nexuses | feat. the problem bocchan

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feat. the problem bocchan

[There have been reports of a vagabond soul wandering the city. When those reports wander out into the wilderness, the court posts a bounty for a vague figure that ultimately yields nothing. Either this soul doesn't exist, or they're exceptionally versed in avoiding detection. The court considers upping the bounty to attract more seasoned bounty hunters, but Harpe eventually pleads the case to go out and search for this soul himself.

Admittedly, he's curious. It's a case to which he can relate, if distantly.

City folk are less keen on searching the wilderness, but Harpe has no such compunction. He's come quite far on his own, and the sun beats strongly against the waterless ground; there's still some time before he must return. He wanders toward the edge of a sheer drop.

The last time he came around this area, he was accompanying Hwarin and didn't take in the sights much. It's a dry place, but not so lifeless. There's potential. If he looks long enough, he can imagine greenery all around him.]

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[Those reports are what you get when there's a prissy teen who's used to following his own goals but also usually has a sword babysitter who is no longer there. It's just a mess all around.

In sharp contrast to Harpe? Leon immediately hates this place. Going from the shock of icy cold water slamming into him, consigning him to the depths, to suddenly dusty dryness and unfairly hot sun is not at all what he was expecting, and he's not happy about it. He's not happy about the fact that his heart is beating again. He's not happy about the fact that Chaltier is nowhere to be found.

Ugh.

Leon has no idea where he's going, but he's going there with extreme prejudice, at least.

Harpe wanders closer to a sheer drop, and Leon just casually, as if it's as easy as that, stalks right by him, looking about as dour as any teenage boy has ever looked.

I hope Harpe was given a description or something because Leon is not stopping.]

[The description was vague—young, somewhat small—but it's enough for Harpe, who died in the line of duty of intelligence work, to crane his neck and follow Leon with his eyes. There's something about the way that one is carrying himself. Where are those strides taking him? There's a beat before Harpe turns to speak up:]

Please wait.

[... Leon stops, but it's only after a few more strides, as if with great reluctance.

Slowly, he shifts his gaze to Harpe, expression sharp--but to cover up for the fact that otherwise, it'd just be unbearably empty and lost.]

... What do you want?

[Harpe meets Leon's sharp expression with one of careful neutrality. He can't say that he was expecting a genial look from someone who's been dodging the authority.

He was, however, expecting wariness. If he's got the right person in his sights, regaining memories is a disorienting affair; he himself was lucky to be in the company of familiar faces at the time. This boy is alone, which suggests that that's always been the case.]

My name is Harpe.

[In a potentially delicate situation like this, it's good to start off politely.]

May I ask yours?

[Harpe reads him far too well, honestly. Still, the politeness does something--it doesn't seem as though it unruffles Leon's feathers, but he isn't immediately trying to flee, and that's something.

He looks... off, though, off in the way that is in line with Harpe's observations. He's disoriented and tired and sad; he misses Chaltier, and keeps thinking about water crashing over his head and--

He drags in a shaky breath and shoots Harpe a look through narrowed eyes that would be more threatening if not for how off-kilter Leon is. Because of that, though, it's not terribly effective.]

You may not.

[Oh. Great. Leon... is being Leon again.

Even so, this is the first polite person he's spoken to and... Maybe, just maybe, he can get some information.

(Maybe, just maybe, he's a little lonely already.)]

Why... do you need to know it?

[Honestly, the refusal is expected. This is a wary person, and wary people aren't inclined to provide answers as much as they like to hear them. It's the reason that Harpe chooses to speak candidly.]

I was tasked by the royal court to locate a wandering soul.

Memories of the deceased were restored unlawfully during the insurgency, causing them undue hardship in their reincarnation processes. It is not Her Majesty's intention to punish those who remember, but to offer succor under these unusual circumstances.

[Consequently, he was dispatched after a debate on whether another dead soul would be any good at tracking them down. He lacks the sharp eyes of the Haros, capable of distinguishing between living and dead—but where he falls short, he compensates elsewhere. Although Harpe doesn't think of himself as especially nice, he's still capable of empathizing with the souls who've shared in his initial predicament.

Of course, he could be wrong. Just in case, he dips his head in a small bow.]

If you aren't one such soul, I apologize for stopping you.

[Even so, he felt that he couldn't just let this person pass him by without a word. It's the way Leon carries himself—tense, guarded, and weary—in a land where its denizens prefer to travel in groups and support one another. Perhaps his assessment that this is the wandering soul in question is correct; or perhaps this body language is directed at only him in the same way that the lords look down on him, a mortal, in which case he would like to know and from there learn.]

[Leon's eyes narrow further at that explanation, before he shifts his gaze away--the response of a guilty soul, honestly. He is nothing more than a wandering soul now, isn't he? He's supposed to be dead, and yet here he is, walking, upright, but without Chaltier.

Is he still at the bottom of the ocean, alive and alone?

Where's the justice in that?

And this man... he's polite and he's patient, his stance and response nonthreatening, but his words... even as tired as Leon is, he doesn't trust words like that.

He knows he's already blown his chance to pretend like he's not exactly that person. His response took too long, and he has all the tells of a guilty person. He's never been a skilled liar, but right now, he's too tired to even pretend.]

