empxrical

[empxrical]

Something inside my head—growing. Something inside my chest—growing. (You'll never be the same again.)

STILLGROWS ft. Sigma of Bungou Stray Dogs and a canon-divergent Scaramouche of Genshin Impact, as well as original characters & muses from various videogame, podcast, literature, and animanga sources—all interpreted and written by Syd.

[empxrical]

really the people of rg are very cool for not showing up to burn down the castle yet. or they are just waiting for the right opportunity. who can say

[empxrical]

"You still give yourself too much credit, even now," Even scoffs.

Had Marluxia gotten both Sora and the results of the Replica Project within his grasp, he really would've had an advantage over the rest of the Organization—and perhaps have the power to affect things even further beyond that, to catastrophic extents. But there were always other contrivances that would've gotten in the way, other allegiances that would have seen him fall, one way or another. It sounds like Axel just intervened first. Typical.

His thoughts are pulled back from unfortunate what-ifs to the present. Lauriam is just as skilled with his words as Marluxia was, and is as successful at saying just enough to get under Even's skin.

"I'd be tempted to ask how you know, but I'm sure people talk." About me. About us. Between the surviving townsfolk and the work of the Restoration Committee, it's not a secret that Ansem and his apprentices were involved in (if not outright responsible for) the disaster that befell Radiant Garden. A fact that isn't openly brought up in their presence, but one easy enough to deduce.

The look of apprehension on Even's face—perhaps because Lauriam might just have another advantage here—belies his attempt at pretending he ultimately doesn't care.

"In that sense, you are lucky. You don't have to be wary of the expectations of other people." Yet another never-ending pressure, among others.

"Is that why you chose to come here? Did you think everyone in this world would simply be oblivious to who you are?"

Lauriam raises his head again once Even begins speaking, watching as the man lays all of his pain out in front of him. He doesn't miss the chill in the air but doesn't react to it, either. The plants that decorate this tiny shop almost seem alert themselves, unnaturally tense in their response to Lauriam's intense discomfort.

No, this was more than discomfort. Lauraim's lips thinned as Even continued on.

"Consequences...?" A low snort leaves him in spite of himself. "I'm very aware. After you were felled, Sora very nearly became my puppet. He would have, if not for Axel."

It was a strange thing to look back on. In part, because he still felt so angry that his plan had fallen through. The bitterness that he, the betrayer, had betrayed himself first.

What made it so strange was that another part of himself was relieved. Regaining his memories at that point? Lauriam had no idea what he would have done with himself. Perhaps he would have thrown his heart away again just to escape the pain.

"I'm not so foolish as to expect you to accept anything from me, Even. I never thought you would to begin with. You've always been—" Belligerent, pugnacious, captious, "proud."

"I'm sure that no one would ever be so foolish as to trust me if they were aware of what I've done. I suppose I'm lucky, aren't I?" His gaze sharpens on Even, becoming more pointed. "What must it be like to have all those eyes on your every move... I wonder."

[empxrical]

hi, i'm around! spent a lot of time playing lethal company today though and it's getting late, so if you see me writing at all it'll probably be tomorrow.

[empxrical]

"An astute observation," Vexen agrees, greeting Luxord with a nod in his direction.

The lab is cold. Both in temperature and décor. The castle was always sterile, but this room, from the tiled floor to the white walls, the shadows lurking in the dimly lit corners—has a distinctly medical feeling. The examination table sitting in the center doesn't help matters.

If Vexen objects to Luxord's presence, he doesn't make it known. He's clearly focused on what he's currently working on. Even as the time runs away from him, he has to keep busy...or at least maintain the pretense.

He's leaning over something on one of the counters in the room. It's an object that could easily mistaken for a human arm at first, though the visible joints and pale surface (resembling neither plastic nor porcelain) betray its artificial origin. Part of the exterior is drawn back over the wrist, and Vexen is adjusting some structure within. The fingers of the hand draw inwards, and release. The motion was clearly not up to his standards, and he continues working at whatever false tendons or ligaments are hidden just outside of view.

