( semi-closed ) the ocean washes over your grave

[wheft]

WHO: to those who wish to pay respects.
WHAT: wriothesley's funeral.
WHERE: an abandoned beach at okinawa.
WHEN: 20th of november.
WARNINGS: death, naturally. will update as it goes.

Whether this is your character's first time at Okinawa or not, one can tell that the usual summery atmosphere on this certain beach has been changed out for a more somber tone for this occasion. Ishmael had even taken it upon herself that the beach has been cleared out of any debris and crabs so that there won't be an further messes nor sudden uninvited guests turning up. Of course, most of the work and preparation are all thanks to Ereshkigal, the esteemed goddess of death, who's made sure to comply to the couple's wishes to the very end.

The funeral is located at what appears to be the remnants of an abandoned beach resort, which has been spruced up and decorated in soft off-color whites. The beach has been provided with ample shading as well; huge umbrellas have been set up at various points on the shore for some much-needed protection, along with a peaceful view of the beach and the nearby dock that goes a little further out into the water.

It is meant to be a quiet affair, the distant crash of waves being the only form of music accompaniment. Though of course, it can't all be doom and gloom -- after all, funerals are meant to provide reprieve for the ones who are left behind as well.

MORNING

At the gazebo overlooking the shoreline, the first thing one notices upon arriving is a casket made of dark food, covered in plenty of flowers. In it is Wriothesley, fresh-faced and tranquil in his tuxedo -- perhaps looking a bit too tranquil that one would think he's merely asleep. Aside from some new scars here and there he looks relatively unchanged, now and forevermore, all thanks to Ereshkigal's hard work.

Near the casket is a small table decked in white cloth and more flowers, with various pictures of Wriothesley displayed thanks to March 7th's contributions. It's a memory table, though instead of a book, a tablet will be provided where one can still submit their memories with him before it can be saved into a hard drive and will be given to Tezcatlipoca for later use.

Everyone is free to take one more look at their friend, acquaintance, brother figure and confidante for the last time before noon strikes. For anyone curious enough to want to observe the proceedings around preparing Wriothesley’s body, this is taken care of by one of the local gods of death. For the occasion, Tezcatlipoca even looks the part, since he dons his formal regalia to preside over the process. As he speaks Nahuatl, he gently pours a jug of water over Wriothesley’s head, then opens his mouth to place a little green stone inside, underneath his tongue. He brushes his fingers against the makeup that covers the top half of his face to collect a little smear of it, then brushes it down underneath Wriothesley’s lips. It’s an extra, personal blessing, should it be needed in the afterlife. It’s all serious and meticulous, a sign of how even the chaotic god takes this process as important and worthwhile.

After these preparations are done, he simply asks for the tokens that will accompany him, and he takes them all off to be cremated.

EARLY AFTERNOON

In case anyone is feeling peckish while waiting for the ashes, fortunately there are some food available. Since Wriothesley had had a fondness for tea that's bordering on addiction, there will be a wide selection of teas available at one side -- along with cookies and biscuits which were actually bought by Ishmael in bulk at various convenience stores, but don't knock them out before you try them! There are even some leftover boxes of pocky that were brought along, but for the sake of this occasion, they're not spiked with anything. There is also coffee for those with a different palate, though they come in instant packets. Better than nothing, and they aren't too bad (in Ishmael's opinion).

Of course, there are also servings of sliced fresh fruit such as watermelon, mango, and pineapple along with coconut crab chowder if you want something a little more filling.

It will take a couple more hours before the main part of the event, and that means more time to kill. Ishmael isn't forbidding anyone to take a dip in the waters if they like, so long as they can come back looking fresh and new. There are also fishing gear provided, albeit in limited stock. Ultimately this is the time to catch up with each other, potentially gossip about the dead or even other people who come to mind -- it's all in good fun, at least until it is time to say goodbye.

LATE AFTERNOON

At last, when the sun is beginning to set on the horizon, it's finally time. Tezcatlipoca will have been staying the entire time to observe, but he simply returns with an urn in his hands to give to Ishmael. Ishmael then urges everyone to come follow her to the furthest end of the dock, the wind not too strong enough for the ashes to be cast as far as can be.

