[PP - F03] Twisted Taboo

[Oz 0]

Mired in the smog exuded from his tea leaf cigarette, Oz poured over the vestigial remnants of a report cobbled together by one of his now-passed informants. Or, at least, if she wasn't dead yet, she surely would be soon. It had been a shame to see Conciliator go, but she had understood the danger of her assignment. The further the days, weeks, and years stretched into their stint in Aincrad, the more such incidents seemed like a foregone conclusion. The animals on the Frontlines could somehow bear the brunt of this world's deranged flavor of cruelty, the hourglasses representing their lifespans seemingly fueled by an endless, colossal beach that brought sediment to its shore as quickly as the grains slipped through its sieve. Unlimited time, unlimited chances. But for the rest of them - the average Joes and Does - they had a number. Why she'd forgone the assistance of her red-coated maniac acquaintance, he could never understand. Perhaps she'd just grown weary of it all.

No time to mourn. Clock was ticking.

The Earl Grey-scented miasma obscured his vision, though it wasn't like there was much to read anyway. The file had been largely corrupted, large swaths of missing text making the document akin to something the CIA may have declassified. No doubt due to faulty uploading through Cardinal's decaying matrix. Or, perhaps, this was simply what happened if a message was in transit while Player data was being erased. There were the words he recognized that had to do with the case; "Fae," "Aruyt," "Faune," "missing," "taken," layered into broken sentences and standout one-offs. Then there were new ones that caught his eye. "Twisted," "Nyx," "Faerie," and "Reclamation." With a capital R.

What stuck out like a sore thumb was a single, uncorrupted sentence that read, "Chunk had been visiting Kyra prior to his disappearance." It was the only time either moniker was referenced in the entirety of the document - or at least the pieces he had access to. So what did either of them have to do with this? It was clear that this 'Chunk' character had fallen victim to the Fae's trafficking, but what of Kyra? Where did she fit into all of this? He reread the report, and then read it again. His eyes scanned the singular whole sentence in the document countless times, but no answers jumped out at him. Perhaps only she herself could provide the answers. 

A dismissive swipe and a few more taps brought Oz to a series of folders he'd accumulated over the years, detailing random odds and ends of info regarding the floating castle Aincrad and its captive inhabitants. Some of these details were obtained via his own legwork, but the vast majority came through meticulous networking and exchange of info with other brokers - many of whom didn't make it. There was never telling who was going to need what information, or when, so Oz had collected it all. Anything to make a buck in this wretched prison, where mere words could carry their weight in gold.

As luck would have it, he had a profile on this 'Kyra,' however slim. An aspiring psychologist, white hair, violet eyes. Never seen outside a city. Smart girl. A few known associations, none of which seemed relevant to the case. The revelation that she had a practice in the Town of Beginnings, however, shone as a crown jewel of the entire lead. Oz absorbed the location info and collapsed the panels, taking a final, long drag before extinguishing his cigarette in an ashtray overflowing with butts on the far end of his desk. With that, he waved the fumes from his face and stood, taking long strides toward the exit of the dimly lit hovel he called an office.

- - -

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Each stroke of the second hand underpinned the awkwardness of the scenario they both now found themselves in. There sat Oz in measured silence, a cocky smirk - hardly perceptible - hanging above the base of his visage, hunched forward with his elbows resting lackadaisically on his knees. His slapped-together suit hung loosely off his frame, collar unbuttoned and tie slackened around his neck. He peered into the violet hues of the woman on the other side of the room, sitting proper with her back straight and legs crossed, waiting patiently for him to share his reason for coming. Their session had lasted five minutes so far, and neither had exchanged any words beyond quaint pleasantries upon first meeting. He'd arbitrated the meeting as a "patient," someone in dire need of therapy after having endured the horrors of Aincrad for so long. While it wasn't beyond even Oz that he likely could benefit from good ol' fashioned brain-picking from a shrink, he, of course, thought he was above all that crap. 