His eyes finally rise from his project to give Luxord a proper look. There's curiosity there, but not without suspicion.

"What brings you here? Nostalgic for old times?"

@empxrical // seven of swords (reversed) & foxglove

" to think you're still holing up in this old place. " luxord has no reason to be here, of course—he has his own goals, and vexen has his. but the clock is ticking into the final moments of this game and it would be a shame to let things rest where they lie. " i'm surprised this world has deigned to stick around as long as it has. "

he's only been in vexen's lab a time or two, and it was before his research on the replicas began years ago, but luxord doesn't seem too intent on asking for permission or forgiveness. his eyes cast around the space briefly, but even if he sees something of note he doesn't react to it in favor of allowing his eyes to level on vexen. " the same could be said about us in our current conditions, i suppose. "

[empxrical]

Skulking around? Even's lips tighten into a thin frown. He's offended, but the embarrassment the description inspires means he can't deny the truth of it.

After the first time he saw the new shop, the first time he caught a glimpse of pink out of the corner of his eye—he had to make sure. He had to verify the situation, even if in some distant way. So, maybe that means he walked by a few times without initiating anything. Who could blame him for being paranoid, after being confronted with the idea his senses were perhaps finally deceiving him?

Of course, they were not. And now he has to tolerate more playacting. Marluxia wouldn't seriously be yielding to him like this.

"You're sorry?" Even snaps. "Do you think saying it all in plain language makes it acceptable? Do you have ANY comprehension of the full consequences of your machinations?"

There's a creeping chill in the air. Subtle, but present.

"You belittled me, mocked my work, sought to sabotage me—and finally removed me from the picture entirely. Just so you could claim that very thing you so easily dismissed. And now you have the gall to expect me to accept any sort of apology."

Back then, in the Organization, in Castle Oblivion, Vexen had clung to the foolish ambition that if something was his—only his—then perhaps his usefulness could save him. It couldn't. Xemnas misused his work, and Marluxia would have too, if he had the opportunity. Lauriam's admission confirms as much, and it brings back a collection of painful memories.

"—Well, in that case." Even clears his throat, finally taking a step back. Trying to return to a façade of control. "I sincerely hope no one ever trusts you with something they care about."

This was never going to be a pleasant confrontation. But somehow, he still feels slightly taken off guard by the vitriol. His eyes narrow in response and he straightens his own posture. He might not have as much height as the older man, but he wasn't afraid of him.

"I was forcing the issue. I don't have the time or energy to put up with you skulking around," Lauriam replied, his voice clipped. "Don't think that I never saw you, Even."

Oh yes, he knew his true name. He'd overheard others in town talking about the prodigal apprentices returning from the darkness. The people in his shop talked to each other, and it wasn't difficult to glean who was who from that. He'd committed himself to learning each of their names, just in case.

Xehanort, Braig, Dilan, Even, Aeleus, and Ienzo.

Of course, he needn't worry about that first one.

"And..." Here, Lauraim hesitates, just for a moment. "for the record, I am sorry."

Or, a part of him was. The part that was still a sixteen-year-old boy who had wanted to save the world was. The boy who had wanted nothing more than to save his sister was horrified at what he had done when he no longer had his connections or memories.

How could he have become this? Was this who he truly was?

He bows his head to Even. It requires a physical effort, and he has to fight himself to do it.

"I backed you into a corner so that Axel would have no choice but to kill you, all so I could try to take control of your replica program. I thought that I would make a better leader than Xemnas."

[empxrical]

It's almost a relief that Lauriam is right there. No theatrics, no magic tricks. Just...there. Like a normal person. What a shock.

The first thing to leave his mouth is an unceremonious "You—" as he strides towards the counter. He is full of the impulse to just point at Lauriam and let loose a string of expletives, but he is refraining. For now.

"What exactly did you think you were doing with that?!" Even looms over Lauriam, doing everything in his power to look as ominous as possible. Which isn't doing much, since he's the one who is perturbed over an email from his former nemesis.

