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Taro     Neo Arcadia was most definitely not where Nine had left it. For one thing, it's no longer situated in a contaminated wasteland. It's not even under the open sky. In a matter of moments it had become a subterranean metropolis in a network of caverns beneath a high mountain range.
    One has to wonder if the Multiverse has a twisted sense of humor.
    The city itself seems to have changed only slightly. Although the forcefield dome is down, the towering spires are all in their correct places, and the people shaken but alive. There are advisories all over asking all citizens to conserve electricity and resources, and public transportation running on reduced schedules. If Nine checks in on his apartment, he'll find the contents of his shelves and cupboards have all donated themselves to the floor...except for the bonzai, which are curiously absent.
    The Temple of SHODAN's doors have been open since The Event (for lack of better term) and will probably remain so for some time. Taro's most likely to be found there, given the circumstances.
No. 9     Pretty much everything is not where Nine had left it. The entire world had gone sideways, gotten caught, torn the hole up and reconfigured itself going out the other way. Now for a man (in only the loosest sense of the term) who has grown used to the ins and outs and intricacies of the multiverse, continents popping up and continents migrating away and outer space acting more like inner space and who knows what else, things changing is just part of the old chestnut that is the Multiverse.

    But this... this is, not the same thing, at all.

    Everything is different. Everything's changed. And Nine? His natural thought, natural inclination? He's obviously dead. He probably died in one of his fugues, one of his lassitudious torpors. Taro and Miss Medusa and the rest of his family and friends had done the best they could, but... he wasn't designed to live. And thus he hadn't.

    Though, admittedly hell isn't what he was expecting...

    But then, Tshallandria had promised to take him to her hell and assign a tormentor that would be appropriate, so maybe the fact that this is like the Bizarro Multiverse might be a way of making him feel comfortable, to help him adjust to what's to come.

    Yeah, that makes sense.

    The fact that he's even able to find Bizarro Neo Arcadia just kinda seals the deal.

    He wanders. Everyone is shaken up, and oddly his loathesome troglodytic visage doesn't seem quite as quietly disturbing as it normally is. His odd numb distant serenity almost a calming influence on those he pauses to talk to.

    A glance in, through an old familiar door, and he takes stock of the assorted eighties cartoon branded plates and cups on the floor, fighting it out with the copious kaiju figurines, his little baby trees oddly absent. A sniff, testing the air, and he wanders out into the corridor once more, tracking familiar paths in an unfamiliar land.

    He finds his big scarred boots carrying his big scarred body towards the familiar routes, realms and areas, his form literally darkening the doorway, bringing a familiar faint pall and the heavy mechanical wheeze of sucking, sighing breath.
Taro     The inside of the temple is far more organized than chaos - things are not like the old normal and the new normal has not yet set in, but the worst has mostly been seen through. The wall panels have given up their images of saints for diagrams of the cityscape and reports . There are still a few flashes of red, but now it's mostly splotches of yellow that show where damage control is needed. Energy output and expenditures are being tracked in realtime, and reports displayed for analysis by the priests and assistant acolytes. Off to one side is a refreshment station for food, drink, and e-crystals, to keep them all fueled and relatively alert.
    As for the Bishop Engineer, he's overseeing all of this from his cathedra, which has been moved from its usual niche near the altar to closer to the center of the grand hall. It's a better place to see and just as importantly to be seen. As worn as he might feel, as anxous he might be behind his dour mask, he's needed, damn it. If only to give the others the illusion that all will be well, to have faith to carry through this disaster.
    Several pairs of eyes turn as Nine steps through the open doorway, Taro's among them. His are the ones that widen the most. He pushes himself out of the massive chair to his feet. He does not run, instead taking measured steps toward the Golem, but his relief is clearly apparent. "Thank the CyberGoddess." For once said without inner irony.
No. 9     Taro's eyes aren't the only ones to widen. The glow goes from a dim and thoughtful cool bluish silver up through the amber spectrum to a sharp, painful glowing yellow white, those stained black scleras showing more and more as he blinks.

    "No."

    It's cracked through chapped, scarred lips, the leathery skin around it drawing up into a spiderwebs of cracks. "No fuckin' way."

    Nine is so relaxed and familiar with the idea of where he's going when he dies that it doesn't register on the radar anymore.

    But this is his place. His payback, his torment. Tshallandria would know better then to put his brother in this place, even as an illusion.

    And Taro... Taro would never end up in a place like this. There's monsters, and then there's things like Nine.

    He accepts what he is. He understands his urges and has come to a sort of equilibrium with his madnesses and the oozing sodden state of his stained and corroded soul. With the things he'd done. He's accepted who he is, and the kind of people he is. With the things he's done. What he's capable of. What he deserves.

    But THIS...

    This is /UNACCEPTABLE/.

