chlorokyll | inbox (duocaeli)

[ For someone who has not had to sleep for the majority of his century and a half lifetime, the sensation of tiredness is new and utterly unwanted. After Knives collapsed at his desk he had fallen asleep for some time, with Vash insisting that was perhaps the best thing for him to do now. Knives doesn't like it at all, the idea of shutting his eyes and then so much time passing with him utterly unaware of what is taking place around him.

He has eaten something by now, but sleep won't return to him so easily, despite how desperately he needs it. Or so he thinks. The idea of laying himself down in a bed and shutting his eyes and having his exhaustion take over is simply too foreign for him to bother with it. He would rather make use of his time, hence why he's come to the library. There's much more that he needs to understand about both of these worlds.

The text he's found is about this world, the one outside of the game, as he slowly accepts that he will need to interact with it in some fashion. Yet he hasn't absorbed much thus far, with exhaustion draped over his shoulders like a heavy coat.

The clack causes him to straighten his back from where he'd almost been dozing off again, his gaze following the sound to find a man with a cane. His tired mind registers the face as familiar, before he even has the forethought to beat back those false memories. He's killed people for a less egregious offense than interrupting him while he's reading, but he certainly doesn't have the energy for that now. His grip tightens around the edge of the book, however, and as it shifts slightly there's a glimpse of metal gleaming beneath it.

Knives has dark circles under his eyes and looks like he needs at least three cups of coffee, with a loose gray hood pulled partway over his head. ]

And you look... familiar.

[ Will it be the same in reverse? Will this man remember him? ]

[Give it only a few moments, and yes, he will recall. The memories sweep in as though they were the tide, crowding his mind, some playing before his eyes as the features of this very-tired looking man usher in... associations. Familiarity. Time spent together in high school, though V certainly never attended such a thing. Ink embedding in skin with a needle, though he's never held a tattoo gun in the entirety of his life, this one or the one before.

The wan smile on his face falters then. He doesn't quite reel, but it's clear that he's struck by it all at once, and it takes a moment of consideration to decide what to say, how to proceed. This blasted place, messing with his mind -- no, he doesn't appreciate that.

Ugh.]

[But then he straightens slightly, then raises his cane to point it at the other man. (Yes, he has noticed that flash of metal gleaming just around the book. He should be more wary, shouldn't he? But V's undergone too much to let a little peek of steel give him pause.)]

I go by V. Is that the name flitting around your head? Just as yours worms its way through mine?

[A vague half-smirk.]

Old friend. Ex Ex Millions Knives Ex Ex. [i'm so sorry]

[ These implanted memories are violating, and yet nothing Knives does can stop them from asserting themselves when he runs into a so-called familiar face, triggering a string of past moments that never actually took place. And yet, he also recalls willingly sitting himself in a chair and letting this man etch markings into his skin.

He recalls feeling a fondness toward him. As if they were companions.

Knives' hand moves to the cuff of his sleeve, but then V points his cane at him. The memories supply that he'd always suffered from poor health, that sometimes he had brought the cane with him to school. ]

Yes. [ Knives stands from his seat then, both to try and brush some of the exhaustion (and the memories) away and to assert himself. ] But we are not—

[ And then V addresses him in a truly odd manner, causing Knives to reel back for a moment in pure confusion. ] What was that? [ Guess who hasn't given any attention to his smartphone yet? However, there's more to it that that. He does have memories associated with that extra filigree around his name, but it isn't quite settling in just yet. ]

Edited 2023-05-05 23:58 (UTC)

[Knives stands, but V remains relatively unmoving, either unbothered or uncaring about the other man's attempts to assert himself. But he eventually presses the point of his cane down again, leaning against it, beating back these odd, unwanted memories in his own way. Silently, with careful, careful deliberation.

Memories that would inform the strange way V's addressed him. A "username" flickering at the edges of recollection. A concept both familiar in one life and never used in the other, sitting at odds with each other.

Won't stop him from repeating it, though. Even more enunciated than before.]

Ex Ex... Millions Knives... Ex Ex. Your online moniker that you've been using since "our" high school days. Or so that's how I recall it. Though I know you properly as Nai.

[ An online moniker. Knives had no need for such things in No Man's Land, but if he thinks on it now, strains to snatch at a memory that isn't his, he can recall it. Messages sent back and forth, typed to this "V."

High school days? Preposterous.

But then V makes a seemingly innocuous statement that causes Knives' head to snap up. Tired as he is, this is something that cannot stand. V may not know what he did, but it doesn't matter. Knives' hand shoots down to toss the book aside so that he can grab onto the hilt of the chef's knife that had rested beneath it. As soon as it's in hand he stalks toward V, eyes wild with outrage. ]

That is not my—

[ But before he can close the distance between them, a bookshelf suddenly slides across the floor and screeches to a halt right in front of him, barring the way. ]

[It happens on a hair-trigger, and V nearly starts at the suddenness of it, eyes widening ever so slightly. A flash of furor and a flash of that knife.

He nearly takes a step back, the feeling of demonic energy crawling along his skin, but then a bookshelf slides in from across the library and comes to a sharp halt between them.

Okay, then.]

…Did I touch a nerve?

[What was it then? Nai? The name must have some meaning he’s unaware of to incite such a reaction. Thanks, fake memories.]

[ Not just one nerve. Far more than that. More than he wants to, or will ever want to, truly address or examine. That is a name that should no longer exist, that is only perpetuated by his brother insisting on using it, and even then he barely tolerates it.