Here, Ishmael puts the urn on display and tells everyone that if they like, they are free to take a handful of ashes and scatter them into the waters. Whether or not they choose to utter their final words or not, it doesn't matter -- their thoughts will be carried off by the wind and the waves at the end of the day.

And with that, the funeral is over. Everyone is free to go home after this, or help in the cleanup of the venue if they're that inclined. Either way, they will all have to move on one way or another and they will have to do it together.

code

[ ooc: hello! while this is reserved for the people who knew him, people can also be +1'd if they so desire! just mention it in the network post associated with this log right here. as always, have fun! ]

Comments

[saudadist]

[ She could handle it, she thought. It's a funeral. A celebration of life. A sendoff. It'll mean everything to Ish-nee if she goes. And she needs the closure herself. Such are the thoughts she's bounced around her head like a mantra the entire time. Those very thoughts saw her dress all in an all-black kimono, bother to put her hair in a nice bun, make herself presentable. She can't look a wreck while seeing him off to the afterlife.

A lump swells in her throat once she's up by the casket. Her face contorts into an ugly grimace, and all her built up composure crumbles. Hot tears streak down her face, but she doesn't make a sound. Not a peep, not a whimper, nothing. Nothing but a whisper. ]

Sorry. I... [ She should've tried harder. She should've tried at all! Yet she didn't. She collapsed from fear and pain when she should've been above it. If she'd been stronger, she could've made it before the ritual. She could've saved him! She could've gotten hurt too, but that's nothing. What's a little more pain if he could still be alive? Seeing him again would be more than worth it!

Another body of someone she cares about. Lifeless. It's not Wriothesley, it's not Wrio-nii anymore. He's long gone, leaving this body behind. All the memories she has of their nice talks, his advice, the easy laughter...gone. All gone and replaced with this cold body. ]

I'm sorry. [ She sighs. An unsteady intake and an equally unsteady breath out. ] You needed these more than me, huh?

[ By "these," she means the collection of little omamori he gave her some months back in July. Wealth, health, good fortune, and other little well wishes in the form of cute charms. She gathers the charms from her sleeve and gently tucks them under the lapel of his coat. Surely he'll need them more than she will. He's the one making a big journey, after all. ]

Sheesh...now I'll have to go to the temples without you next year, huh? Ass...

[ The laugh is forced. It's more for her sake than his. Some sense of bravado to hold onto lest she crumble again. It does the trick enough that she can smile and turn to walk away from the casket. And, with a flippant yet fond farewell, she leaves the gazebo. ]

See you later, Wrio-nii.

[wheft]

[ ishmael watches lucy from afar, remembering how speechless the girl was on the trip back to their base. even now, lucy can barely utter all of the things she wanted to say. then again, ishmael herself felt like she hasn't said or done enough either.

once lucy flounces out of the gazebo, ishmael halts her in her steps. ]

...Want to go get tea?

[ it's no alcohol but. ]

[followyourstar]

[Even with Ishmael's permission, it still felt strange to be here like this. They didn't know the man, had only seen pictures of him, had never even been to a funeral (a will-reading didn't count, nor did a funeral seen through another man's eyes). But Ishmael had said she wanted them here, and here they are. Here they'll be.

Even still, Dante, dressed in black, cloaking device up so as not to draw too much attention to themself, remains on the sidelines, only going up to the casket once at the start to look at the man Ishmael loved in person and thank him for taking care of her while they were gone. A short statement that feels insufficient, and then they step away to give room for the gathered bereaved.

For all its solemnity, it's a beautiful display. An ode to life a life at journey's end, a gift they've never seen given to anyone else. His remains are gifted to the sea, and they mark the sight of shadowed silhouettes against the sun. Remember.

And they remain, even as others begin to file out. The least they can do is help clean up.]

[wheft]

[ she's actually touched that dante is here. though there is a little something that's been niggling at her since their arrival. she'll have to wait until the majority of the guests has left though. with the sun finally down from the sky, and the minimal light coming from a scant few lampposts that are still working in the area blinking to life. ]

...Dante.

