ғᴏᴜʀ. [ video; reflected off a mirror in his room, late evening ]

[secondcomingof]

[ The feed is sharp and clear and focused when it comes into view, centered around one Casval Mass, who has propped himself up on a heavy trunk with one long leg crossed over the other. His eyes are stern and his tone sterner still; compared to his initial introduction on the network, his demeanor is comparatively absent of ego, replaced by an intense drive that can be felt even through the mirror he's broadcasting from. ]

Good evening.

For those of you unfamiliar with me, my name is Casval Mass. It's come to my attention, recently, that a hotspot of activity related to the so-called "invasion" has flared within the area known as the "Dead District". More specifically, several non-network related residents have complained of werewolf attacks. While I too am skeptical of the nature of these attacks, its timing cannot be ignored in relation to our predicament.

[ Casval leans down, beginning to flip open the various locking mechanisms on the trunk. ]

Therefore, I propose that a scouting party of sorts be sent into this District to determine the scope of—and, if necessary, eliminate—this problem. I am aware that some of you may doubt my abilities on this front, or take issue with me personally. I ask you to set these qualms aside in favor of achieving our greater goal.

[ Click and snap go the last locks, and Casval rises, opening the trunk and pushing it over to reveal... well, a metric fuckload of weaponry. Guns of all sizes, body armor, blades, other objects meant to kill and maim and what have you, it's all there in spades. Some of it questionably legal, for those of you familiar with such stock.

A little bit of ego does slip through as he smirks back up at his audience, picking out a polished sniper rifle in particular for himself and leaning against it as he stands. ]

As you can see, I can provide the equipment necessary for this mission. I am seeking motivated individuals to join me in this endeavor. If those individuals do not step forward, I will simply go myself.

[ Blue eyes narrow testily. ]

I am through running and hiding. If I should die, let it be in this way, facing this threat, instead of cowering in the shadows. I will not allow paranoia and uncertainty to condemn me to a lifetime of servitude.

I thank you in advance for your cooperation.

[ And, just before the feed cuts, and before he forgets: ]

Banagher Links.

I need to speak to you immediately. Please respond.

[ The threat of or I'll find you anyway goes unspoken, but is clear in his voice regardless. ]

Comments

[argents]

[ The implications make his pulse feel a little cold in his own veins. Numb. He stills where he is, arms rigid, clutching his phone with white knuckles. But he can't shed the impression that he's being unfair, watching every tick, every reaction reflected through the clarity of glass. ]

You know... before this, I never had to think about whether or not I should distrust anyone. [ It's neither a "forgiven" or a "not forgiven". ] Like, what would happen, if someone knew enough about me to use it like a weapon. Or if I was in a position to do that same thing.

Making enemies, I guess.

[ There's no real point to his musing, other than to indicate that he's not begrudging you for something neither of them understand yet. He sighs. ]

What's becoming a vessel supposed to mean, anyway?

[secondcomingof]

[ The lack of a definitive answer just frustrates Casval even more, but despite his slight panicking, he knows now is not the time to belabor that particular point, forgiveness, mercy, understanding. Instead, he focuses on the question, even if he doesn't have a reply readily available.

Well, then. Maybe that made them even here. ]

I spoke of emptying myself. Suggesting you do the same. That you and I... we're not part of everyone anymore. [ His eyes shut, brow drawn tight. ] I got the impression that I needed you, or simply that I was willing to take a risk in beseeching you to my side.

...there were gunshots. [ He adds this as an afterthought, though it's no less important. ] I think one of us was trying to run, and that's why it was tense.

[argents]

I can't imagine myself agreeing to that. [ ...Pretty point blank, but soft enough in tone, in wonderment, for it to be more of an appraisal than a rejection. Even when his heart aches just thinking about it, the memory of a touch that started it all resisting that thought with all its might. ] Leaving everything behind, having only emptiness to fall back on. How are you supposed to know what makes you yourself? Humans can't survive like that, can they?

[ As if of their own accord, the questions cascade out, like a river. Because the crux of what he remembers tells him to hang on to his heart, if nothing else in the world. Then he realizes in the moment that he's actually probably being rather heartless about it.

If anything though, he's genuinely invested in what this could mean. ]

...I'm sorry. It just sounds complicated. And I want to understand where it comes from.

[secondcomingof]

[ Casval doesn't take it as a rejection. If anything, he's in full agreement (full denial of how cruelly he pinned the boy, how viciously he snarled in his ear) that he finds himself nodding in agreement before he can stop himself. ]

Some people can. [ His own tone is sad, when he says this. Empathetic, a rarity for the Captain. Sorrowful, for that sort of existence. His heart responds to Banagher's pouring out, shedding some of its harder layers in turn. ] Some people get by with just shreds. Table scraps, because it's all they know. All they have, in this world. It's a pitiful scenario, but even with your time on this Earth being so short, Banagher, I'm sure you know that life can be terribly unkind and unfair.

