't last, as Gwen steps right up to him.
"If anyone gets wind of where you're from, n' what you also did," Gwen says, in a low whisper, "it won't matter what part it was. They'll be stringin' you up one way or another, and you better hope it ain't by your neck. I'm imaginin' you're between a rock n' a hard place, but just what is L-..." She stops, thinking better of saying anything identifiable aloud. The location may be tight and out of sight, but there's still windows above, and walls to carry sound. "... Your boss," she corrects. "What changed with your boss? I ain't sayin' they were some angel, but they're like a different person now."
She pauses, her thoughts changing in that breath in, as she leans in, trying to decipher what's different about Loren.
-- For a moment, her eyes are cornflower blue, serene, speaking promises --
".... N' so have you. But, more recently." Her eyes are that same muddy blue grey they always were.
<Pose Tracker> Loren Voss has posed.
Normally, there would have been. He would have had questions at the least, if not moved to avoid someone appearing out of nowhere to summon him to some strange part of an already strange city. He's paranoid by nature, and not given to trust--
And yet, his internal paradox has always been that he's desperate to trust.
...And yet, even so, that isn't what drives his decision now. It's almost as if his strings are being pulled by another party altogether as he follows her without complaint or even question. Has he in fact mistaken her for someone else he was meant to be meeting?
But the appearance of this placid Loren shatters the moment she reveals herself. And even if his outward expression of displeasure at seeing her is more muted than usual, well, if she had any doubts that she had the right person, here they are dispelled.
"...They're not going to know that," he hisses back, and he seems quite sure of that assessment of his situation and circumstance. "And they'll keep on not knowing that as long as you stay quiet. And you haven't told me what you're doing here or why you're,"
And he stops, because to say anything else will reveal his poorly-concealed secret for what it is.
But Gwen asks about Leah, and Loren seizes on that opening with both (metaphorical) hands.
"You're right. She's changed a lot." He pauses, then adds, "...She can no longer die."
He looks at her then. He stares at her. Her eyes are...?
There is a chorus in his ears.
"...Well, you're wrong," he says, looking away from Gwen, who is just Gwen and no one else. He starts to shift his weight, as if preparing to pull away.
He's fine and normal. Except for the drugs. Except for the song in his ears and the sea of darkness in his heart. Except for hollow at his core that continues to grow daily.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
Loren has a point. The dirty looks he got may have had more to do with his lack of visual evidence he was upper class-- ironically, while he is a Solarian, few people here would know what that was, or how it would even fit into their world view.
Instead, Gwen answers Loren's latter statement. "Because I'm a courier." Regardless of the times she's used it as an excuse, in the end, Gwen is still a courier, and a successful one at that, though the bar isn't too high when you have a Gear.
But why is Loren here? And what happened to make Solaris, or Leah, specifically, more active?
That, Loren answers, willingly.
Unfortunately, this is Gwen having this conversation, so the hows don't come to her immediately, or at all.
"How is that even possible...?" The shock of it is enough to pull her off the scent, and to pull away from her invasion of Loren's personal space to a more manageable, casual distance. "Did she get a special ARM attached to her? Or is this some magic thing?" It's the only two method Gwen could think of, with the former being improvable. Every day Gwen is alive is a day she didn't have otherwise, but there's no guarantee how that will pay off down the road. "And you... why were you here?"
The question may feel more pointed to Loren, even if Gwen herself isn't aware of it. "What were you searchin' for?" The question just popped in her head, in the end.
<Pose Tracker> Loren Voss has posed.
There's no way anyone here -- anyone who was born here, that is -- would know Loren for what he is. Look at him again: look at his clothes. The hems are worn, the colors faded by the road and rough travel. Absent an iron or press, they're rumpled in places. His hair is in need of a trim. His bag is stained. He doesn't look like someone with anything to their name -- or indeed, much in the way of money. He's just another Drifter, wandering into a part of town most have the sense to avoid. There is hostility directed his way, yes...
...but it's the hostility with which someone might regard a dirty dog, not a would-be annihilator.
And that part of the equation -- that he almost played a role in wiping these people out -- doesn't seem to bother Loren in the slightest.
"Hmph," he grumps at Gwen's response, and that at least is more normal.
His ploy works, perhaps, a little too well.
He shouldn't say anything. This is a state secret, at the least. But there has been a growing wildness in his heart, and the dark sea that has begun to expand there only emboldens it further. "It's 'his' power." He pauses. "Krelian. It's said that he can grant 'eternity'." For the first time something approaching misgiving crosses his face. "...She's not who she used to be. Be careful."
A small kindess, there, because that's all he has.
But what was he searching for?
His eyes betray him, even as he tries to look away. How did she know he was looking for something, and not merely gathering intelligence or even just passing through? How long had she been watching him? ...And why is she the source of the song? "...None of your business," he answers, glancing back at her suspiciously. Even when he turns his head, there's no mistaking it: the sound he'd heard before has shifted to her location and grows mute when he so much as looks away.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
Loren and Gwen both deal in the visual language of the Drifter and use it to their advantage, each in their different ways.