Creating a vacuum, he'd been told it was called (by someone presumably far more educated than himself). Creating pressure through silence until the person on the other end gave in and tried to fill the void. It was a technique he'd had in his toolkit for some time, prior to even knowing what it was called. Putting someone else off-kilter would always give him a edge, and this introverted homebody was likely the sort to squirm given his otherwise off-putting demeanor. Just a little longer, and she would crack.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The smirk gradually widened as the seconds stretched on, his amusement betraying the seriousness of the reason for his visit. Six minutes, now. Then seven. The silence began to take on its own deafening and oxymoronic volume, the ringing in his ears only momentarily quelled with each tick of the clock. Either she'd intentionally chosen the loudest timepiece in all of Aincrad, or it really just was that quiet.

She won't budge. Oz had dealt with his fair share of tough nuts to crack, but Kyra was a little different. These reserved, shy types were usually the sort to buckle easily when even just a little pressure was put on them. Or was she just quiet, rather than shy? Perhaps he'd read her all wrong. In its own way, it was fun to encounter such an enigma, and have to actually work to unravel the layers of her composure and gain the upper hand. But in order to do that, he'd need to switch up his tactics, and explain away this goofy grin.

"Sorry," he started, averting his eyes but not dropping the smile. "I was thinking of something my friend, Conciliator, had said to me. The last thing she said to me, in fact. I was debating whether or not I should even share it with you." He was careful not to direct his dull orbs her way again, though he did want to see any micro-expressions his sudden dialogue may have prompted. This was one he was just going to have to feel his way through. He kept the tone light and nonchalant, attempting to keep in line with the 'humor' he wanted to convey. "She said, 'What's six-point-nine? Something great ruined by a period.'" He let loose a hearty chuckle at his own joke, which slowly petered out into a more solemn grin than before. "She's gone now, like so many others I've known," he revealed, furrowed brows betraying that consistent, though now lopsided, smirk. 

Quick. Think of some names.

"Conciliator... Rolph... Neptune..." C'mon, one more. "Viper..." Now clinch it. "Chunk."

His eyes flickered back to meet with hers, narrowed in 'pain,' but scanning for any noticeable difference in her expression. "All gone. Aincrad ate them all, one after another." It needed more, something to tie it all back to a plea for guidance. "How are we all supposed to continue on, in a place like this?" he inquired, turning his palms upward. "It just seems like a cruel joke. It's been years, and it doesn't feel like things are getting any better." He let his arms fall slack again. "Just a shared coma where the only winning move is not to play."

Spoiler

Oz | HP: 20/20 | EN: 20/20 | DMG: 1 | LD: 4 | THNS: 18 | Detection: 1 | Quality 2 | Prosperity 1

---

Equipped

• Mirror Coat [T1 Heavy Armor]
  • Thorns 2
     
• Laurel Earcuffs [T1 Jewelry]
  • LD 3
     
• Pleonexy [T1 Jewelry]
  • Quality 2 | Prosperity 1
     
• Full-Tang Short Sword [T1 Vanity Sword]

Battle-Ready Inventory

• (3) Starter Healing Potion
  • Heals 50 HP
     

---

Skills

Spoiler

• Searching [Rank 1]
  • +1 LD
  • +1 Stealth Detection

 

 

Edited August 8 by Oz

[Kyra 0]

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The tip of Kyra’s pen tapped in tandem with the clock that hung above her head. A made-to-order model, the ornately carved wooden leaves circled the brown and bronze face in a comfortingly familiar way. The piece was identical to the one that her mother had bought for her father in Germany’s Black Forest. It hung in his study until Kyra was eleven, when he had replaced it with an original Cézanne, and Kyra had freed the clock from the donation bin. The girl had squirreled it away until she might have a home of her own. The genuine article still sat in a box beneath her bed, as she had yet to find said home. Its twin, for what it was worth, ticked away in her spacious office.

Please briefly describe why you are seeking therapy at this time and what you would like to address in therapy.
I'm struggling with coming to terms with being trapped in this prison. People keep dying and I wonder when my number will be up. I just want to go home.