[ Banagher's apology just gets another shake of his head. There's nothing to be sorry for, in his view. Who in their right mind could even begin to piece this together? But he knows one thing for sure, the thing he doesn't voice to Banagher aloud.

In the memory, in the span of that volatile moment, they were enemies. Banagher Links was his enemy, someone he fought but wanted to reacquire, like some sort of possession. It disturbs him and intrigues him all at once. He wants to know more. Has to know more. ]

I want to understand, too. That's why... I'm throwing myself into the crux of the conflict. The more that happens, the more I'm beginning to understand. Even if it leads down a path to ruin—no, in spite of that, I must keep walking.

[ Casval glances up, and though Banagher's eyes are not present to meet, they may as well be for the insistence of his gaze. Boring through the mirror. Into Banagher, through this mysterious connection. ]

Nothing has changed since the piano room, Banagher. My goals remain the same. And if you'll forgive me the echo, once again, I invite you to come with me, but this time for a very different purpose.

Because you are part of my memories, and in understanding you, I will better understand myself.

[argents]

[ Banagher's eyes widen, unable to break the eye contact that doesn't really exist between them. It's more than just looking at Casval, than just trying to parse what's being said. Banagher can feel it, weighing on his mind, crushing out all the little bits and pieces of it that won't stop buzzing around, zipping, fanning out, all the raw kinetics and energy and an equal amount of things that couldn't be solved by simple equations—K. E. = (1/2) mv2—no, this was pure perception. It hits him so squarely the quick breath he forces into his lungs to snap himself out of it prickles and catches and causes him to audibly stumble on it like he's been burned.

Immediately, he wants to know it means. Why him? Casval's talking logic and his mind is talking emotion, powerful and sharp and in reaction to him.

It's a funny realization, a sobering one, to realize you're capable of seeming very insignificant in the scope of your own head. Banagher says absolutely nothing for a long moment, the audio shuffling with movement—he's resting the flats of his arms on his knees, forehead atop those, phone dangling off to the side. Silent.

He doesn't know what to think about all of it. Lives meager and filled with sadness, with unfathomable voids, taking 'sides' he gives no acknowledgement to, treading the volatile knife's edge between ruin and understanding. Can he agree to something like that?

When his voice finds itself again, it's muffled. Even when this is the only thing he knows for certain right now. ]

I wish I could remember you.

[secondcomingof]

[ There's many things Casval could say here, many points he could make, observations, musing, intellectualizing, but there's just one thing he knows for certain he has to voice right now. ]

I wish I hadn't forgotten you.

[ It fits. It's earnest. It's true. All so uncharacteristic of happenings in his life.

Gently, Casval smiles. As if playing an invisible melody all over again, absent the piano, within Banagher's heart. ]

If we fill the void in our minds with the memories we've yet to make, we'll never have to worry about being empty.

[argents]

[ It's strange, not being able to see a smile, but knowing it's there regardless. Banagher wipes his face on his sleeve and steels a little better. ]

It's not like we had any choice. Forgetting, or remembering.

[ Realizing that a swift undercurrent of something once strong runs beneath the pieces of what he thought was just an ordinary life. But he doesn't allow himself to think too strongly about that, not when things already felt fragile. It doesn't change the fact that there's a real, live, breathing connection to this whole mess right in front of him and he still feels painfully in the dark. Disconnected. ]

But if we were to do that, I guess things might have a chance of falling into place.

[ Eventually, something had to align. He takes a breath, lifts his head so his voice is clearer. Though he's avoided the man in truth since their last meeting that went wrong in about as many ways as he can think of, there wasn't really any point in holding a meaningless grudge now. ]

Talking to you in person will probably help, somehow.

[secondcomingof]

[ As someone particularly guilty of holding meaningless grudges, Casval can only agree. Feeling assured once the confidence, if shaky, is more tangible in Banagher's tone, he squares his shoulders, refocusing himself. Resolving himself to this task, to this purpose, as he did back in the library. ]

I will seek you out once the issues within the District have been resolved, Banagher. Until then, knowing what we know now...

[ His eyes soften. Read don't die in the most obvious possible way. ]

...stay safe. Stay inside as much as you can, particularly at night. If something were to happen to you, I could not bear it.

[argents]

[ Banagher doesn't shy from that purpose, not this time. Too many foreign heartbeats have flooded him with things that needed resolutions for him to think of himself as not being involved. What does get him is the sudden regard he's being held in. Pinned with. ]

...Says the one organizing something as dangerous as a werewolf hunt.

[ That came out a bit more concerned that he intended it. But something of that scale, where everyone seemed so willing to just take up weapons, makes him feel a little sick. ]