seasonsrpg | doom goes wherever the ever-weaving fates decide

WHO: Moros and YOU
WHAT: arrival, a quest, and struggles with technology
WHEN: early October
WHERE: Nightwake
WARNINGS: SPOILERS for Hades II! if you'd like me to avoid major story spoilers, please let me know in your tag or subject line

Arrival

Moros is not accustomed to warm welcomes. Why would he be? No one wants Doom to come around. He is far more experienced with fear, confusion, hatred, and the like. Yet here he stands—a tall, antlered man with grayish skin, clad in the white of a new arrival, listening with increasing confusion to an explanation about different worlds. An explanation that includes the not-insignificant fact that he, himself, is now in a different world.

The Fates told him nothing of this.

"There must be some mistake," he murmurs, half to himself. He looks down at the beverage someone pushed into his hands, the name of the concoction foreign to him. Gently, he swirls it first one way, then the other, watching the mass of whipped cream and who knows what else slowly circle.

"A mistake," he repeats, a little louder this time.

That's what this is. A mistake.

No world would willingly invite Doom.

Joined at the Wrist

Mistake or no, there is no immediate escape from Ellipsa. So, Moros sets out to attempt to get his bearings. He finds his quarters, changes into his own attire, and makes his way into the city.

There, he winds up chained to a stranger.

How did this happen? Moros has no idea. He agreed to search the city, assuming it would help him learn something. He didn't know that search would involve being chained to another.

Standing stiffly, Moros looks down at the short length separating him and his companion, his long hair shifting where it drapes over his antlers. Should he apologize…?

"This can't be a pleasant experience," he says after a moment. He is Doom Incarnate, a fact that radiates from him as if it were painted on his bare chest. He can't hide what he is any more than he could change it.

Winter Guild

Another person might leap straight to practical application, attempting to learn their powers through using them. Moros does not. He chooses the academic route, reading through all the information he can find on his new abilities, educating his mind before he tries anything with his body.

The only problem is that he is accustomed to parchment, not … whatever the device is that he's been given to read.

Catch him squinting as he struggles with a tablet, trying in vain to figure out how to close one document and open another.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The physical contact is unexpected, though not unwelcome. Not from Thanatos, who doesn't share some of their sisters' propensity for needless violence. (Because Death is far from needless; Moros knows that better than most, having grown up with the Fates' work all around him.) He searches Thanatos' face, seeing in it the same stillness oft seen in Mother Nyx's. Emotions present, but carefully concealed.

The press of Thanatos' thumb speaks loudly enough, especially from someone so reserved. Moros allows himself a smile, his features softening.

"He is awake?" he asks—which could be a joke, except that Moros isn't the type. "I'm relieved to hear he's here with you." Death and Sleep should not be forcefully parted, after all.

His smile wavers as he asks, "Is Eris here as well?"

Because, well. Wheresoever goes Doom, Strife follows.

A small nod. Yes, he's awake. Thanatos misses the lack of a joke - it isn't as if Hypnos being asleep is an unusual occurrence, in any case.

He lets his hand drop from Moros' arm but can still feel his skin tingling with the contact. It's a familiar, buzzing sort of sensation that only comes from knowing the two of them are cut from the same cloth. And... Moros isn't wrong. In spite of how often he complains about his twin, he would miss him if he wasn't around.

At the question, though, he shakes his head.

"No. Our sister hasn't shown herself here."

Though, now that Moros has arrived... Ehem. He tilts his head towards the exit. Should they go?

It's something of a relief to hear that Eris has not yet arrived in this world. A relief, and also a slight worry. Could it be that Moros' coming will drag her here? Is he going to live up to the Doom that he is?

Not for the first time, he wishes he had the answers. Life was so certain with the Fates, even if they occasionally punished him for wrongs not yet committed. To live so very in the moment… Even after his time in the Crossroads, it's still unsettling.

Thanatos wordlessly indicates the exit. Picking up on the meaning, Moros nods.

"Yes, let us continue this elsewhere. I suspect any eavesdropping mortals will feel less unsettled that way."

Someone shifts in their seat, 'casually' clearing their throat. As if they weren't listening closely a mere moment ago, no doubt curious about the gods in their midst.

"Please," he indicates with a hand, "lead the way, Brother."