    Nine isn't running either. He isn't raging, isn't hateful, isn't furious. He's not the normal state though. Normally he'd be /ecstatic/, in an ugly tangled messed up sort of way. All cards scattered to the floor and trampled and all that.

    So when Taro comes towards him, and Nine comes towards HIM, there's no embrace. Nine simply picks up his brother and bangs on a nearby table, his voice a rather neutral, reassuring sort of window rattling roar. "TEA BREAK. We'll be back shortly, go about yer business."

    And then Taro is being kidnapped, oh no! He's... okay he's actually just being taken down the hall, an unoccupied living quarters eyed and coiled up at... but instead of kicking the door down, he simply shifts his brother a bit with a grunt, and... tries the door. Only to have it open.

    The monkey learns...

    Taro would find himself sat down carefully into one of the comforable but sterile soft white comforter chairs, the big hulking GOLEM eyeing him thoughtfully.

    "Tshall wouldn't do this. So yer not sum sorta illusion. But you aint, s'pposed to be here. S' alright. I'll give Tshall a call, she'll help ya on yer way." And then there's a welling in those dark and ugly eyes, down that torn leathery skin, scarred and stitched with fine micro-wrinkles, leaking down near the lips as they curdle in like over-boiled milk. "Ah, shit Tar... why th' fuck you had t' die? I wus s'pposed t' be there for you. I wus s'pposed t /protect/ you. S' whut I do. S' whut I AM. Now look at us..." And then Taro is being hugged, so very gently. "M' sorry." What. The. HELL, Nine? What shit is going on in that fucked up head of yours?
Taro     This is not exactly what anyone was expecting. Least of all his adopted brother. He does not object to being picked up, as he at first thinks that he is about to be subjected to a smothering Golem Hug. By the time he realizes that it is not, it is far too late for him to stop from being manhandled (droidhandled?) and carried away.
    As for the others, the ones who first notice watch in stunned surprise, as if asking themselves if this in fact is happening right there in front of them. A couple of them belatedly step forward to try and stop this, but then think better of it. As far as they know, Nine is also one of SHODAN's favored, and as weird as the whole thing is, it wasn't exactly dangerous or violent...
    ...at any rate, Nine and Taro will get several minutes of peace before anyone has the courage to come check on them. The android is dropped into a comfortable chair, his kufi-style hat skewed to the left but otherwise none the worse for wear. He struggles to catch up with and make sense of what he's being told, and then finds himself subjected to the hug he had expected before. He leans into it, resting his head against the Golem's massive upper arm as his own arms reach out around him. "...I am not dead," he says quietly. "But I had thought you might be."
No. 9     The hand moves automatically. Gently. His mind might be tangled up in the dripping confetti of his internal topography but his body knows it's priorities, and that fussed up hat is carefully, studiously un-fussed, set to right on his brother's head.

#-1 ARGUMENT OUT OF RANGE's always a bit surprising just how... careful, something like Number Nine can be. It can be a bit startling for the uninitiated.

    But Taro knows, doesn't he?

    His voice is a soft murmur, all gentle gravel in a slow roll of tattered velvet. "...I thought I wus too."

    A blink. "Wait but... if I aint dead, then..."

    Taro is a scientist. He'd understand. Which is more likely? The changing of the entirety of everything or the death of one individual? His hand is careful across Taro's hair as he leans back, searching that face, slowly.
Taro     Taro's face has never been good at conveying emotion. He's never bothered trying to master human facial expressions except to read them in others. But there's a tautness at the corners of his eyes and mouth that's not normally there, his eyelids somewhat drooping. His shoulders are slumped and he's slow to pull back as Nine releases him. Weariness, if androids can feel weary. "Then you are alive." His voice is still low, strained, yet relieved. "We are both alive. This is not an illusion as far as we've been able to tell, though the multiverse may be playing a great joke upon us."
No. 9     Sometimes a blank canvas, sheer and white can make the tiniest imperfections all the easier to find. He searches that face. Glances up. Glances around. Glances down at the floor.