Kyra’s lilac eyes traced each letter over and over, as if a ninth or tenth re-read might unlock some additional hidden meaning. It didn’t. So she let her gaze drop to the next part of her introductory questionnaire.

Do you have any goals for yourself?
More than anything, I'd like to live. But while I'm doing that, I'd like to find some peace in it, too.

Her toe absently beat out the clock’s rhythm on the plush carpet as she examined the answer. Not unlike others she had seen on this same questionnaire. In fact, it rang all too familiar. It also rang hollow.

Please list any coping skills that help you.
Women.

Despite herself, the woman felt a smile creep across her painted lips. Not an uncommon mechanism, by any means, but few Players were so forthcoming. If even a shred of truth might be found in the man’s answers, perhaps it would be here.

Who would you consider to be your support(s)?

The laugh that burst from Kyra brought her secretary running. The young woman, a brilliant and hardworking survivor of the Sanctuary incident, poked her head through the office’s open doorway. “Uh, you okay?” Leanna asked timidly, her freckled face scrunched in concern.

“Oh yes, I’m alright,” Kyra reassured her, lingering chuckles still bubbling brightly as she dabbed at her eye with an embroidered handkerchief. “Just finding similarities lurking in the oddest of places.” 

“Uh-huh,” Leanna managed slowly. Her blue eyes tracked to the papers resting neatly on Kyra’s desk, but they flitted away just as quickly. Aincrad might be a death game, but the psychologist still insisted on strict confidentiality. “Well, uh, did you need anything? While I’m here?”

“Actually, yes.” Kyra neatly swiped the questionnaire into a folder, where it joined a few other sheets of paper. “Did you find anything else on that name I gave you?”

Leanna visibly brightened. The girl’s emotions read like an open book, a trait that Kyra found incredibly endearing. “That Oz guy? Yeah, a few people at Pumpkin’s Delight knew him. I jotted down their thoughts, I’ll go grab it for you.”

As Leanna trotted off, Kyra spun her chair around to face the clock on the wall. The ghost of a smile played across her face as the cuckoo leapt from his tiny home, flapping his wings, and declaring the top of the hour.

Any minute now.

 - - -

                                                                                                     Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Though the clock drummed steadily in her ears, Kyra sat as still and silent as a statue. Her notepad balanced atop her knee, her stocking-clad legs crossed primly, and ending in powder-blue stilettos. The color scheme extended to her pencil-skirt, blazer, and the stitching in her pressed white shirt. Delicate diamond studs winked through her long, snow-white hair, and silver gleamed in a dainty line across her right wrist. Even the pen clasped between her fingers appeared frozen, its tip pressed gently to the paper. The only movement came in the form of steam, climbing from the floral-scented tea in Kyra’s porcelain cup.

The man’s smile widened, and something about it conjured visions of sharks.

When he finally spoke, it was in a voice altogether out of place in her pretty office. The sound of it brought no outward reaction, nor did his infantile menstruation joke. Even the reciting of names lost, flung with the same level of care as junk on a heap, could not move her.

Only when he spoke the final name did Kyra’s eyes flash.

Not with anger, or sadness, or fear.

With understanding.

If the sound of the mental puzzle pieces falling into place could be heard by Oz, it would have drowned out the ticking clock.

“Oz,” she began slowly, allowing a smile of her own to unfurl like the steam from her tea. “What you are describing is something felt by so, so many people. Being trapped in a place like Aincrad, separated from our loved ones and the lives we’ve known, is bound to take a toll. That toll will look different for everyone, of course, but the fact remains the same - loss is difficult. Grief is difficult, and it isn’t linear, either. There’s no expiration date on these negative feelings, though talking through them will certainly help matters. Many Players have come to me with similar stories. This is an incredibly common issue.”

Kyra leaned forward, the movement so slight that it might have been missed by someone not paying attention. “Which is why it fascinates me that it’s an issue that you’re not actually dealing with.” Her gaze sharpened on his face, a predator studying its prey to see which direction it will flee. “You’ve come to me under false pretenses, looking for aid for a problem you don’t have.” Her pen tapped three times in rapid succession on the empty page. “Perhaps you would like to unpack that one with me?”
 