[ she ushers dante towards the tables. time to fold up some of the tablecloths all on their own. ]

About the funeral we had to go to at Wuthering Heights... do you still remember it?

[immortalpoet]

[A certain man in gray stands next to them, like he's always been there. Dante and the figure from the dark forest who seems to be like a shadow, sometimes. He's in a gray suit, however, with a long darker grey coat - always pale in color, no matter what he wears.]

[Even with their cloaking device, he can recognize them. He's silent for a moment, before he speaks up with his characteristic hoarse voice.]

...And so. Another thing to witness and remember.

[wheft]

i.

[ she'll let the others take it all in and process on their own. wings know that she's done more than enough of that for the past couple of weeks or so, and frankly, she's getting tired of it. not that she's irate or anything, but grief in general just takes a lot out of a person in general.

so for now, she can be found near the teas section in her black sailor dress, stroking her chin as she deliberates over the choices available. ]

Even now, I still don't know what to drink... [ she sighs, before turning to the person beside her. ] Are you usually a tea or coffee person yourself?

ii.

...Somewhere, there's a version of us that survived.

[ that's vague enough, she figures as she finally throws the ashes into the wind and sea. she's never been the romantic type, and she wouldn't want to prolong this any more than it already has. even if only a handful of them are aware of multiple universes, she still finds comfort in it. at the very least, a proper sendoff has been made. for ishmael - no, for someone who lived in the City that figuratively eats its own citizens for breakfast, it's more than enough.

she will get up and help with the cleanup later. for now, she's going to sit at dock, feet dangling over the edge as she watches the sun sink down on the horizon. it's a beautiful view up here, and with some fishing pole and bait on standby, why not join her on a little fishing session? ]

ii

[fursuit]

[ Once his duty was done, Tezcatlipoca hadn’t left the proceedings, but he’d largely kept to himself. It’s not out of any shyness or anything like that, but he just feels he has little to add beyond the ritual and his divine presence. He hadn’t known Wriothsley at all, and Ishmael was somewhere between acquaintance and coworker. But still, he stays, just pensively taking everything in.

As things start to taper off, he heads to the dock, and his footsteps on the planks announce him more than he needs to call out. He’s also back to normal attire, since the regalia is somewhat taxing to keep up with. Whether she looks his way as he approaches or not, he waits until he’s beside her to speak up. ]

Yo. [ Casual as ever, even with the occasion… ] Didn’t want to make a fuss of it earlier, since it’s just for you.

[ He holds something small out to her, and if she takes it, it’s another small piece of greenstone that’s very similar to the one that had been sent off with Wriothsley. ]

It’s the other half. Had to buy a bigger chunk, but splitting it didn’t feel too bad, considering.

[ He also stays standing for now, since he’s not presumptuous enough to take a seat. This can be quick, or he could linger. He’s leaving that up to her to direct. ]

i & bromides...

[uncourteous]

[ i'll be here with yuwon too...

to be frank, even callisto isn't sure he belongs here. however, it's true that he had some connection to the now late duke. it felt a bit peculiar to say considering they weren't exactly close, and he was certain the man's feelings for him bordered on displeasure, disdain, or any similar sentiments. regardless, of personal feelings, however... callisto did believe every soldier deserved a proper burial and respect. the battlefield had colored the majority of his growing years, and that viewpoint hasn't exactly shifted dramatically. one just becomes used to a certain level of bloodshed and by extension— death.

in spite of his usual behavior, callisto doesn't do much but send his usual regards. when he catches sight of ishmael, he's about to open his mouth, but it beat to the punch. ] Tea would be standard in the empire, I would think. [ he says, without any real hint of emotion. as if his own response didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

instead— ] Shall I pour you one? [ is his own show of consideration to man who was clearly respected by his fellow people. ]

i

[yormama]

[ Coffee or tea. The age old question. One Yor never really knows the answer to unless it's a split second decision. That is, it's usually a tough decision. She has something else in mind. Something...different. ]

It's getting colder out, so this time of year- [ She reaches into her handbag, black to match the long, simple and modest black dress she chose, to produce a couple packets of hot chocolate mix. ] I'm a cocoa person.