Yet it exists here. Because "Nai" in this world never became Millions Knives, apparently. Pathetic. His false memories only confirm as much. ]

You will call me Knives.

[ He speaks only after taking a few more heaving breaths, but when the threat is determined to be gone, the bookshelf slides back into its rightful place. Knives watches it with clear interest, if also a hint of annoyance. ]

The house seems to have a mind of its own. Curious, isn't it.

[ It's said in an almost casual tone, as if he didn't just try to pull a knife on V. ]

[Knives. If he were unwise, he would delve a little further into this moniker that must be adhered to, unless a man has a wish to be skewered on the tip of a kitchen knife. He'd ask about it. But maybe this isn't the time. The man's kneejerk anger barely simmers before he's ushering him a command from the other side of the bookshelf. V huffs out a breath.]

Knives, then. How fitting for you.

[SINCE YOU JUST TRIED TO STAB HIM

The bookshelf deems the threat gone, apparently, because now it's sliding back over and slotting into its original spot. V watches it in his periphery but slides his attention back to Knives quickly enough. He doesn't seem tense, though his tone is edged with weary sarcasm.]

Perhaps it doesn't like violence between two people just having small talk.

Edited 2023-05-08 02:06 (UTC)

[ It is fitting, isn't it? There's a reason he picked the name, after all. It did not take long for his use of his Gate, even when he was quite young, to primarily manifest in the creation of blades. (Implements of violence. And protection.) ]

So it seems.

[ His face twitches with annoyance at the house's whims. The fact that it is somehow sentient is odd, to say the least. He's never encountered anything like it, and is rather interested to learn more. It's part of the reason he came to the library in the first place. ]

Who are you really, then? [ Because the sooner he can replace these implanted memories with real ones, the better. ] Surely not a... tattoo artist. [ He turns his back to V, clearly not registering him as any sort of threat, to set the knife back down on the table. After that, he tugs back the sleeve of the hooded sweatshirt he's wearing to examine the markings inked into his skin, starting at his wrist and traveling up his forearm.

It makes no sense. How can a marking exist on his body from a memory that never took place? It's unnerving, to say the least. ]

[And thus his sarcasm rolls right off the other man, like oil on water. Strange how he reminds him, already, of a certain someone... But V pushes that thought out of his head. He clicks a nail against the grip of his cane.]

Me?

[Surely not a tattoo artist, no. Though apparently "he" possessed some manner of skill, because his eyes trail down to the reveal of tattoos gliding Knives' arm. The memory dredges up from beneath a pile of them, clarifying again -- idle chatter as he worked on that incomplete sleeve, or even the moments before that, discussing the manner of design. His thoughts run parallel: how can it exist on this other man's skin, if these memories never truly happened?]

I'm just a man.

[~Mysterious~ but, moreover, unhelpful.]

Just a man.

[ Knives echoes the words even as he shoves his sleeve back down and over the tattoo. It's not as if V is going to have any of the answers to his questions, and if he is speaking the truth and is simply a human who for some reason was dragged into this situation, then it doesn't seem as if they have much more to discuss.

The memories should be ignored. It's not as if they mean anything.

But perhaps because of them, whether he likes it or not, he's not as immediately dismissive of V as he would be otherwise. ]

Well. I assume you came here to read, not to bother me.

[ He sinks back into the chair where his open book awaits him, but his exhaustion has hardly left him. He can feel his stomach stirring with hunger again as well. It feels as if he just ate, and now it's demanding more? Having to feed himself so often is extremely inconvenient. ]

No. I didn't.

[But that was before he recognized the man sitting there, trying his best to stay awake while struggling to read a book. Even as Knives settles back down into the chair, with a statement that clearly means he wants to be left alone, V's not sure he has the grace to let this slide just yet.

But he feels you, too, my guy, where food is concerned.]

Is that what you're doing? Reading? You look wrung-out and exhausted. Why not sleep and try again?

It's a waste of time.

[ That's the answer that falls out of Knives' mouth without him giving it much thought, because it's the truth. Having to dedicate an entire third of one's day to simply being unconscious is so inefficient, and he resents having to adhere to such rules now.

He heaves out a sigh and shuts the book. Perhaps he would be better off just finding himself something to eat. It should grant him the energy needed to stay awake for a few more hours, at least. ]

This place has weakened me. I never had these limitations before.

[ Hence why he's being stubborn, it seems... ]

Sleeping? A limitation?

[Well, perhaps it makes sense. Their powers are not what they should be; even V, who is literally half the man he's supposed to be, has had his abilities weakened. Taken away. Two of his familiars, utterly inaccessible.]

Perhaps I don't know the details of what you should be able to do, but some advice: if sleep calls to you, don't deny it.

[Like he's trying to do now.]

You'll find yourself even more useless without it.

[ It's not as if the advice is wrong. Knives understands on a theoretical level that beings like humans require sleep and that they will become weaker and weaker without it, much like with food, but he's chafing against the fact that he is now subject to these rules and requirements himself.

He stares at V for a solid five seconds as he lets the words sink in. Everything feels delayed right now, his mind sluggish as it struggles to keep up.

After a long pause, he heaves out a sigh and stands up yet again, the book abandoned — yet he grabs for the knife. Not to brandish it at V this time, thankfully. ]

I am going to find myself some food. That should grant me back some energy.

[ And with that he slinks past V, off toward the banquet hall. Not even bothering with a farewell, it seems. ]

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