NAKAMAAAAAAAAAAA

[intellectualrapist]

[After intense debate - a word which here means 'a lot of whining and pouting' - Erika got Zelos's permission to go talk to Willard. The only conditions were that Zelos be allowed to wait nearby and no fighting. Both very reasonable requests, really, considering the state Erika was left in after the last talk.

Right now, she has a theory. Will's been in a bad state and probably by this point doesn't even know what day it is or what events are going on. Probably he was at fault for the whole Dagon thing but that's not so surprising. More surprising is that it happened. And Mikado wants to talk to Will about it, meaning who knows what could happen, but Erika wants to check Will's mood first.

So Zelos gets to wait with some church ladies while Erika heads Will off. If she's right, he probably still was thinking he had to show up at Dagon at some point to check on her, too. Or he's just really out of it and who knows but either way, given everything that happened and Will's status, she figures her guess is spot on when she catches Will heading out.]

Willard, you're looking splendid as ever.

Comments

[alethiological]

[Intrinsically, he knows this is bad. But... Well. Humans have a long history of finding out someone's an angel and then proceeding to enjoy some first-hand body horror. Along the way, you find out a human taking an angel's blood doesn't really doo anything except get them a vial of blood. Good for you. Gold star.]

So you... want to drink my blood or something?

[intellectualrapist]

Gross! No, how about... ah! A proper blood oath. We create a scarring wound in the same spot on each other, mix the blood, then bandage each other. The best part is it means no secrets. You know the basics, right? No betraying, no lies, no sharing any knowledge gained with anyone else.

[alethiological]

[The expression is still looking at her in culture-difference confusion until the secrets bit. Best part. ...Bad cat!]

You're going to use it to get anything you want out of me.

[intellectualrapist]

[She grins. Oh, like she's even going to bother denying it.]

Come on, Willard! It works both ways! And you aren't allowed to share that knowledge anyway.

[alethiological]

And what am I going to ask? Information on the cult? Your sex life? How much does Bernkastel hate baths?

[He's just complaining simply over neurotic ingrained paranoia by this point.]

[intellectualrapist]

[She giggles. Oh god he's freaking out over nothing. How stupid.]

What could I possibly ask that would be so terrible?

[alethiological]

[He's not freaking out, it's programming. And hey, she's earning feelings from his freaking out.]

I don't know. Something I'll hate you for when you ask it.

[intellectualrapist]

That's vague, Willard! [Sung in a way that says 'that's a shitty argument and you know it'] So come on. Why not?

[alethiological]

[Yeah, he knows that was shitty defense. Sighing in irritation.] Ugh. Fine. Just don't cut my arm off.

[intellectualrapist]

[She sits back to consider it.] Well... if we're going to do this, it should be something worth having on our skin like that. Maybe a design?

[He's seen her duct tape. She's surprisingly good at gorgeous and intricate designs.]

[alethiological]

Sure. You come up with one.

[She can be as intricate and fancy as she wants until she realizes two things. One: it's being done with a knife. Two: He's not going to be fancy.]

[intellectualrapist]

[She nods vaguely, processing that.]

Do you have a knife? Ah, and a preference for where we should do it?

[alethiological]

Not really.

[To the second. She can think he completely missed the first part, except there's that moment his eyes shift. And one of those black concept knives is handed to her. Just as fancy as Dlanor's, but more like a throwing knife than those elaborate designs. Conservative and efficiency.

It's also black and smoking purple, but eh. Can't help your spell trademarks.] That work?

[intellectualrapist]

[She accepts it, turning it over curiously in her hands. Weird but kind of cool. She pokes the tip of her finger with it and nods.] 'Good.' Yes, it's sharp enough. Now the place and the design. The design... Is alchemy considered heretical?

[She's been thinking about it more thanks to Christopher.]

[alethiological]

[The knife pokes her, edges glowing slightly. Nothing else. For it's a knife. It has no feelings. Will watches, blinking once at the question. Actually wondering about it and... nope, no equalizing.]

Not of itself. Probably a case-by-case thing. Why?

[intellectualrapist]

[The knife should have more feelings about this, honestly. Oh well. It's pretty.] There should be nothing wrong with salt, right?

[alethiological]

[Even more proof on the negative amount of shits heaven gives about alchemy goes right here.] Salt? The hell, Erika?

[intellectualrapist]

[She snorts. Ohhhh Angels.] It represents the power of thought over matter. It seemed appropriate to me.

[And it's a heaven pun but whatever, Will can find that out on his own.]

[alethiological]

[She can file that as a little backdated trolling, since he's unaware. So her answer only gets a shrug.] Sure. I'm not replicating your signatures though.

[At least he said it outright.]

[intellectualrapist]

[Oh she looks forward to that.] Don't worry. The sign for salt is quite simple.

[Erika reaches into the folds of her dress and produces a pen. For now the knife is set aside in favour of tugging Will's arm out of his coat.] Hmm... Upper shoulder should be fine. Don't move.

[She's sketching it out first so that it will be a perfect circle with perfectly straight lines.]

[alethiological]

[The stretching movement to get out of the sleeve earns a light wince, nothing more. Rolling up the rest of his sleeve so she's left uninterrupted in her work.

He's very good at not moving. Probably not even breathing actually. At least he takes it seriously.]

[intellectualrapist]

[Good boy. It means no getting stabbed with a pen while she finishes the tracing. Once she's satisfied with it, she caps the pen and it disappears back into her dress. Those ruffles must hide five million pockets.

Next is the hard part, though.] I'm going to have to let it bleed freely until you do mine. Then we mix them and we can clean them up afterwards, got it?

[alethiological]

...Got it. Try not to make it too shallow. It might scab over before I'm done.

[Stupid angels and their fast healing shenanigans.]

[intellectualrapist]

I can do that.

[Erika picks up the knife, twirling it idly for a moment. While just stabbing it in with a nice swing would be easier, well. It would be messier for her lines. Best way to do it is placing the tip of the blade in the center of the design with the handle in her palm and just ramming it down.]

[apotheostasis]

[Okay Zelos is now running over.] What the hell!!