[ But, she's not done. Next she pulls out a sandwich bag filled with marshmallows and gives Ishmael a sheepish smile. ]

ii.

[yuwon]

[ the ceremony isn't necessarily long, but it definitely feels like it when he's sure every single person here is consumed in their own thoughts. likely running through various scenarios, what ifs, memories... in moments like this he wonders where they all go? he was a keeper of a lot of fragments of events that happened, but didn't happen at all, and so he wonders if there is a circumstance just like that. except, yuwon wasn't equipped for living in any version of life but the present.

regardless, he feels fatigued by the end of it all.

worse than if spent days in a dungeon. or maybe, it's like all that just caught up to them now— all the more vivid to him if just because he was there with her in transylvania while she transported his body back. whatever the case is, he doesn't say much before he comes to sit by her at the dock. for the most part, yuwon's just treated her the same. didn't approach her as if she were in some fragile state, if just because he wasn't necessarily good at comfort, or emotions.

it was better to say nothing than give her some half-assed response, after all.

... and so he just sits there not saying anything for a moment, before: ] Did you catch anything?

walks in late... II

[fastpaced]

[ true to his word, Sonic had appeared for the ceremony. It's unusual and a little uncomfortable for him to be all dressed up - doubly so when he's stuck in his human disguise on top of it - but, for all his usual energy, he's perfectly solemn and well-behaved for the proceedings, only fidgeting with his collar occasionally. It's not as if he doesn't know loss. He's felt it in the earth, in fire-scarred plains, in the ruins of civilizations new and old, and he's been blessed enough to feel it personally only rarely. This is one of those times. For the most part, he holds his friends in equal measure. He may not have been in Wriothesley's inner circle, but Wriothesley had been part of his life all the same, and it's poorer for the loss of him.

It's hard not to think about how he might have been able to help. It doesn't matter, of course - what's in the past is in the past - but even Sonic isn't immune to the occasional doubt. It's just that his time is better spent in the present. Talking to other people helps them as much as it helps him, and so he wanders over to Ishmael on the docks. ]

Ya know, I always thought fishing was too slow for me until a friend turned me onto it recently. It's actually pretty relaxing. [ he calls out gently, offering a little wave. ] Hiya, Ish.

[axethrows]

[Back in her Backstreets, it was extremely rare to find a corpse treated with kindness unless someone passed on surrounded by their loved ones in private and they were able to take better care of the remains. The same cannot be said for the ones that perished in public where there had no shelter and they were alone in hell. The least they could try to do is move to a quiet spot in their last moments in order to gain a little peace. For Rodion, a funeral was something reserved for those that could afford it and for those who were special in their lives. Even so, to be able to give a nice farewell to someone important to her is nice.

As expected for the venue, she has dressed in all black and she has chosen to wear sunglasses to cover her eyes, both for sun protection and emotional protection. Even during a somber affair, she wants to keep most of herself together. The only time she will take these glasses off is for when she is at the casket, to give Wriothesley a proper smile because goodbyes aren't always forever. Send him off with a smile until they meet again, even in another universe. Her final words to him were in whispers to only let him "hear" them, but they are kind words that anyone nearby with sharp hearing would have no worries. As her parting gift, she tucks a small envelope into his jacket that contains tea leaves and a coin-shaped object for good luck. Once all was said and done, she puts her sunglasses back on as she left the gazebo.

Rodya will stick around for a little while, not being the one to approach others this time and instead she is opting to view the ocean in her own peace. In a shocking twist, she didn't approach the food table at all even if she has been giving glances towards it. She will leave the venue at some point during the early afternoon, before Tezcatlipoca returns with the cremated remains.]