"... 'his'?! You mean the St--" There's more than one force of nature and science out there.
".... Krelian?"
Gwen's blinks are almost audible. That innocence does not last.
With a weary grimace, Gwen adds, "I've probably run across him by now, knowin' how this stuff usually goes. It don't sound like she took well to it. 'Specially since..." She trails off, unwilling to continue. "
He has a warning, and Gwen nods, recognizing it for the kindness that it is. "... That part, I know." Gwen's eyes slip downwards briefly, remembering the line of scar tissue left by Leah's blade. Loren wouldn't have remembered that, having had to take Drive in order to--
Oh. Ohhhh. Oh... crap.
Muddy grey eyes look at Loren now. He's going to hate what she's going to say next, Gwen assumes. But still, she has to say it. ".... And you... you've had to deal, with all that, knowing exactly what you know." She murmurs it out like she's laying out the final pieces of a puzzle. "I'm sorry."
That bit of empathy, whether accepted or not, may fall flat against her question, which somehow hits a little closer to home than Loren would have liked.
And she draws from that well again. ".... It's... the other 'him', isn't it? The Stranger. I can sense him on you, now that I'm focusing in." The song grows to a sweet, merciful volume, where Loren doesn't have to strain his ears, or turn away to dim the noise. "He comes to people in times of weakness, to make an offer. Or, I should term it another way--"
The alleyway seems to fall away, brick by brick, so that nothing else might disturb this small bubble of calm. "He comes when you're at a crossroads. He's not taking advantage of you; he's giving you a choice that you might have not otherwise had."
<Pose Tracker> Loren Voss has posed.
"Maybe," Loren agrees. "He was working as Seymour's aide in Spira after we become stuck there."
There's no reason to hide that, after all -- not now, not after that betrayal had been so clearly made. And it isn't as if he owes Krelian anything.
Other than his fear, that is.
And other than his hate.
Is that right? Is this feeling 'hate'? He knows the rumors about the man and his specialties. He knows, also according to rumor, how long he's been said to be in power. And he knows, in the way all citizens of the First Class with any tethers to the halls of power past or present do, who really holds the reins in Etrenank. If the rumors are true, of course.
And he knows they're not just rumors because Leah told him the truth about Solaris.
And he knows who saved Leah from death. Lan had told him -- she had been dying. She hadn't said a thing to him. He still hasn't asked her about it.
He, in his heart of hearts, knows that a part of what he feels about Krelian is hate. That man would strike him down without a second thought and... yes, Loren hates him for that, too.
That darkness haunts his gaze when he turns his attention back towards Gwen. When she apologizes to him. "...Save it," he tells her, shaking his head.
But was it Leah or even Krelian about whom she's speaking? No, it's--
Loren's expression flattens "You're wrong, I didn't--".
The song
grows
louder
And his eyes widen.
Where are they... now?
"An... opportunity?"
She doesn't castigate him, after all. She doesn't warn or probe or pry. Here in the silence in which only Her Song can persist he feels at last as if he can be at ease.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
"Seymour?" Gwen blinks once, before answering herself. "Oh right, the guy that tried to marry that priestess? That whole bit was a *mess*."
The haunting look that plagues Loren's gaze stops Gwen from continuing, either in her banter about the mysterious Krelian, or her need to give some form of acknowledgment to Loren's situation.
"Right," she says, instead, with a nod.
But that is a typical way these conversations go, between Gwen and Loren. Or Gwen and anyone, for that matter.
For someone whose physical heart had been stabbed open, Gwen ironically can't stop thinking with her hypothetical heart when it comes to someone who seems down, often to her own detriment.
But a Gwen's downcast Janus or Loren is another's murderer or capturer.
Or, in the case of the Stranger...
Blue stares into Loren's eyes. "He came to you, because you were in a position where you were capable of something bigger. There are things inside us that keep us from realizing that potential, like fear. Fear of death, fear of consequences, fear of others. Fear of the unknown."
Walls fall away. The sky dims to a matte night. She draws close.
"There is nothing to fear in this world. All its possibilities were decided the moment it ceased to live." Her voice's affectation has lost its accent, as well as its usual cheeriness, as the blue light reflects against her pale red eyelashes, gazing on Loren with an unceasing, gentle stare. "We are all simply attendents to a cooling pyre, distracted and clutching to the last renmants of warmth in its coals. We cling to hope. We are blinded by it... Those of us on the surface, and in the skies."
She reaches up a hand to brush against Loren's cheek, as if wiping away a tear. "He gave you a gift, didn't he? A gift of mercy."
<Pose Tracker> Loren Voss has posed.
Isn't that often how it goes? What is a friend to one person is a would-be destroyer to another -- Gwen need only take a look out into the streets and remember how close it came. Any number of these people walking through the downtown could have died, or lost loved ones, and it would have ultimately been because of the person she's speaking to now.
Without what they had stolen from the labs, after all, Solaris would not have been able to launch such an attack, thwarted or not.
