hadriel_logs | An intellectual? Yes. And never deny it.

Entry tags:

An intellectual? Yes. And never deny it.

Who: Ignis Scientia & OPEN
What: Open post to approach an agitated academic (will match format c:)
Where: Outside a partly-restored bar/cafe in view of the colosseum, or Sorrow's temple. Open to moving anywhere
When: 7/8
Warnings: Nothing yet!

[i. cafe]

The library had proven itself to be useless so quickly that he hadn't had to waste much time on it. A lack of informative texts along with the almost overpowering smell of damp, mouldering paper had him quickly giving that up as a possible avenue of progress, though he had made a note to take a proper look around at some time in the future. One could never be entirely dismissive of such places, even when they could not be advisably entered without breathing filtration.

What passes for the afternoon in the cavern holding Hadriel has Ignis brushing off one of the sturdier-looking chairs in front of a shop which might have once been a cafe or bar. A lack of concern for how the weather might turn means sitting outdoors isn't given a second thought. He has a notebook out in front of him, the phone he has been observing the network with since his arrival, and he is silently flicking back through archived posts.

He has considered, through the course of the past few weeks, and has come to the conclusion that open communication across the devices gifted to them is something that he does not feel is in his best interest. His ventures into it so far have been measured, but not all have such a level of care.

'We remain unmonitored', he reads, and makes a small note. His pen lingers on the paper, creating a blob of ink at the end of a loop, and he scrolls back until he finds himself unable to do so. A soft sound of mixed irritation and disgust huffs out with a click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He is going to have to get hold of someone else's phone.

Someone passes by and he feels eyes on him, however briefly. He glances up.

"Afternoon."

[ii. sorrow's temple]

He isn't sure what he expected to find, or why this is where he chose to go. His feet led him to the door of the temple of the one they called 'Sorrow' and he pauses on the threshold as King Regis' words come back to him. Like gods, but not gods. Powerful creatures with abilities that would put them at a match with the Six. Ignis had not said it then, not wishing to overstep his place, but it seemed to him that those with the power of gods might well be gods, whether or not they chose to take the moniker.

But why temples? That is the question that led him here. A thing that is not a deity surely has no use for worship, so...

He walks inside. It's open, brighter than he thought it might be, and not as ornate. For a few minutes he explores in silence, dismissing a strange ripple in his emotions as nothing more than misplaced reverence. His hand goes to the pocket holding his notebook, then hesitates against the fabric of his jacket. His next exhale shakes.

Will anything change when they reach Altissia? A reaching hand finds the edge of a seat and pulls his body into it, sitting heavily. A weight wraps around his chest and it feels like such a natural, delayed rise of grief that he barely questions it. The king is dead - no matter how Regis walks in Hadriel now, he is dead - Insomnia is lost, Lucis is lost, and Ignis is not so ignorant of recent politics in Accordo to believe that they are faring much better against Niflheim. He removes his glasses to rub the heel of one hand against his eye and then stills, standing abruptly.

Ignis strides quickly down the centre of the temple and bursts out of it with his breathing unsteady. He turns, looking up, and swallows hard before re-setting his glasses on his nose.

"Fascinating," he breathes out. "Absolutely--..." The notebook comes out again, and he scribbles furiously as he makes his way back to the nearest street, not even thinking to look where he's going.

---

[[ooc: open to him being found anywhere! just drop me a line or drop a top level in]]

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( There's a certain piece of flattened land - an empty space in the ruins of a building - that's just good enough to use for target practice. She snatches up throwing knives from the Armory, the ones that aren't weighted quite the way she likes and will never be sharp enough because the Door hasn't seen fit to bring Carl here - and bottles and tins from some of the shops. Crude measures that work well enough to keep her skills from rusting, which is all that matters right now. Three years back home, back in a place where she found the freedom from needing to use these skills, softened her somewhat, even if she kept practicing. Kept going to archery lessons, kept sparring with friends (not Jon, who could barely throw a punch, poor lad).

Her hair's pulled back out of her face, hoodie tossed in a corner of what was once a room and a blade grasped firmly in her hand. A twist of her wrist, the gentle heft of movement as she bounces the knife against her palm a couple of times before tossing it at a tin.

Off centre, skimming the edge of the tin just hard enough to send it flying even as the knife clatters down onto the floor. )

Shit-

( It would be really unfortunate if someone saw that. Or happened to be walking by as the tin goes flying into the street, wouldn't it? )

[He has been investigating the occasional noises that he comes across in his exploration of the strange city, and while they do not lead to people more often than not there is something about the way the tin comes flying across his path that makes him consider that this time may just be different.

Ignis stops the rolling can with his foot and picks it up, his thumb running over the shallow dent in the side. His eyes flick to the open door, and he pauses for only a moment in making his decision.

He enters the building.]