[wheft]

[ it's hard to miss rodion in a place like this. she is one of the taller women, after all, and as always she looks fabulous. but it's as though the chill that seems to emanate from her being is at full force that ishmael can't help but steal glances whenever she has to entertain other guests.

she should apologize. he... he would've wanted them to make up, especially on this fated day. she'd also told dante that she will talk to rodion, too. it shouldn't be that hard, or so she thinks.

in hindsight, maybe she shouldn't have wasted her time picking out an assortment of teabags and some cookies as an apology gift. because by the time ishmael looks up, rodion is gone.

oh.

she'll... set this aside for next time, then. ]

[queenofkur]

[ For the entire duration of the proceedings, Ereshkigal had remained uncharacteristically solemn and serious. She had showed no signs of her usual anxious and stressed self, no hint that she's usually a nervous wreck barely capable of keeping it together during social events. No, she'd remained on the sidelines - silently so - only stepping forward whenever her intervention was needed as part of the proceedings.

It is only during the scattering of the ashes that she finally speaks. She's taken a small handful of ashes and, keeping it close to her heart with her eyes closed. ]

I'm sorry I can't take care of your soul myself, friend...

[ She extends her hand and scatters the ash, looking as the wind carries them to the sea. ]

... But I know wherever you are, you will find peace.

[ She remains silent after that, staring at the horizon even as the guests start leaving. Her mind is filled with questions that she can't answer. Is there a god of death in this world? If yes, are they a good one? If not, are souls reborn? Heh. Humans have wondered about those things since times immemorial. How maddening it must be, being unable to grasp what awaits beyond life.

No wonder her name is the most detested in all of Mesopotamia. ]

[wheft]

[ ishmael may have been busy with the funeral, but it was ereshkigal who did most of the work around here. if it weren't for her, they wouldn't be gathered here today to watch the sun set over this day.

she knows the goddess is pondering with her usual gloomy thoughts after doing her usual job, but that's to be expected during a funeral. she approaches ereshkigal from behind, letting the ocean wind caress their hair. ]

It never gets easy, does it. No matter how many times you've done this before.

[yuwon]

[ he's sure as a goddess, she has a different perspective on life and death. you'd think as a necromancer, he'd have something he could glean from that to offer here— but he doesn't. if anything, it would only be like spreading salt in an open, festering wound, and so he keeps those thoughts at bay.

after the service, he approached ereshkigal. he doesn't give so much as a wave, but he does seem to offer a small nod. probably not much in terms of greetings, but he's sure no one's really in a mood for it, anyway. ] If you make a face like that...

It'll be hard to think you're the Goddess of Death. [ not exactly the words he's looking for, but hopefully it's a decent enough distraction all things considered. yuwon seems to fall silent after, before: ] Does it always feel like this?

[ ...

he should know himself, and yet it feels so distant somehow. ]

[wwtd]

1.

[ loss is hard. when someone goes, they take pieces of yourself with. but that's fair, isn't it? since they end up leaving a memory with others to cherish and wonder what to do with while they're gone.

and does anybody ever really KNOW what to do with it? other than cry for a while. other than feel sad. maybe bitter. maybe angry. what else can you do other than smile and laugh because you all loved them?

grief is just as hard. in a way though, she's glad to do it. to remember. wriothesley deserves to be missed and mourned. to know he was important to others. she hopes he does. he deserves this, surrounded by friends. loved ones. people who respected the man he chose to become after what he went through.

he didn't deserve the end he got. hiyori feels the same fury and sadness and determination when she learned how yukine died well up in her like a monster. like ayakashi. the same rock shoved down her throat, making it hard to breathe in seconds that felt like eons. but she exhales and pays her respects. with flowers.

with wrestle galaxy placed on the memory table. "in case you want to read it again," she murmured.

they can send him off to the next place in the way he deserves. like this. ishmael knew him best so it's nice to think he would've been happy to see it, too. at the shoreline, she clutches the ashes tight in her palm and looks to the heavens with a faint, sad smile on her face, and feeling each particle in her palm until it might leave an indent. ]

We'll meet again.

[ she opens her palm and lets the ashes drift peacefully on the gentle waves before putting her hands together in prayer. eyes closed, head bowed. ]

We'll all see each other again. And we'll do our best to take care of Ishmael, of everyone, for you in the meantime, okay? There is a way to put a stop to this, somewhere. Somehow. Don't worry. Rest easy.

2.

