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[There is a large crater in the ground around him when Verlaine blinks to find himself back in the natural light of the surrounding forest, his breaths coming fast, twitching fingers still flickering with enough gravitational pull that small bits of rock seem unwilling to leave his gloves. The pressure of the blast had created enough thermal heat that there's a dusty, lingering smoke rising from beneath his shoes.

That wasn't real.

It wasn't. It couldn't have been. And yet —

He had been number twelve, the final one. He always will be. Stumbling into that research facility — if it even existed, there's no trace of it now, and besides that, it shouldn't exist, it can't exist — had brought it all back, just like that. The true place was long gone, obliterated along with Pan, but now...

Beyond all his hatred, misery, and loneliness, the other piece which would have been gladly lost with his death was the memories that formed that perfect foundation for it all. Unfortunately, losing Brutalization did not make him lose the recollection of how he was fashioned to carry that beast that came with it. It did not make him forget the prick and slice of medical instruments, the constant buzz of machines in the rooms as he was observed, the feeling of his own muscles acting as traitor, priming him to take action that he did not want. The very first time he ever moved his hands in a way he truly wanted was when he killed Pan. He regretted, for a long while, not taking his time more with him, exerting every bit of autonomy and control over his fingers to slowly make it hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt —

Verlaine wrings out either of his hands. The small fragments of rock and ruin lingering at them go flying, too fast, into the woods. It takes all of a moment to orient himself before he's headed to the inn, gravity used in his favor to get there in leaps and bounds. Then, sharp eyes count the windows to identify Chuuya's room that he'd stopped at before. It's just that this time, Verlaine is on the outside rather than the inside.

When the glass of that window shatters, and the wall flung outward with it, Verlaine doesn't even hesitate before stepping his way inside to grab the back of Chuuya's collar. He sends one lone, withering look at Dazai, who happens to avoid all the flying debris leaving the room, and takes Chuuya with him with a sudden yank.

(If Dazai's own clever gaze notices that Verlaine's composure is in tatters, Verlaine doesn't want to give him a chance to say so.)

Where Verlaine takes his brother hardly matters. Somewhere with less of these people that Chuuya cares so much about. Somewhere more open, if still surrounded by trees. Somewhere that, when he tosses Chuuya down heedless of how Chuuya lands, and drops down alongside him, no one else will hear when he demands —]

What the fuck is this place?

Edited 2026-07-01 23:31 (UTC)

[ He really ought to stop hanging around men with such destructive hobbies.

One moment he is lounging lazily in Chuuya’s bed as a byproduct of the more recent developments in their dynamic and in the next the entire wall just about explodes. Dazai, who by this point is rather used to things being folded like paper, hardly bats an eye as an unexpected visitor steps his way through the gargantuan hole he’s blasted in the side of the inn.

Dazai’s eyes are sharp. They make eye contact for a fraction of a second and he notes the fraught shape of that expression and raises an eyebrow in reply. His fingers flutter in a wave that is more cheek than disdain. ]

Bring him back before dark~.

[ Chuuya could take care of himself. And, if it truly became necessary, Dazai would assuredly be able to track the two of them down. ]

[Chuuya feels something coming. It's hard to say if he picks up on the way gravity seems to bow beneath Verlaine's command, or if he simply has a latent sense for his brother's presence. Regardless, he has enough time to both bark a warning and shift away from the immediate impact. Though he's able to shield himself without so much as thinking, the dust in the air keeps him from picking up on where Verlaine is exactly, at least not until he's been essentially scruffed and hauled out of the room.

To his credit, he does not immediately flail or protest. A withering look is fixed on Dazai as he's dragged out (seriously? not even a little help), but beyond that, he keeps his peace. Picking a fight with Verlaine in midair was only going to result in casualties below. Instead, he curls his body enough to avoid any additional impact. It has the added benefit of helping him orient properly as he spills out from Verlaine's grasp. He lands in a low crouch, staring up at the other man almost in anticipation.

If it was going to be a fight, he would need to move quickly and away from the Grove. He's heard bad things about what would happen beyond the fog wall, should he venture there without adequate protection. He'd just have to hope that danger saw Verlaine as more of a threat.

That attack doesn't come, however. He doesn't expect quite the outburst. Even up against death itself, Verlaine had remained composed — at least up until N interfered. That he's so ruffled by the situation at hand almost fills Chuuya with more dread than the idea of a fight.

He straightens himself up slowly, eyes never once leaving Verlaine. He dusts off his shoulders, then folds his arms over his chest. When he speaks, his tone is even, devoid of any of the surprise that had underlined the rest of this incident. This, at least, is predictable.]

What did you see?

[That look and warning from Dazai — Verlaine would like to say he can't be annoyed with him, but alas, old habits die hard. Still. As if they could be any closer —

But Dazai doesn't stop him from pulling Chuuya away, and Chuuya doesn't stop himself from being carried away, and so either Verlaine has lost his touch, or these two really aren't that concerned about such an entrance. If he was capable of the foresight right now, he might be offended.]

Don't look at me like that. Not you.

[The words come out before Verlaine can manage anything else, sounding like the crack of thinning ice on a winter lake. 'Like that' — like Verlaine might very well lunge across the space and do something they'd both regret. He flexes his fingers, slow and steady, trying to regain whatever he'd lost by following that vision through the underground, through the lab, through the reflections of those still yet to wake...

He exhales. He touches the brim of his hat, pauses; his voice becomes slightly less brittle.]

Answer the question for me, brother.

How the hell am I meant to look at you, when you're the one breakin' into my room.

[Though he's quick with his words, there's a little less bite to them. There's something in that tone that Chuuya recognizes, a level of fragility he's all too familiar with. Chuuya himself had lain awake at night for years, grappling with how his skin crawled when someone that was supposed to matter looked at him like a threat.

It was stupid, really. Verlaine had more than earned Chuuya's ire. In what he could only assume had been a single second, the lives of the only people he'd cared about had been snuffed out. There was more blood on Verlaine's hands than Chuuya could ever fathom.

And yet late at night, he found his mind circling a single thought — the same one that he had shared with Verlaine himself before what should have been the final blow was struck. If things had been just slightly different, Chuuya and Verlaine's positions could have been reversed.

And if that were true, Chuuya would hope that he would be spared the same level of malice and distrust.]

I don't have an answer. [His own words bring him back to the present. He shifts his footing, a little uneasy now.] Still piecin' together what the hell is happening here. They say there's somethin' in the Forest that can twist your mind, and it gets off on tormenting us.

[An extremely uncomfortable thought, especially for two gifted who had been born in the clutches of those who wanted to do just the same. How different was it, really, to be poked and prodded by the forest compared to the scientists that had created them.

Chuuya hardly realizes he's begun to pace.]

Just before you showed up, someone corrupted by this place started wreaking havoc. Wound up dead, with his soul shattered. [His head shakes.] Whatever hell you've gone up against back in Europe, it has nothin' on this.

And I thought Fyodor and the vampires were bad enough.

[cw medical trauma] hello little brother it's time to maladaptively cope!

Hi Verlaine bye Verlaine

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continuation from july event thread

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still in hyperspace!

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