Kate...

[The name slips past his lips before he can rein in the abrupt twinge of fondness wound up in false memories that he is still struggling to separate from reality. Many of them are already fading, but some are proving harder to forget. Ignis recovers quickly and clears his throat, steadying his tone, lifting the tin and tilting his head towards it.]

I suspect you might have dropped this.

Patrols around the city are a daily duty for guardsmen, unless they are otherwise occupied by a crisis. Henry is hard to miss as he makes his normal circuit: from throat to toe he wears full plate armour and mail, and bears an arming sword at his hip and a heater shield on his arm.

The sight of anyone sat amidst the ruins strikes him as unusual. Enough time has passed that people have built their own spaces to pass the quieter days in, and activity in these parts is normally nothing but scavenging. It draws Henry's notice. He slows his steps to accommodate taking a better look.

And gets caught in the act.

Unabashed, he outright stops and returns the greeting with a brief nod of acknowledgement. As he cannot place a name to the face, he assumes this must be one of Hadriel's newer residents.

"'Twas not my intent to interrupt your diligent work."

With that said, Henry's gaze shifts from Ignis to Ignis's notebook. He closes the distance in hopes of glimpsing the content of the top page, driven by curiosity more than suspicion.

He was a general of the First Order, the man who once used the power of the stars to literally shape the galaxy. And now? Now he was on the hunt for one of their escaped demon cats, grumbling to himself as he followed the flash of green.

"Executor!" The green winged cat stopped, looking around for a moment before deciding to investigate a nearby stranger, wings rustling. Hux was so focused on trying to catch the cat that he didn't realize who the cat was heading towards until he finally scooped up the demon cat. Only then did he have a moment to look up, taking in who the cat had nearly run into. He had been trying to block the latest incident from his mind, frowning slightly. Hopefully, the other man wouldn't recognize him now.

The demon cat might have met something of an unpleasant end if not for the size of it and the lack of aggression, both of which stay Ignis' hand. He's tense, still, until the creature is scooped up by--

"Armitage?"

There are fuzzy memories of the man - friendly ones - from the alternative life he had lived for what still feels like years. While there is no way to know now if the man he conversed with over coffee is really the same in personality, there is still a certain muted pleasure in seeing him, as one might have upon seeing an almost-forgotten school friend.

He tilts his pen towards the cat. "Does that belong to you?"

Anyone wearing such armour would be hard to miss, and Ignis - despite his concentration on his work - is not blind to the unusual shape moving in his peripheral vision. He glances up, though only briefly, and listens to the man's steps draw closer. It's only when he feels eyes on him that he looks up again, speaks, and feels the corner of his mouth tilt up in amusement. Caught in the act, indeed, but with all the composure of one who meant to be caught.

"It was no interruption," he replies genially, looking up with a mild smile and closing the notebook. Not through secrecy, but habit. Before it closes, Henry may catch a glimpse of several bulletpoints relating to their current location, some punctuated with question marks.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

"That's my first name, I prefer to be called by my last," he said stiffly. While his first name was a standard Imperial name, he still didn't like it here and now.

"Ignis, if I recall correctly?" He wasn't sure how to handle a situation like this, he wasn't the same Armitage as before. "Yes, it does." The cat latched onto Hux's arm to gnaw on him though Hux didn't so much as flinch- he was used to it by now.

Henry sees enough to be reminded of Maketh's ever-growing stack of notebooks in their apartment. It never hurts to know the more proactive members of their unfortunate populace.

He touches the blue sash he wears over his breastplate pointedly — it's the only piece of uniform the Guard have — and cocks his head.

"Usually I find this place desolate on my patrol. What mystery do you pursue?"

( That's... well. If there's ever a time you're going to screw up your throw, it's going to be when someone's walking around. Kate picks up the knife just before Ignis enters, holding back the annoyance at her own poor aim in the back of her throat and a tense jawline, the irritation that doesn't quite dissipate even as a familiar face appears before her.

A twinge pulls at the back of her mind, false memories created by one of the gods in an attempt to give them all a new life here. Years of watching Ignis grow, taking care of him and seeing the man he became -

She forgot just how badly Hadriel could fuck with her mind. Despite the memories coming back, despite the way everything feels fresh again, the emotions, the intensity of everything dulled and she started thinking it was nothing.

She was wrong. )

Bad throw.

( She shrugs, reaching out for the tin. )

Never liked th' way these knives are weighted.

He’s far enough from Iggy that he isn’t noticed, however perceptive Ignis was usually. There were, however, a lot of unusual factors to this circumstance. Perhaps one of the most obvious is that they’re not on their world, secondly Noctis is a good ten years Iggy’s age, and third his friend still had his sight which meant that the hardships was not yet known to Iggy. Hopefully he could keep his friend safe from knowing them here––

after all, there’s hardship in abundance to keep one set well enough in the presence. How could Noct even stomach the idea of bringing more worry to his friend.

