exsiliumlogs | no this is the opposite of what i wanted [OPEN]

Date & Time: 7/5-7/10, typically in the late-late hours
Location: All over
Characters: Martin and many! YOU??
Summary: What a concept RUNNING INTO PEOPLE IN AN URBAN AREA.
Warnings: Martin is a gigantic sinkhole of misery and more misery it might make you want to throw your computer but please COME AT ME BRO

Hiding was a lot easier before the mission came along. It seemed the city was waking up, slowly but surely, to embrace the evening a little more than it did before. Lights from windows gave the streets a dim glow, played tricks with the shadows Martin's eyes were trained to follow and focus on. It was weird and unpleasant. Better for the people, maybe. But that wasn't any of his business. It never was.

He never did the right thing, whether he tried or not. Or maybe he did, but he was just unable to follow through. Either way, things would get worse, someone would get hurt...die...

He'd been training, best he could. Then that mission happened. Then, in that jungle...

It's all my fault.

If he walked fast enough, it would fall to the back of his mind, right? Or ran...

His shape flickered off walls in those glowing squares. Now and then, he saw the beams of lights of a late, late (or early) bus, and he'd skirt away like a frightened cockroach. There were quieter, empty places. Places to hide. And he'd find them, if he kept moving.

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"No, I—" Martin's foot slid on the metal, and he dangled for a moment before having to drop back down. He huffed, grimacing and wiping his palms on his legs. "I'm not...I'm just trying to—"

When he glanced over his shoulder, he just about swallowed his tongue. His eyes widened to virtual saucers, squinted, blinked, and widened again. No, there's...

That boy has horns.

Although Martin stared, Ico had no idea why. His upbringing made him proud of his horns.

“Oh you’re young. So I’m not the only one. Were you hiding here? Are you hurt?”

Ico held his hand out from habit but he lowered it soon after. He did not look like he needed help getting up again and it pained him that the gesture reminded Ico of Yorda.

The gesture was responded to with a flinch, slow but definite, away, pressing against the mesh even well after it had subsided. There was no need to react so dramatically, if one were to stop and think about it, but...well, Martin's primary thoughts right then and there pertained to horns and the definite lack of detection he'd had just moments before the encounter. No smell, no creeping feeling up his neck...which had certainly compensated by causing the hair to stand on-end well after the fact.

Someone...something like that? Shouldn't that have been sensed? What was wrong with him?

The questions received bewildered, distressed staring, being second to the trouble with those horns and what it could mean. He shuddered once, head shaking quickly as if he were briefly frozen in place and now given chance to move again.

"N-no," he insisted, lips drawn in a tight grimace. "I can't...talk. It's not allowed. S-s...Sorry. So—"

“What was that? You can’t…”

Ico looked around. Although it was dark, Ico did not see or hear anyone else besides them.

“There’s no one else here. You can talk as much as you want, who’ll stop you?”

He slowly sank to his knees until he sat on the ground. Maybe Martin will think he was less frightening that way.

“Why are you scared?”

The act seemed to do little to ease Martin's unease. Instead, it only encouraged him to move — away, sliding along the fence line until he could turn and start walking its length, mumbling something like sorry once more. He was looking for the gap he knew wasn't there anymore, but everything was trickier in Exsilium, he found.

Or, at least, enough distance and enough chance to wipe sweat clean from his hands could give him a better jump without having to resort to conjuring. That would be best.

Ico looked down, thoughtful. Martin was about the most frightened person he had ever seen, and that concerned him. Not only for him, but also what it could mean for the other people trapped here. He did not try to go after him, he imagined that would only make things worse.

“Is it this city that forbids you? If you tell me, I can help you.”

"Huph—!"

Short legs didn't promote good jumps, but he was used to that. Martin scrambled up the mesh, rolling his weight over the other end with about as much grace as a one-footed duck, but it did get him where he wanted to go. He dropped on the other side heavily, letting out air in a huff and clutching metal in his hands as he steadied.

The barrier and distance seemed to give him consolation — enough to at least look back. He frowned, unhappy and ashamed and embarrassed.

"No," he replied, shoulders lifting up and head ducking down. "Sorry. It's me."

“You’re forbidding yourself? But that doesn’t make sense.”

Ico thought there was something here that made him so scared. From the way that he climbed over that fence, he assumed Martin was lacking in physical skill. To be taken for war, maybe they were forcing him beyond his limits.

“Look, I’ll come here again later. You don’t have to talk but I’ll keep you safe, okay?” He said with a reassuring smile. He knew he scared him but he tried to show him that he was not going to hurt him.

“I’m Ico, and I’m here if you need help.”

Humiliated, Martin's shoulders sagged. It was an honest, innocent, earnest offer, but it was something he didn't deserve. He knew that. Pathetic as he was, being born what he was made him undeserving.

"Sorry," he mumbled again, unhappily. "Thank you. No. I can't."

Ico made his decision and he was determined to help Martin in some way. He stood again and brushed the front of his Mark. A gentle wind blew through and the Mark danced on the air. It was a sign that indicated to Ico that he was doing the right thing.

“Sure you can, I’d be glad to. I’ll watch after you so don’t be worried anymore, okay?”

Martin's head started to shake well before Ico had finished his reassurance. He kept shaking well after, pushing his hands off the mesh and started to back away.

"It's not a good idea. Sorry." He turned, hugging his elbows, and walked. "Sorry."

“Wait, don’t go yet. I have one more question, just one more. Please.”

Ico approached the fence and fit his arm through the mesh. He waved his hand awkwardly, trying to beckon Martin to come back.

His foot dragged the last step, wavering to a halt. He ought to just go, but he felt awful enough. And...And he had to be polite, even if he had to stay away, right?

It was confusing. Everything he thought he remembered he was taught didn't make a lick of sense when it came down to it, try as he might. And try, he knew, was all he could do.

He peered over his shoulder, bracing himself a little.

If only it were not so dark. Ico barely had a good look at him but this was likely the last opportunity he had to remember his appearance.

“What’s your name? I already gave you mine.”

He hesitated for a length of time, quietly fretting over an answer or non-answer. Where the other struggled to see, Martin could still plainly make out the horns, the traces of concern on the face connected to them...

His voice felt thick coming out.

"Martin. I'm a Darkov." As if anyone even understands that here. "Goodbye."

Although he wanted to know more about what a Darkov meant, he did say there would only be one question. He pulled his arm back through the fence and waved at him.

“Goodbye, Martin.”

His guilty grimace was hidden in the dark. A throaty sound escaped him, but anything more was quickly muffled. Martin hustled, briskly moving away from the fence and that horned boy, as though his pace would make the encounter less real and important.

I shouldn't have said anything, he thought miserably. I should've just run away.

no this is the opposite of what i wanted [OPEN]

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