"Were you truly so possessed by the need to apologize? Or...what, you just wanted me to give you a moment of my time?"

Even smiles unpleasantly.

"You should have expected I'd come to visit, then. How could I not, when you were always so preoccupied with proving what a coward I am?"

Of course, Lauriam had quickly noticed that Even had been watching him for some time. It wasn't often that he noticed—evidently, they were both busy men and Lauriam loathed working the front when he didn't have to—but it still grated on his nerves. It was understandable and Lauriam had expected it on some level.

After all, he had orchestrated the events that would lead to Even's downfall. As Vexen, he had never been able to keep his mouth shut, so Lauriam had to assume that meant the rest of the members now also knew about him.

And so he had to wait for the inevitable confrontation. And wait. And wait.

By the time he'd actually sent the damn notice, he'd been feeling equal parts frustrated and annoyed. It was stupid and juvenile, but he simply wanted to force Even's hand.

And here he was.

A bell rings, signaling that Even has pushed the door open. Lauriam looks up from a small, featureless book he'd been reading, then snaps it shut and smoothly places it in a small nook under the front counter.

"Welcome," he says mechanically, folding his hands on the counter. "I see you received my...correspondence."

[empxrical]

@akashicmuses (for lauriam. the menace.)

This is worse than Even thought it would be. When he left the castle, he thought—emphasis on thought—that his annoyance, his anger, would he enough to push him through actually approaching Lauriam.

He'd hoped it would push him through the door in one fell swoop, at least.

Disappointingly, he's found himself standing outside the tea shop, horribly tense, nails biting into his palms from tightly clenched hands.

Even shouldn't be this nervous. This is stupid. He's decided as much, and that's simply the facts of the matter. He should have done this sooner. He should have done this when the shop opened in the first place. Logically, he would've been far less self-conscious than now, especially since now Lauriam clearly knows he knows.

Overthinking is just making this more of a hassle, though. So it's best to just proceed without ruminating further.

Even breathes—it's more of a sigh, really—forces his hands open to look slightly less anxious than he feels, and opens the door.

[empxrical]

hey gay people in my phone. what if i used appropriate capitalization again. would that be crazy or what

[empxrical]

Looks like something was slipped into Even's work inbox folder while he wasn't looking?

there's no—there's no way, right?

he presumed it was a joke at first. some sort of prank, or more mindless spam. but as he hovers his cursor over to the trash button, he actually reads the content of the "formal apology".

and that's why he's frozen, now, processing the series of words in front of him.

it doesn't take a genius to figure out what lauriam (with an x added) is potentially an anagram for. and, unfortunately, this appears to be confirmation that the person even has seen from a distance is definitely who he appeared to be.

truly, there is the only sound that could describe the emotional impact of this realization: euuuuuugh.

this is awful, terrible, and frustrating all in one. and there's only one thing he can do about it: go to confront lauriam himself.

[empxrical]

i'll update the verses page at some point with au shenanigans. redval being one lol. anyways in the meantime uhhh please listen to red valley, the hit podcast about scientific mishaps 🤔

[empxrical]

"you're the one who tried to jump me with a butter knife and you think you're not the jack type?" even retorts, his already high voice raising in pitch to convey his sheer offence at the idea.

—an offence that's quickly revealed to be a ruse when he breaks character with a laugh. "don't take that too seriously. but maybe you should leave improvisational weapons out of your future staff interactions."

though initially somewhat distant, even is (rather quickly) being revealed for what he actually is. someone who, though likely as anxious as gordon is, is quick to jump to discussing common interests. lonely might not be the right word—but there's clearly something pushing him to continue.

"yes, they brought me on after the picnic," he confides. "i was part of the very limited staff for warren's cohort. you likely aren't missing much. it was... something of a skeleton crew." more than a little embarrassing, but it was the reality of the situation. they were running out of people and money.