Yet, how could his old face not bring worry to his young friend? Noctis was not a stranger to his reflection in this world and he looked starved for life. It made it hard to approach Ignis. So, for a while, he stayed back and just watched his friend and he turned away like the shameful stalker he was, whenever he thought he was about to be caught. After all, if someone asked him ten years ago if he thought he’d be proud of himself and what he could do in the future he’d struggle as it was to answer that; couple that now with the fact that he knew what the future held for him and his friends and Noct would give an most definite decline of any pride he would have reserved for himself. No, looking back on how he was when he was younger and how grossly unprepared he was to do what must be done, Noctis only felt shame. It took ten years for him to catch up.

At this point in Iggy’s life, the most Noct ever had to catch up on was homework, laundry, loose buttons. Not the imbalance of lives taken over by the daemons that plagued their lands, not the loss of balance in the strength needed to defeat their enemies, not the power he needed to bring Ardyn to the peace he was so long denied.

How could he face his friend now, when all of this was still yet to be done in the future? How could he be the face of hope when his friend’s sight would soon be taken from him?

Noct closed his eyes and he clenched a fist while a degrading voice taunted him: You just weren’t enough.. and there were so many lives lost to get you to the point of barely making it.. That good old shameful guilt weighing down on him again. Noct took a breath, held it, unclenched his fist, and exhaled. He couldn’t ask Iggy to be any more of a good friend to him than he already was. Somehow, he was equating going to Iggy now as asking his friend to extend even more kindness toward him. He just didn’t know if he could do it.

"Afternoon."

The woman he speaks to is no stranger, and Cecily smiles, not at all bothered by their having flirted to some degree during their 'alternate' lives. The Inquisitor hovers, not quite inviting herself, though she is interested in the conversations that this encounter might produce.

"It's nice to see you again." And then, with a wink: "I hope you enjoyed the wine."

It had been nice to play pretend for that time, though infuriating (and disturbing) that their memories could be replaced so easily. To have siblings that weren't her own, for one thing, had been... bizarre.

"How have you been since our last meeting?" she asks lightly.

Immediately outside the cathedral, Ignis' mind is far, far away from considering he might be being watched. He puts the place behind him and walks quickly through the deserted, desolate streets of the cavern-city, and occasionally he is almost certain that he is being followed. In those times he pauses, glances behind him, and a time or two thinks he might have seen a shadow...

But it's always nothing, and he wonders if it's just the eeriness of the place making him paranoid. Seeing things that aren't there is really all he needs.

From the alternate life he had lived in that comfortable suburb, he has memories of Noctis. An older, yet still entirely exuberant Noctis who spoke fondly of Lunafreya and tended towards parking his car over three spaces whenever the opportunity presented itself. He had not seen his friend since, and had dismissed his appearance in that place as a construct born of his sense of the loss of his friends since he arrived here.

As he reaches an area that seems to have seen more recent traffic, he slows down and lets out a quiet sigh, lifting a hand to rub the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. The puzzles this place continues to pose are enough to give anyone a headache, and even more so for one like him, who feels pressed to solve them.

It's here, out of the corner of his eye, that he sees a shadow. It's only for a moment, but... it's more than enough. He places a hand on one of the daggers on his belt, and turns to the street behind him.

"That's enough. Come out where I can see you."

[Ignis hands the tin over.

Kate isn't the only one struggling with how much the prior event had messed with what could be considered real and what wasn't. The dreams since have been both pleasant and unsettling in their pleasantness, with attachment being given to people and faces he could barely put a name to now.]

I have some experience with knives.

[He offers his hand - the same that returned the tin - and smiles briefly.]

May I?

The touch doesn't go unnoticed - evidently the sash is meant to mean something - and while the meaning goes by Ignis unrealised, the gesture does not. He mentally notes it, and glances around himself. The place is indeed desolate, save for himself...

"What mystery is there to not pursue in this place?" he asks cryptically, then turns the closed notebook and pushes it two inches across the table in Henry's direction.

"One might spend a lifetime unravelling the questions and challenges that Hadriel poses."

Certainly no stranger. The comment about the wine does draw a smile - he hasn't forgotten anything about their conversations in their alternate lives either - and he gives a small gesture to the seat across from him, inviting her to sit.

"I've been well." On all accounts, situation considered. Nothing about this place lent itself to making a person feel particularly secure.

"Please, sit down, if you have a moment." Politely, he closes his notebook and places his pen down on top of it. "It's good to see you again, too, Cecily."

"Hux, then, wasn't it." It was fair enough, and the name floats up like a soap bubble to pop the moment he grasps it, leaving only the name behind. "And yes, you recall correctly."