[ once it's over, hiyori doesn't go home. not yet.

she's helping clean up, of course. coffee and tea stay out for a while. she's nursing one cup of her own as she quietly works beside someone else, speaking aloud, and turning towards an endless, blue horizon. ]

Hmm. I wonder if we should pour a cup out into the water, too...

2

[intertwinedfates]

[Upon hearing that Hiyori wanted to go to honor Wriothesley, Yato immediately agreed to come too. It's his duty as god, after all, to see the souls of the living off--

No. That's not right. He liked Wriothesley, enjoyed talking with the man. They may not have been super close, but he still considered him a friend. One that will be missed. Perhaps more by Hiyori than him, but still. Taking her hand in his own, he gives it a gentle squeeze while keeping his eyes on the ocean before them.]

I think that's a good idea.

1

[transmit]

[ Seeing her alone, Elysium slowly approaches and takes a spot beside her, standing two feet away. In silence, he lets the ashes in his palm scatter into the wind. His gaze follows them, unblinking, until they drift beyond reach and beyond sight. Only then does he mimic her gesture, closing his eyes and clasping his hands together in quiet reverence.

Although it isn't his first time attending a funeral, it feels unlike any other he's known. The weight lingers differently, sinking in only after the ritual unfolds. After a long pause, as if moving to a rhythm just slightly out of sync, he finally utters: ]

… May your next life bring you the peace you deserved, my friend. All the sights you never had the chance to see, and those you would have sought in the days ahead—I hope you're free to see them now, untethered from the weight of this world.

[ Then, a sidelong glance over to Hiyori, smile wistful. ]

Have you counted yourself as a part of 'everyone?'

[bowtography]

[ It really doesn't feel enough, to just contribute photos. March hadn't been able to see his body; he'd been dead long before he'd been brought back by the other rescuers and she'd had to stay busy healing everyone. Seeing him again, or at least his body, the prospect of it had filled her with trepidation.

But she's approached the casket, gently tucked in one of the glass cats he'd gifted her only a couple of days after she'd settled into life at the base to celebrate her "birthday", murmured to him that she still had the rest so that they were still connected, said a bunch of other things in a much quieter tone and backed off.

She'd followed the instructions, of course. Black choker, longer bits of her hair pulled back in a black ribbon with the shorter bits hanging loose, a black dress that cut off above her knees.

And she does hold it together, remarkably well, until they let the ashes go drifting off in the wind.

And that's when March, completely unabashedly, arms wrapped around herself, bursts into tears. Like loud, unrepentant sobs.

She maybe held this in a little too long. ]

[queenofkur]

[ This is perhaps the most uncanny sight Ereshkigal has seen so far. March is always so vibrant, so full of life, a rainbow of colors following her every steps. It's like the aura she radiates eliminates sorrow and pain in the world around her. So to see her dressed in black, so solemn and sad...

And then she breaks down, crying. ]

...

[ Ereshkigal makes her way to March and wraps her arms around her immediately. Gently and in what is - she hopes - a comforting manner. There's no shame in crying, especially during such things. ]

There, there...

[ She should cry as much as she wants. There is no one here who will judge her. ]

[lunarchivist]

[Dan Heng didn't know much about funerals. It's not something the Xianzhou Luofu practiced often due to the nature of long-lifed species and mara. So he'd studied much in this world on its customs, what is most respectful, and most of all...the wishes of those putting this funeral all together.

He's wearing a black suit. ...he didn't know Mr. Wriothesley too well, but the man was very kind to him. Dan Heng found his vision blurring as he fastened his tie, something the man patiently taught him what seems like a lifetime ago.

Some other wisdom he'd imparted comes to mind now, as he watches March; bright, energetic, cheerful March, dressed in black, curling in on herself, bowing under the weight of heaving sobs, tears pouring down her face as if a dam had finally broken. Maybe it had.

"Would you be willing to give her a hug if you saw her?"

Maybe Dan Heng wouldn't know what to do, before all this. He's...not the best at comforting. But...

"Things have been tough around here lately so I think she could use the hug, especially if it's from someone she trusts."

Words, precious advice from the man they're all gathered here to bid farewell to, they guide him forward. He doesn't need to be told to be there for his friends, but the direction stuck with him, giving him guidance where he otherwise might have floundered. Dan Heng draws closer to March, wrapping his arms around her.