... I am not interested in any such offered "succor". Nor am I interested in losing these memories of mine. They belong to me, and I do not wish to give them up.

[He's not even sure if they can be taken away again, but he doesn't like the sound of "unlawfully".]

[Harpe listens, then closes his eyes in thought.

He understands. Really, he does. Given the same choice by Hwarin, he'd declined for the sake of hanging onto what precious memories of Ronan he has left. He doesn't know Leon's story, but he understands the desire to keep what's his.]

Of course. Your memories are yours. If that's your wish, I will convey it to Her Majesty.

[On this, he won't push. There's no need. Doing so would be cruel.

He opens his eyes.]

If you won't accept Her Majesty's offer, what would interest you into returning to the city?

[Such open-ended, easy answers are really throwing Leon here. He agrees to his demands so easily, and offers up such an understandingly open offer, and Leon's pretty sure nobody who's ever held any sort of power over him has ever been that willing to just... give him what he wants.

So it's probably no surprise that in this, he has no idea.

The things he wants (pretty much just to see that Chaltier is all right) are not in anyone's capabilities, he assumes. Everything else... well, it isn't as though he deserves to have a thing after what he did. He frowns tightly, but it's a confused expression more than truly angry.

... He's pathetic right now, isn't he?]

... What I am most interested right now is being able to do what I please. [No more orders--that is what he is most certain of. He can't handle any more orders, not ever again.]

If your queen is willing to allow me that, then I will accompany you, if only to receive more answers.

Please understand that I cannot decide in Her Majesty's stead; however, I will advocate for your interests at court.

[His tone is firm—unrelenting yet determined—as he pushes and pulls at once.

He can only promise so much. Too little is too stingy; too much, arrogant for a mere member of the court. Looking at Leon and the tight pinch of his face, though, this has to be better than nothing.

A wandering soul is a lost soul, but a heavy hand at guiding such a person down a fixed path without argument can only invite misery.]

My knowledge of the Underworld is limited, but I will answer any questions you have on the way if you're amenable to these terms.

[It's a bad idea, Leon's brain says. Leon's gut and heart, overwrought and underutilized, just want a guided path at this point, something that's less stressful and painful than everything he's gone through over the past few weeks.

For once, they win, and he looks away as he squares his shoulders as best he can.]

... Fine then. For now, I have decided to accompany you.

[He says that in that manner only because he has to act as though he has free will, as though he has the choice to do whatever he chooses to at any moment, regardless of if that's the truth or not.

This might be considered a kind of coping. Maybe. By an extremely optimistic person, anyway.]

You may lead the way.

[It is a kind of coping—but probably not a good one.

Nevertheless, Harpe's expression softens into a pleasant smile now that they've reached something of an agreement. He turns, pointing a shoulder at Leon, and gestures in the direction from which he'd come.]

This way.

[He'll let Leon decide on whether to walk behind or side by side. Once they've settled for a pace, he offers:]

May I ask for your first question?

[It's a struggle for him to decide that, honestly. He doesn't want to seem buddy-buddy, but he doesn't want to walk behind Harpe as if he's a prisoner being escorted either!

His preference would be in front, but he doesn't know where he's going, so that doesn't even make sense! Argh! This is awful!

Anyway he panics over that for a bit, and then he huffs a soft breath and lengthens his stride to walk alongside Harpe. With one thing resolved, Harpe is allowing him to ask his questions! And thus, Leon does so. Rudely.]

Who, exactly, are you supposed to be? You stated you were tasked with finding me, but that does not explain who you are.

Pardon me.

[Rude or not, it's a valid question. Harpe answers as he walks beside Leon.]

I serve in the royal court as an attendant of Her Majesty. The task of finding you fell to me after initial attempts by our men failed.

[That's all well and good, but he still feels dissatisfied somehow.]

What is your name? Your rank? ["Attendant" is kind of vague, as far as he's concerned...]

[Take that up with Hwarin.

His rank isn't something he cares to flaunt, but . . . ]

My name is Harpe Noir. Officially, I am the commander-in-chief of the Underworld's armed forces.

[Sorry, Harpe. Rank is one of the few things Leon understands.

And... relatedly, that's a very impressive rank. He wants to bristle about it, but Harpe only told him by his own request, and has yet to lord it over him. He's just... suspicious.

Wary, like a cat that's been kicked by a passing boot.]

... I see.

I fail to see, however, why one of your rank would come looking for someone like me.

[He's not that important, here.]

I volunteered myself.

[Leon is very important, and here's why:]

Accounting for lost souls is a crucial step toward Her Majesty's goal of unifying the Underworld. After you eluded so many Haros, the court approved my proposal to dispatch another mortal.

[Most Haros are easily distinguished by their pointed ears. Even a vaguely familiar face is more comforting than a completely alien one.]

[Leon wants to find fault in his words. He wants more than anything to find things he can nitpick, issues he can take and make a fuss over. This man's kindness has to be a facade, after all. If Leon pushes far enough, long enough, surely it'll fade away.

... But he struggles to find any issue with the words he's saying.

He even explains why he volunteered, long before Leon can ask. He presses his lips together firmly, looking away.]

If you think that I will be impressed by your status as mortal, dismiss those thoughts immediately.

Everything and everyone here are unfamiliar to me, and I have no interest in gaining more familiarity.

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feat. the problem bocchan

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