[Oz 0]

Oz's glossy gaze remained transfixed on Kyra as she recited her almost certainly canned response to his fabricated disclosure. He'd seen a glimmer of recognition in her eye once he'd mentioned Chunk's name, hastily concealed has she went on to go through the motions of explaining how this was natural, and common, and difficult, etc. Yuck. It seemed she could be just as disingenuous as he, when it came time to play ball. Oz could hardly believe people actually paid for this sort of shit. They would have been better off putting their coin into a warm body in bed beside them, or a decent pack of smokes. He nodded along in cadence with her intonations, eyes steadfast upon hers, maintaining his slight smile, until...

“Which is why it fascinates me that it’s an issue that you’re not actually dealing with.”

Try as he might to stop it, the muscles in his cheeks slackened, and the grin dissipated. He had to try very, very hard not to allow his eyes to harden.

“You’ve come to me under false pretenses, looking for aid for a problem you don’t have. Perhaps you would like to unpack that one with me?”

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

"First of all, nice speech," he gibed with a hint of enthusiasm, the smirk finding its way back to his lips. He leaned back into the plush couch, left arm finding the armrest while the other extended broadly over the back. "You got that written down somewhere? Can't help but wonder how many people you've recited that exact series of canned phrases to. And here, I thought I was special." Though the jabs had teeth, his somewhat cheery tone and demeanor may have left some questioning. They didn't have the typical bite usually associated with such pointed barbs.

Whether she was guessing or not was irrelevant. The fact of the matter was, this wasn't going to be productive. He'd wasted a good chunk of time and energy on this detour, and it seemed he'd be leaving empty-handed.

"Secondly, I think we're done here. I've got better things to do than be lectured by a scam artist over 'false pretenses.' Hope your next appointment's a bigger pushover, though!"

With a classic Midwestern 'welp' pat of the knees, Oz stood and summoned his menu. A jingle and a few clicks later, and the shabby business attire he'd been wearing was swiftly replaced by his usual garb, which fluttered cinematically as it flashed into existence (as the system intended). He dismissed the window and started toward the door, stopping abruptly before reaching for the handle and turning whimsically on a heel. "And by the way, your clock sucks." With that, he took off his striped bucket hat for a bow, and was gone.

Edited August 7 by Oz

[Kyra 0]

How did the saying go? Like water off a duck's back? Whatever it was, that was what happened as Oz's darts struck her, and simply fell away. Did the man truly think he might offend her by flinging such insults? As if she had never been accused of canned responses. If she weren't so skilled when it came to keeping her mask in place, Kyra might have laughed aloud.

He thought he scared her?

He didn't even come close.

She worked with middle schoolers.

                                                                                                           Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Her gaze flitted up to her most treasured item in Aincrad, and the faintest trace of a smirk curled her lips. "Well," she mused aloud. "I suppose someone like you would think that about my clock."

The woman set her notepad and pen aside, found her feet, and took a swig from her tea. She hated to leave it, as she considered it wasteful, but it was still too hot to chug. Instead, she drank what she could, delicately brushed a drop away from her lip with her thumb, then strode to an old-fashioned, free-standing coat rack. Yet another special request, as most people just preferred to store their items in their inventory. Kyra, on the other hand, expertly slipped her purse from the lowest peg, stringing the pretty silver strap over her shoulder. "My next appointment isn't for another couple hours," she informed him primly, adjusting the way the purse hung on her arm, then the way her blazer fell on her thin frame. "And I believe you still have another forty-five minutes or so. So lead on, and we can talk while we walk. I suspect this conversation is not over yet."

Oz peered at her out of the corner of his eye, though his gaze started lower, as though he hadn't quite expected her to come so high on him. "I'll pass. You're not exactly dressed the part."

She had expected pushback, but she hadn't expected him to comment on her attire. Fascinating, she thought for the umpteenth time. "That wholly depends on where it is we're going. If you're on your way to a fancy luncheon, I'll fit right in."