Should Eris show herself... well, her brothers will have to find some way to keep her in line. Knowing what he knows of this place he doubts she will have access to her full range of abilities, but that doesn't mean she won't be able to create trouble regardless.

A problem to tackle if it occurs, though.

He leads Moros out of the building, frowning and dropping his gaze against the sunshine outside. Not his favourite thing. He folds his arms loosely.

"I don't often venture into the city itself," he tells his companion in a level tone. "But the moment I felt your presence was not something I could ignore."

Following, Moros squints as they break into the light of day, his time in the relative dimness of the Crossroads having hardly prepared him for it. The sun makes the hair on both of their heads gleam, and Moros' white attire stands out like a sore thumb. He hopes he can find something more comfortable (read: familiar) soon.

"It's interesting," he says. "Your presence felt so natural that I didn't immediately notice it. I'm grateful that you felt mine."

Nor is he surprised that Thanatos noticed his arrival. Death is gentle, whereas Doom is hard to miss.

Moros falls quiet for a second, just taking in the sights. The sounds. The contraptions. The smells of a busy city, utterly unlike those of a peaceful, half-Underworld glade.

"This is … a lot to take in," he admits.

"I couldn't have missed it."

Even after all this time, so long not standing in the presence of his older brother, he couldn't have missed how it felt to have him nearby. It isn't anything like a sensation of dread - Thanatos doesn't feel that sense of Doom like most might, when he so often brings it himself by virtue of his work. It's more a feeling of familiarity, of family, and for all his griping and grumbling Thanatos holds all of his siblings dear to him.

Even if they occasionally drive him to distraction.

But at what Moros says, he is quick to give a small nod in agreement.

"An understatement." There is nothing like this in Greece, overworld or otherwise. The level of technology and other advances is mind-boggling. "You may understand why I don't spend much time here."

For Moros, the idea of having a real relationship with his siblings at all is still a novel one. He knows the Fates, of course; they raised him, and he was their guardian until … well, recent events. But all his other siblings were largely beyond Moros' reach, their faces known but connections neglected.

He considers himself fortunate that it's Thanatos who has come to find him. Thanatos, who is not such a stranger as some of the others. Thanatos, who is as diligent as he is gentle in his duties.

And he's grateful when Thanatos nods in agreement. It would've been easy to take Moros' admission as one of vulnerability. (Eris would have. Probably Nemesis, too.) But Thanatos validates his feelings, which … is nice. Genuinely nice.

Moros smiles again. He's not one for feeling hopeful—just part of his nature, he supposes—but he does feel something like it.

"It would take a lot of adjusting," Moros says. "Where do you spend your time, then? I'd like to see it."

Thanatos' feelings are much the same, of course. Hypnos likes it here - the colour and life and the social aspects of it all suit him to the ground - but Thanatos has never been that type of person and struggles with it more than he would outwardly admit.

Moros, he thinks, would understand that.

"Hypnos insisted I stay with him," he answers, because of course he did, and of course Thanatos would phrase it as if he did not want to do exactly that in such a strange place as this. He tilts his head slightly. "He won't mind if I bring you back."

In fact he may insist that Moros stay as well.

"If there is nothing you wish to see here, we can go now."

Moros glances down at himself, the white clothing comfortable but decidedly not his usual style. He does want to go with Thanatos, of course. But first:

"I was told that some of my belongings would be in a room somewhere, including my clothing," he says. "I'd like to fetch those first. This is … very far from what I usually wear."

And he doesn't want to feel any more out of sorts than he already does.

Ah, of course. He had been so thrown off by the appearance of his older brother that he had barely noticed the clothing. Thanatos had felt much the same about it when he had arrived and had moved to change just as quickly.

"Of course."

He can, at least, help with this.

"It should be the building next door. Come with me."

Moros follows. One change of clothing later, he stands far more comfortably than before, and offers his younger brother a smile.

"That's much better. Thank you, Brother."

He'd hate to have had to wander around in all that white for much longer. It's just not his style at all.

"I wonder why our clothing is taken at the start?" he muses. "Does it have something to do with that strange space where we first appear?"

He waits patiently until his elder brother returns - patience is something he's very good at - and the similarities between them only become all the more stark when Moros is in more comfortable clothes.

As for the question, well, he can't answer it. He just shakes his head.

"Perhaps the power that draws us here is only capable of manifesting our physical forms within the transient space we arrive in."

doom goes wherever the ever-weaving fates decide

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