But such concerns soon -- quickly -- fall by the wayside. Here the noise of the downtown fades to a dull roar, then not even that. Not even their shadows can be seen: this is a crepuscular world which exists for Gwen and Loren alone.
For them -- and the song.
He should be afraid. Once, he would have been afraid. But even the beating of his heart has slowed as he gazes on her. The struggle against what rests within him stills.
Shh.
Enough.
"This world is... dying..." he echoes, feeling that truth as surely as the slow rhythm of the life that persists still in his veins. "Are we to see its last days?"
Leah had spoken of God's advent, a world in which all would be set to right, but... he doesn't think he can...
No, it's more than that. He doesn't /believe in what she promises--
And wouldn't it be easier to let it all go? His eyes blur and burn and he blinks once, twice, against the threatening tears.
But he was given a gift. A very special gift. He didn't deserve it, but it was given to him all the same.
Gwen's thumb finds that his cheek is wet.
"Yes," he answers her, able to speak at last to what he was bequeathed. "He gave me the gift of mercy." He remembers its weight in his hands. He remembers how it had plunged deep, deep into that man's chest. "And with it, I might end this farce."
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
'And with it, I might end this farce.'
The song could swell here, if that is what the Stranger was pursuing as an answer to the unfinished song.
Gwen's head falls forward.
"..... No."
One off note sounds, clanging against the song.
"... That... ain't right."
The song doesn't stop, but an instrument is pulling back out of the orchestra, dimming it back to the nonexistent hum as before.
Two hands now stamp on Loren's shoulders, like he was a wall she had to lean against. It's not an intimate gesture; anyone looking in the alleyway could mistake Gwen for a drunk someone who's just thrown up, and Loren the unlucky fellow who has to play lamppost to keep her from falling over.
".... Fricken..... Blue eyes..." Gwen's curly hair hangs down, barely obscuring Gwen's face from view. ".... Damn it.... pulled you into my bullshit, didn't I? Usually, for Lan... I'm the one t'pull her out." Gwen's head raises, with fog grey eyes, her mouth open and panting.
With Gwen, comes the world.
The walls, and sun, are back, as is everything physical that exists in this apparently dying world. .... Not that anyone could know that from the clamor going on a street away, or the squeak of opening windows as a maid throws out grey water to drain out in the alleyway below nearby, the windows clanging shut.
Right now, the world is doing a poor job of trying to be dead.
"Listen," Gwen stammers, her grip on Loren's shoulders tightening. "What I was tryin' to say, before I got... distracted." She shakes her head. "He gives you something because there's something he wants from you. He won't help you get out of the mess that happens afterwards, after what happens. Don't... do what he wants, whatever it is. Please, Loren." She's begging, now. "I nearly destroyed part of a city. It was a miracle I even survived. You... don't have a thing like the Mockingbird to bring you back."
But it isn't like Loren can continue like the Stranger never came to him, her mind tells her. The status quo... has to change, or many will die.
Loren doesn't have the friends she does. But isn't that why she insists on being his?
Gwen's grip loosens. She hesitates, then releases him. "... Find your own path, Loren. One that ain't Solaris, or the Stranger. I know you can do it."
<Pose Tracker> Loren Voss has posed.
It takes just one wrong note for Loren to blink, muzzily, the sensation of that blade's hilt vanishing in the span of a single second from his grasp.
And it takes Gwen just one moment more to reach out for him, planting both hands with force upon his shoulders. He startles even having seen the motion coming.
And this transient world begins to wash away on the tide.
"What... was I--"
There's water, dirty water sloshing against dirty pavement, too close at hand and followed by the clatter-clunk of the windows closing once again. Someone shouts at someone else on the street; a vehicle honks a horn. There are smells: metal, dirt, the distant aroma of baking bread. Rubber. Sweat, rot.
Life persists, regardless of its form.
Still staring ahead like a stunned deer, Loren's attention shifts abruptly to her. "I'm-- I'm not! I'm not, whatever you think it is-- I'm not," he insists, pressing down hard against the tide that threatens to swell up within his chest. "He didn't. I didn't."
He has to believe that, even in spite of what happened just now. It was a dream. It was nothing. He didn't break. He... couldn't have...
"--And I'm not doing anything he wants."
Just now, hadn't he felt...?
No. Absolutely not!
He breathes deep once, twice, the scent of the city filling him. "He's a monster. I won't forgive him for what he did to--" he starts and stops, something complicated crossing and contorting his expression in the moment. "...I won't," he says, and it's an open question as to whether he's answering Gwen's plea or if he's reiterating his sentiment.
Find your own path.
The face he's making now... didn't Gwen just see it? When she'd reached up to brush his cheek. He looks, in the moment, as if there was something he desperately wants to say.
But Gwen had released him. And, overcome by whatever tide now grips him, he turns his face away from her.
And then he'll run, if he can. He'll break from her for what safety the street can offer.
Just another wild Drifter, in a part of town he ought not to be.