    "Drastic changes. Sort of a shuttin' down n' a simplifyin. Things goin crazily sideways. Yup." A nod, and then he's hugging Taro again. "I'm guessin th' Multiverse s' goin through Menopause. Be careful a them hot flashes!" A soft chuckle and he is kneeling before his brother and friend, uptipping his head. "Looks like you been havin nuthin but a hard time. How long s' it all been crazy like this?"
Taro     Taro tells him, keeping his answers to days and hours. He keeps a hand on Nine's arm, not quite grabbing but not quite only resting it there either. In their odd relationship, he's usually the one to offer assurance, but now he seems to be of some of it himself. Especially since...
    It's his turn now to search Nine's face, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening. "I've been unable to reach London. Sir Hellsing...is she alive? Is she safe?" he asks, desperateness creeping into his voice.
No. 9     A sigh... and then the gentle bomp to the forehead, slow and careful. The hands settle onto Taro's shoulders, both supportive and carefully restraining. "I don't..." A breath. "I haven't been in contact with them. I don't..." A blink. "I don't know if they made it over." She's his Master. He needs her. And she's not... He grips him carefully, the voice slow. "We don't. Know. Yet. Things are coming together slowly. Like detritus bein washed up on a beach. We don't, know, yet. It's gonna be okay. It just isn't, now." A breath against Taro's forehead. "We'll get there. We'll find her. We'll find em all."
Taro     The mask slips....no, it would be better to say that the mask cracks. Taro's eyes squinch shut and his mouth tightens, and Nine can feel all of the tension collapsing from his slim shoulders. Probably if he wasn't being held the way he is, he'd be falling forward. He gropes for words but cannot find them.
No. 9     A sigh... and then Taro is being lifted. Carefully. The chair creeeeaks in astute pain, and then Taro might find himself eased down onto a knee that would be bony if it wasn't metallic. Arms, large, clunky. Easing out and around, around and in, and Taro would find himself against a composite metal flesh surface, warm beneath ribbed military cloth. A low rumble, thin and reedy and rattly, soft, eases out in a slow trickle. Nine is... singing. To him. What. The fuck.
Taro     Taro does not resist as he's gathered up an held. He's not completely limp - his muscles and frame are more rigid than a human's - but he is largely dead weight as Nine sets him on his knee like a child that he's never been. The side of his head and shoulder come to rest against Nine's armored chest with the barest of thumps. His eyes remain tightly shut, but there's no tears. That expression is human, not dragon, and in any event he was not designed to cry.
    Nine is singing for him. Singing to him. An act of comforting. It is too much, it is too much, he's breaking. A low, strangled, keening wail escapes him.
No. 9     Nine is a crazy, degenerate troglodytic monster, mentally ill and physically repulsive. It is, very easy, for him not to judge people for their desperations or shortcomings, their fears and needs, the little holes in their soul that make them sing that song of deepest sorrow. Or, in this case against the cold metal tubing sticking out of his chest. As the wail leaks out, those fingers tighten across Taro's shoulders and back, the deep rolling rumble easing through that great, twisted frame almost like the rumbling purr of some strange, ugly cat.
Taro     One monster comforting another. One is crazy and repulsive, the other is a thing of beauty in perfection that's clinging desperately to the things that keep him a monster rather than something much, much worse.
    "...I should have been in London." Self-reproachment. Muscles tighten, and Taro's hands ball into fists. "I should have been there, I should -be- there, I should be with her, why am I even still here I should be -searching for her- but how could I leave here...?"
No. 9     A low, soft, rasping, scraping chuckle. It's not meant to be mean, it just... is. "When th' world goes t' shit, man, you can't play coulda woulda shoulda. Bein there prolly don' matter one way or th' other. In these sorta situations bein there dun amount t' much in th' grand scheme a things. Just mean you woulda been lost too. If we can find her, if there's a possibility t' findin 'er. We will. If not... She's in some other Multiverse now, some other corner a this grand tapestry we call a life. She'd be here if she could. But mebbe she can't. She wouldn' blame you for not losin yerself lookin for her. If yer meant to find her, you will. Mebbe you aint though. Th' Multiverse has it's ways. S' not fer us t' know." A hand across his hair, his whispers all gentle rolling gravel once more. "There aint no happy endings cuz nuthin ends. Th' happiness comes as it comes. Sir Integra's time might have passed. Taro. Onward inta th' bright future. There's pain. But there's joy too. S' all jest a part a it."
Taro     "At least then I would -know-!" Nine's words may have meant to console, but Taro is having none of it. Muscles tighten still further as the tension returns. "This not knowing...it is tearing me apart, Nine. A master lost once was terrible enough, but twice..."
No. 9     A low grating sound, the hands tightening. "Then you gotta find someone else. It hurts. It's gonna hurt. A connection to someone, that deep and that intimate and that ultimate, that final, aint gonna be somethin thass just overlooked, that just goes away, overnight, like that." A snap, more a detonation of sound, the harsh clang of metal. The body shifts beneath him, against him, a low rumble coming up once again. "I aint gonna say it aint gonna hurt." He's acting like it's love. Or, at least, giving it the gravity love has. For in reality, a connection between two people, that deep and that real and that final, it's not too terribly different. Like two sides of a coin with a hole through it. What part constitutes what side, when you get right down to it? As for the pain of not knowing? He has no words for that. How could he? He understands the concept of not knowing something you desperately need to know, where the lack of it is like a rotting canker in your very being. What words could he offer? What could he say?