"as you might have guessed, his group wasn't brought here when things were running at full capacity. most of us were so preoccupied with making sure the basics—the pods, the agents for the infusions, all the medical equipment—were ready and waiting. i'm sure you already have an idea of what the cohort itself got up to when they were..." his mouth tightens into a thin line. "...unsupervised."

he claps his hands together, brusquely moving to the next topic. "not that that should reflect poorly on warren. i would recommend looking at the recordings from the other cohorts, though! there was more investment, earlier on. it felt like we were getting somewhere." admittedly, anywhere would be up after the disastrous bear trial, from his understanding.

"it might be good for you. taking a step back from focusing on a singular data point, so to speak."

“do i —” gordon pauses, tongue anxiously wetting his lips as he thinks. “do i seem like i'd go jack torrance? i've been thinking i'm more wendy this whole time.” he pauses again, lifting the table knife pointedly. he's smiling a little, despite himself; it's mostly due to the awkwardness of the situation, a nervous reaction, even if having someone reference to him does help him feel more at ease. “although my, uh, my weapon choices leave something to be desired. probably best i stay out of that kind of thing altogether.”

gordon's very aware of all the files he hasn't gone through yet. there are boxes upon boxes in the records room, with the boxes all roughly labeled but the contents a mess. “you weren't here for the picnic," he guesses, the words coming out slowly. he's sure he would have heard something from the other man, at least in the background of some of the recordings. “were you here for warren?”

it's only now dawning on him how little he's actually listened, casting aside warren's cohort and the experiences of the scientists involved to... do his job, he guesses. “clive's had me gathering everything on him, but i don't think i... you don't sound familiar. at all.” he makes a mental note to do some digging — it wouldn't hurt to get a read for what kind of person even is, which older logs might help reveal. warren didn't know any of their names, anyway.

“i haven't delved into any of the cohorts in between yet. next on the list,” he says, sounding more chipper about the idea than he feels.

[empxrical]

"i suppose a threat, no matter how mild, is part of the traditional welcome." there's a dry humor to his voice, but his smile does reach his eyes.

"though i do hear things were rough for you. you're something of an anomaly, so it's something unfortunately to be expected. this is a place that so often seems frozen in time itself. it—and the people who have occupied it—tend to react in extremes to new arrivals." even is musing more than speaking in concrete terms here, green eyes drifting to contemplate a crack in a ceiling tile before snapping to gordon again.

"back to the point at hand—yes, my presence was requested. i wouldn't call it joining the team, per se. i'm something of an old hand. perhaps rejoining would be more accurate." nonspecific, once again. "i worked with some of the previous cohorts. although such a statement may not be comforting to you, please understand we're much better off with warren than we were back then."

his brow creases in thought. "speaking of caretaking... i shouldn't require much of you. do let me know if anything conspicuous appears to be malfunctioning with the systems overall. any power or ventilation issues could create considerable difficulty if left unchecked. there are fail-safes, so you don't need to worry yourself too much. just something to keep in mind.

"and do be careful to keep your head on straight. i, for one, appreciate my caretakers not being of the jack torrance variety."

gordon isn't sure his heart rate will ever calm to a normal level again. it will, of course, but at the moment he feels like his heart's about to pound his way violently out of his throat. being laughed at only embarrasses him and does nothing about the adrenaline coursing through him.

the lab coat is an instant tell about belonging. no matter who this person is, he doubts they're the maniac from the van. knowing his name, the introduction, the id badge — it's all a blur he doesn't process in real time.

“even,” he repeats, and getting that out at least gives him back some control over his body. he lowers the knife sheepishly with a heavy, shaky exhale, casting it a disparaging glance. “i would've gone for the eyes,” he mumbles without much conscious thought at all, his tone distracted. he blinks before lifting his eyes to look at even again.

“sssssorry, you said... bryony sent you? no one mentioned anything to me about anyone else joining the team. i just spoke to pam yesterday.” there's a question in the statement, and the way his expression falls is clue enough to the fact that he answers it himself. she thinks she's so funny. “jesus. sorry. this isn't exactly a red valley welcome, now, is it. or — is it? it wasn't much better when we showed up a few weeks back. i guess this place does have a reputation to uphold...” the statement peters out into a mutter under his breath.

gordon inhales deeply, finally feeling his pulse begin to slow. “yeah. yes. absolutely. i'm the supposed caretaker of this place as well, so if you need anything from me...?”