Ignis is not quite the same person either, but he isn't one given to ignorance or lack of manners. He watches the cat-creature for a moment with an expression of mild amusement.

"Ignis Scientia."

Since the notebook was offered Henry takes it, and flicks through its pages, taking a cursory glance at the contents. It's unlikely to contain anything he is not already aware of, so he doesn't study it in depth.

"It must be nearing two years of pursuit for some. I have been in this wretched city for a year and seven months, and a few who are yet present were dragged here months before myself."

Closing the notebook, he sets it back down on the table.

"We keep records at Guard headquarters. They go back..." he takes a moment to mentally count, "...fifteen months, when we first formed the Guard. You are welcome to read them."

"I do." And she sits as he indicates. "Thank you."

To Cecily, it hadn't been so strange to have been flirting with someone, considering her general propensity to doing that. Still, she had Ignis had been near-strangers, and it'd be nice to get to know him a little better without the false memories.

"You look busy," she notes, nodding to the device in his hand and the notes on the table.

Mostly, it's questions that Ignis intends to find the answers for, but if Henry is going to be so accommodating then he feels he is best not to get off on the wrong foot by seeming as if he might be hiding something. With a grave nod to acknowledge the man's words he draws the notebook back to himself, and gets to his feet.

"That would be greatly appreciated," he says without hesitation. "Though I am impressed that something so organised can be maintained somewhere like this."

He isn't blind, he's seen that people leave as easily as they arrive. Or, perhaps, not so easily... and yet it happens. When people's permanence cannot be relied upon, it becomes more difficult to do many things.

"If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to hear about the Guard itself."

( Well, she's got nothing against a partner in practice. It's something Kate's comfortable with - always working in twos, or more, whether back in The Agency or after, when all she did was spar and go to lessons. When all this activity was for exercise and enjoyment, rather than simply protecting the lives of those she worked with.

Hadriel always throws into perspective just how peaceful her years have been since The Agency. Never having to fear going back underground, or be forced into combat situations. )

Sure.

( Have the knife, Ignis. She's going to put that tin back, and pull out another knife, trying again.

This throw? Is much more successful. Near pinpoint in its accuracy. It's just a case of getting used to new equipment, but damn, it always reminds her how inferior unenchanted weapons are. )

"Very well."

Henry hooks a foot around the leg of an empty chair and pulls it out, then takes a seat, resting his shield on his thighs.

"Many who possess skill in fighting have been brought through the Door. But we guardsmen believe that we are stronger and more efficient if we work together as an organised force. Our aim is to defend this populace through our combined might employed well, and provide a measure of order. When this city is beset by disaster we fight unyielding as one. But rather than merely react to crises as they befall us, we believe in being prepared. To that end, guardsmen perform daily patrols and write reports. We assist new arrivals and fight off new monsters each month. We provide support for the Clinic. We have headquarters that are manned at all hours, should anyone require our assistance."

He runs his gauntleted fingers over the front of his shield.

"At current we number fourteen. Myself and an a woman named Maketh Tua hold command."

"I assure you, it's a finely crafted illusion," he replies, his tone edged with humour. He's doing a good job of convincing himself he's busy, but underneath that he is very aware that what he is doing amounts to little more than busywork.

"I have a number of questions that need answering, though I'm not convinced I'll be able to draw a line through them all."

Ignis taps his pen once on the table, then places it down with a small shake of his head. "Not at all aided by the fact that this device only shows archives back to the point of my arrival."

[While she sets up again, he examines the knife. Weighting it gently in his hand, he can see where the issue might lie - they are weighted strangely, for daggers that are supposed to be thrown.

The sharp sound of her throw making contact pulls his attention up and he lifts his eyebrows, briefly, in silent appreciation for the displayed skill. As he hands the dagger back to her, his forefinger and thumb are closed lightly around the blade, with the hilt extended towards her.]

You have impressive aim.

With the notebook back in hand, Ignis resumes his seat and holds it in his lap, his full attention on his new companion. What the man describes is something that he can easily relate to - something similar to the Kingsglaive and Crownsguard - a group of capable soldiers protecting the people with their skills.

"Would you be open to new recruits?" he asks without hesitation. Ignis, with his sharp way of dressing and ever-present spectacles, might not look like a talented fighter on first glance, but he knows that this 'Guard' is exactly the kind of thing he would want to get involved with.

"I believe my skills may be of some use."

The demon cat strained forward in Hux's arms, trying to get at Ignis. It reached for him with one paw, sharp claws extended.

"I'm not who you saw in that...illusion." He couldn't be that person, ever. In reality, he had been shaped by the Empire and his father. There were some things that couldn't be changed. "I'm a military general."

And he had destroyed five planets without a single twinge of regret.

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An intellectual? Yes. And never deny it.

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cafe (not late)

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never late

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