He doesn't say a word. He's always been more comfortable with actions instead. March is family. She...needed this, he thinks. Crying is a release, long overdue. But he won't let her crumble under the weight. He offers his shoulder, uncaring if the tears stain his suit. He holds onto her, hoping to give comfort as she grieves...and acceptance, if she needs it. He knows she's been holding back. There's no shame in this. She's not alone.]

[the_fourteenth]

[Raidou comes dressed traditionally, in all black haori and kimono, and approaches the casket quietly to do some prayers. Funerals aren't the purview of shinto, but that doesn't mean he can't be here to do what he needs to do. If not for others, than just for himself. His soft, monotone voice is tailor made for the droning, comforting sound of norito prayers. The spirit of someone who'd died in such a manner is in danger of becoming an angry one, and he doesn't want that for Wriothesley.

When finished, he approaches the casket alone, silent as a ghost for a long while. He's not good with words. Everyone knows that. Wriothesley knew that, yet took the time to listen. To just ask him things people would of any teenager. No other Outsider has really done that, and Raidou knows that Wriothesley was like that with all the kids on base, too. It was comforting, not overbearing or condescending. One of the few people Raidou has ever found easy to talk to, because he actually cared to listen.

He wishes he could say something meaningful, or reassuring to the others, anything that could help. Even just shed a tear to share grief with the others. All he can do is beat himself up inside for not getting to the castle in Romania sooner, to be able to save him before...

His token to leave with the man is a small origami snowflake. Wrio had promised to try and freeze the temple's pond early this year, so Raidou could get in more skating time this season. Now every time he passes it by, he'll think of his departed friend.

After placing the snowflake with him, Raidou's head dips, his jaw clenched as tight as the fists at his side. He turns and hurries away to stand away from everyone else, avoiding eye contact. Not speaking; unable to. He will stay until the ceremony is over, to silently help clean up afterwards.]

[wheft]

[ as always, ishmael stands by to watch. the way raidou performs his own rites is unlike anything she's ever seen -- but then again, she's never been the praying kind. gods weren't really a thing where she came from, or if they were, they'd chosen to turn the other ear on the people in the City.

she stands beside raidou as the others make their farewell. ]

This is a little random, but... What type of prayers did you do earlier?

[blastedass]

MORNING.

[It feels strange. Standing among the sea breeze under a cool cloudless sky. Everyone around here continues to walk and talk, see and hear, breathe and think... Things the man in the casket can never do again. Bakugo stands silently beside the wooden box, dressed in a dark suit and lacking the usual scowl on his face. A somber expression worn in its place, down turned to the man lying beneath him. The last time he saw him, full of life with that same cool charm and distant attitude, lingers in his mind.]

Make it back home safely, Wriothesley. Thanks... for everyone you helped here, hero.

[Even though he wouldn't call the man a friend, he was more than an acquaintance. Occasional meetings, a spar once or twice, two stand-out memories of the man emblazoned in his mind: the time Wriothesley had offered to chaperone him into the casino at Vegas, and the ice provided in Neo Tokyo during the later summer heat. For someone who looked intense and hard, the man had a strong spirit in him that always seemed to reach out to people eventually. Bakugo never got to ask if the guy had heroes in his world, but... someone like Wriothesley would be considered on.

Bakugo can be found later at the memory table, lingering through the images and contributions. He takes the time to write down the memories he has of the man, even if they are a little personal. It's worth the offering to have those things in a safe place that can never be forgotten.]

AFTERNOON.

[His appetite didn't come with him today. Left behind in the wake of his memories and thoughts regarding his ally's death. Bakugo remains off to the side beside a resort window, the overhead sun casting shadows straight down. Occasionally he lifts a cup to his lips and sips at the tea inside. Twice he'd gone with Wriothesley to get something to eat; both times the man had tea, eventually prompted Bakugo to talk to him about his classmate who also liked tea.