[empxrical]

the situation is ripe for a heart attack, but fortunately, neither person involved has suffered any consequences for the scare. yet.

the man gordon crashed into steps back as well, just as surprised as he is. his hands are held up close to his chest, defensively, until he sizes gordon up and catches sight of the extremely unthreatening 'weapon' that he's holding.

"you're—" his own laughter interrupts him, as the table knife has promptly taken all seriousness out of the situation.

"sorry, sorry," he finally manages. "you must be gordon, yes? i take it that they didn't warn you about me. i'm going to assume this isn't your idea of a welcoming party."

judging only from his voice, he's clearly not a local. but the lab coat he's wearing speaks to at least some form of authority.

"my name is even," he says. his face is thin, features angular, framed by strands of blonde hair that have come loose from a ponytail. "i was sent here to check up on things. by bryony."

he retrieves an id badge from a coat pocket and presents it for inspection, likely too fast for anyone to read: EVEN WINTELL, OVERHEAD INDUSTRIES, RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT.

"it's my job to make sure your friend is safe and sound in that pod. despite this facility slowly creeping towards dilapidation. if you know what's best, you'll let me do my work, i hope."

@empxrical hi. sorry.

it's been a difficult few weeks. at first the solitude felt welcome, but maybe that was just the contrast to the terrifying shitshow that was their arrival. now the air's calmed and the fear has settled into... isolation? loneliness? things gordon once thought he was built to handle and he's just now realizing do affect him after all. only a little.

he sheds his outermost jacket, snow-damp and unnecessary indoors, by the door before his makes his way further in. “it's always so quiet in here,” he says, to himself but also to his dictaphone. “it's just... it's weird to think that warren is in here — down there. i'm not alone alone but i—i'm —” he stops speaking abruptly, inhaling again through his nose.

when he speaks again, his voice is little more than a whisper. “is that—is that coffee? i don't... i haven't made any in here. and i didn't hear the helicopter this morning.” his voice drops even quieter. “fuck. what do i — ?”

he peers around the corner into the little office-style kitchenette, letting out a breath once he sees that it's empty. good. although that means whoever is here could be anywhere. a stressed hum sounds in his throat before he inhales through his teeth. “what if it's the fucking maniac from the van? would they come in to make coffee?”

and he's fucking unarmed. shit. fuck. his hands are shaking, and he makes too much noise as he searches for something, anything. a dull table knife is better than nothing, right? “oh, i'm so dead," he mutters to himself. “i'm going to die here in this shithole, and no one's going to find me until — aaauuuugh.”

gordon makes his way through the building, moving as quietly as he's able to. he keeps the knife brandished in a white-knuckled grip, his hand visibly shaking. there's no sign of anyone upstairs, which means... they must be downstairs. with the cryo stuff. fuck. what do they know? or do they know? maybe they've left already and just wanted a reprieve from the snow, or the toilet, or...

he rounds a corner, running into something that shouldn't be around the corner — or someone he vaguely processes mid-yell (or scream, really. it's a scream.). “who—who the fuck are you?!” gordon stammers out as he staggers backwards to put some space between himself and the intruder, eyes wild with fear and a shaky hand holding the dull knife out like it will offer him any protection whatsoever.

[empxrical]

@voidedgear asked:

Vanitas seems to have wandered into Even’s lab. Let’s hope he doesn’t break anything - though the way he’s carelessly picked up one of those beakers and is swishing the liquid around inside is definitely suspect.

what is this now.

who is this. and how did they get in here.

there are many questions coming to mind right now, but even has to keep a cool head. before this child does something stupid.

"i would strongly suggest you set that down. carefully."

[empxrical]

i wasn't joking btw i did make a tew rp blog. for people who actually know of the evil within games. because if i didn't match with syd i'd perish

[empxrical]

hi everyone, sorry i was gone i was busy playing horror games with my beautiful gf