He stopped mid stride, craning his his head her way as a haunting grin beamed from ear to ear.  "Suuuuure, I bet all the rapists and murderers who RSVP'd are just dying to meet you! Make sure you reapply that lipstick before you get there, wouldn't wanna disappoint."

Oz stormed through her door. With her heels clipping smartly on the hallway's tile floor, Kyra followed. As the pair passed Leanna, the girl leaped to her feet. "Kyra," she managed, eyes jumping between Oz and her employer. Her mouth said, "Is everything alright?" But her eyes said, "Do I need to call security?" 

Kyra waved her off. "Everything's fine, Leanna. Would you mind letting everyone know that I'm out of the office?" Her gaze bore into the back of his retreating form as she quipped, "Oz is taking me out to lunch."

Edited August 8 by Kyra

[Oz 0]

Click, clack, click, clack.

He could hear the call of her heels haunting him as he sauntered through the Town of Beginnings, pretending to be unbothered by the pale ghost he'd acquired. It seemed wherever this woman went, some sort of repeating sound breedled right along with her. Who needed a noisy-ass clock when you could just wear heels? Out of the office. Through the cobblestone streets. And eventually, into the woods.

Idiot.

It seemed he'd made a grave miscalculation with this one. Hadn't expected her to be the clingy type. Though he couldn't imagine what it was she had any intention of clinging to. Hadn't he made himself adequately repulsive by now? 

Aha. Another ace in the hole. He'd almost forgotten about his smokes. His slender digits fingered their way into the inner lining of his coat, retrieving an ornate tin cigarette case. In a practiced, fluid motion, he pried the clasp open with his thumbnail and rose the vessel to his lips, retrieving a singular coffin nail while his other hand pulled a match from another coat pocket. The clam-like case slapped shut and found itself stuffed back into its hidey-hole as Oz dragged the match against the brick exterior of a passing shop to ignite it. Flame found the dart a moment later, then was shaken to oblivion as the tea leaves kindled. One flick later and the extinguished stick was nothing more than fractal shards.

Click, clack, click, clack.

It was then that Oz took a nice, deep breath, soaking as much of the fetid fumes into his lungs as he could muster. He slowed a bit, so as to let her catch up, until he could hear that incessant clacking right at his heels. Then without skipping a beat, broke out into the strangest crabwalk the streets of Aincrad had ever seen. His legs spread wide in their gate, his torso limbo'd back, and a shit-eating grin crawled across his upside-down visage as he let loose a gigantic plume of burnt tea right in her face. Not once did his scuttling pace let up all the while.

"Ah, Earl Grey," Kyra observed flatly, even as she wafted the smoke from her face with a wave of her hand. "A classic."

Oz's expression drooped, as too did his bucket hat, a bizarre contortion of limbs somehow managing to recover it before it touched the ground. He righted himself, replaced the boonie atop his tarnished mop, and stopped. He spun and, for the first time, the annoyance was evident in his expression. "What's it gonna take to get you to fuck off, Whitey?" he queried, his signature grin and overall aloof demeanor absent. It was clear he wanted her gone.

"Telling me why you really came into my office today would be a good place to start," came the snappy response.

Oz leaned in, not quite towering over her due to her surprising height, but still closing the distance in a way that was almost certainly uncomfortable. He took another long drag, eyes narrowing as he contemplated whether or not to give her what she wanted. Would she actually leave if he gave in? Or was she just looking for the satisfaction before tormenting him further?

It was time for a gamble.

"If you must know," he jeered, more smog seeping through his lips in cadence which each syllable uttered, "people are dying and you're connected. I'm trying to figure out why, and thought you might have some useful information. Turns out I was wrong, you're useless. And now you're impeding my investigation."