Memories of both swarm through his mind as the flavor lingers on his tongue, creating a hard catch in his throat from the surging emotions of nostalgia and loss. Swallowing them down along with the brew is harder than he thought and Bakugo ends up coughing slightly into his fist, head turned towards the window to keep averted from the others. No one needs to see him with that little choke up, thanks. He keeps to himself, never one to mingle in the first place.

Yet he still came, for Wriothesley's sake, in silent gratitude for the man who fought beside him.]

EVENING.

[It's time, huh... One breeze carries the same through all of them and brings thoughts, breaths, words, tears in a culmination zephyr to ashes. Sorrow over loss, gratitude over help, wishes for safety, hope for a future, mingling together in white clouds taken over the water. Bakugo lets the others go ahead of him. Those who knew Wriothesley more and had closer relationships with him deserved the final farewells. Hands in his pocket, tie occasionally tousling in the same breeze messing with his spiky hair, the young hero watches trace after trace of the man he knew for several months vanish into the sea.

Loss... Death... It's been almost a year since their arrival here, since he almost died, since he'd watched one of his beloved teachers laid to rest in her own funeral. Midnight-sensei... He knew death was a fact of life, a very real possibility for any hero in active duty. But he'd never experienced it before, not that close. A reality that her smiling face and happy attitude would never again stand at the head of his class and teach. Now, Bakugo faces the same painful weight in his stomach. A companion who will never return. One pallor cloud after another, seeing him off.

Yet, there's one silver thought remaining in his mind through all of this...] You're home now.

[He will hold onto that thought no matter what anyone else says or attempts to convince otherwise. After everything is over, Bakugo stays around to help do some cleanup and breakdown, mostly in silence. A rare moment he doesn't demand to be in control of things or act with his usual aggression. Out of respect for Wriothesley.]

OTHER.

[OOC: Short and sweet. Bakugo will keep to himself for the most part, though if you want to meet up with him and talk, he'll be willing. He didn't have a lot of interaction with Wriothesley, but he'll hold tight to the times he did.]

[likemybooks]

Memory Book

[You would've liked each other. Ishmael could have made an informed guess, but Taryon has a strong feeling she was saying the truth. He didn't know Wriothesley (but he did, he only forgot, and if his ghost were around, would he be angry?), but seeing him resting so peacefully fills him with a new form of regret. Taryon lacks the power of self-insight to pinpoint its genesis: he initially believes it must be due to the loss everyone but he has felt, and he wonders what history they've had. If only he had a memory to submit, he could honor this fallen teammate. If only he knew more.

But, though his mind draws a blank as he approaches the memory table, a sense of familiarity whelms him as he watches Tezcatlipoca undergo preparations his journey to the afterlife (he was serious about that: it's not just the marigolds, he is a cleric in his own right). Perhaps there are memories that reside only in the soul, and Taryon feels as if he was close to this man before they died. What if they were best friends? What if some of the trinkets in his room were gifts? What if Ishmael was correct, and they got along well?

What is he supposed to offer, in that case?]

I wish I knew what I knew of you. [He speaks at the table in general, having nothing to offer.] I don't even know if I have something I made for you, or you made from me. And I want to apologize.

Scattering of Ashes

[As the urn is taken away, Taryon keeps his distance. This isn't a funerary rite he has seen before, and those that need to grieve ought to be the ones to scatter his ashes.

From far away, everyone gathered together is a cohesive unit. They have a bond that only forms between people after undergoing harrowing trials together. Bonds they shared with the deceased.

Taryon paid his respects, but he's not meant to be part of this. He's a stranger who came to pay respects, he's not the Taryon Wriothesley may have known. Any sadness he should have felt died with his body.

And, he supposes, it's fine. Being excluded from a team isn't the end of the world. He can always make new friends while navigating the memories others had of him.

He turns away, ready to wait by the side until it's time to return to the base.]

memory book

[wheft]

[ she's been watching taryon from afar, conflicting feelings churning in her stomach. on one hand, she's touched and relieved that he's able to come at all, despite his own conflicting feelings about the matter. but on the other, the resentment continues to simmer within her, as much as she hates holding it against him. she can't even hold it against LILITH. it's just a matter of bad luck.

with a deep breath, she comes over, standing beside him in front of the table. ]

...Still thinking about it?