There it was, finally. The small flinch and glimmer of fear that proved she wasn't an automaton. He'd honestly started to wonder whether she was even a real person, or just a plant installed by Cardinal to take stock of the Aincradians' mental states. He'd dealt with some weirdos before, but this chick had seemingly been his Kryptonite up to this point. She swiftly regained her composure, of course. No use in giving Oz the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Well, then, let me help. Bring me up to speed and we can-"

"No!" The exclamation boomed, perhaps a bit louder than he'd meant. Seemed she'd gotten under his skin more than he'd cared to admit to himself. Passersby glanced their way, sharing whispers amongst themselves. How concerning it must have looked, to have a larger man leaning over a slim, soft-spoken woman and yelling at her. She was, of course, deadpan, unflappable. He grumbled, before adjusting his posture upright and taking another drag. "Look," he started, pinching the bridge of his nose between is thumb and ring finger as the cigarette lay loosely clasped between the ring and index fingers of the same hand. "You said you'd leave me alone if I told you the real reason I came into your office. I did that. Now scra-"

"Actually, I only said it would be a good start," she replied, cutting him off. Tit for tat, he supposed.

Oh, how she spiked his blood pressure.

"You think Chunk stopped coming because he got bored? No. Although, who could even blame him, if he did?" Oz paused, taking another brief drag. "He stopped coming because he's gone. And if you keep following me, you'll probably be the next to be spirited away. So go back to your neat little office, enjoy your tea, listen to your noisy-ass clock, and look forward to the next sucker who's willing to fork over his coin. Aincrad's full of 'em." It'd sound too soft to tell her that he didn't want her to follow him to her death, so this would have to suffice.

Having said his piece, he turned and began to walk away once more. Predictably, the clacking of her heels resumed in step. It seemed, for better or worse, this barnacle was along for the ride. He didn't have the energy to rebuff her anymore. Just another death to hang on my head, I suppose.

Click, clack, click, clack.

Eventually, they reached the Teleport Plaza at the town square. It was a simple, yet elegant, structure. A Big Ben-esque tower which loomed over an open, polished marble pad. He climbed the steps and flicked the smoldering butt of his cigarette aside before uttering the command. "Teleport, Aruyt." And of course, somehow, she made it through the threshold right before they were both dispersed into ribbons of light.

- - -

Floor 3

In a flash, they were there. A complete change of scenery from the brick jungle that was the Town of Beginnings, Aruyt stood as the capital of the third floor, a sprawling literal jungle which boasted some of the most spectacular flora in all of Aincrad. As much as he loved the city life, Oz felt right at home in a place like this. Everywhere he looked was green, green, and more green. Earthy scents wafted on the soft breeze, and everything felt cool beneath the lush canopy of foliage that loomed overhead. He took it all in, letting the pure air cleanse his lungs of the smoke he'd just polluted them with, and took a long stretch. Once he felt satisfied, he fell slack, then gestured toward the path of gnarled bark that sprawled out before them.

"After you, Princess," he taunted, eyes flicking down to her heels, then back up. Rather than wait, he sauntered along, confident he'd eventually lose her in the trek. Aruyt was situated amid a particularly dense throng of enormous trees, the branches of which they'd need to navigate to reach their destination. So they began their journey, following the winding crusty offshoots as they interlaced and gradually descended, eventually converging on the city's limits. Here, they finally found themselves on the forest's floor, soft earth replacing course bark just before the gate that marked the end of the safe zone.

Kyra had done a surprisingly good job keeping up, though it couldn't have been easy. Some of those sections had been particularly perilous, even for Oz with normal footgear. But as they neared the edge of the safe zone, she slowed, and then eventually came to a stop. Seemed she had reached her limit.

"Awww, what's the matter?" Oz snarked condescendingly. "Did danger sound fun until you actually had to face it? Did it?" He took an elongated step, the stride taking him through the imperceptible veil and placing him squarely outside of safe zone territory. Though she didn't let it show in her expression, Kyra still hesitated. "What a shame. Anyway! Have a fun climb back up! Tell your secretary I said hi! I think she has a thing for me." That snarky grin from before was back, and he maintained it as he rounded the wall to finally escape her view. "So long! Farewell! Toodaloo!"

Edited August 8 by Oz