Righteous Right Hand Man [Yaksha/Alex]

It had been a remarkably long time since Yaksha had first stopped by Vastime's capital, or had an opportunity to pay attention to the goings on at their base of operations at all; his own city had kept his hands full even with the aid of a thousand additional eyes and ears, all reporting directly to him at all times. But he couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of disappointment when he realized so little of it had changed.

It all felt so dreadfully similar, it almost felt like he was experiencing deja vu as he looked down every street, through every window, at every structure. He felt like he had lived here his entire life, or countless other lifetimes. It was hard to express into words just what prompted this feeling, particularly since he'd lived so many lives at this point, that memories from across the gamut of time and space had begun to congeal into something like sludge on the corners of his mind. No amount of scrubbing could get rid of the tar-like gunk that had begun to boil off from a million souls in one place, all dreaming the same dream.

But today, he didn't feel especially tired, or even wistful. He walked down streets that were far more devoid of people than he'd expected to see; this place resembled Jefferson more than any major city, a place where something awful had happened and kept happening, long afterwards. And as the ground rumbled beneath his feet, Yaksha was spontaneously reminded why; something -would- happen, and very soon. Something he couldn't stop, any more than he could've stopped the arrival of the mad god Nagato on his old home. Whatever disaster was about to ensue, it would happen...or not...entirely heedless of him.

He wasn't here to save a city, or the world. Both of these things were beyond him, after all; he was not of this world, but merely a passerby. Someone disconnected from the order that others had imposed, the cycle of life and death. He was a creature that had gently sidestepped reality when it had come time to pay the piper, and who now simply watched things happen to and by others.

No, he had come simply to save a home. His own home had been a place that he had grown overly comfortable in, too ambitious. It had been obvious he would meet resistance, and he had been too complacent in the belief that he'd have time to see it coming. But it had been swift and relentless, as if the ground itself had opened up to swallow his ambitions whole. There were precious few survivors that the world knew of, and even fewer who considered what he had started worth continuing.

One of them stood out amongst the others as a man that Yaksha would be utterly remiss in his duties if he let the man be at ground zero for -another- disaster. And so he knocked on the door of an old friend, one who he'd first met by threatening to kill him and harvest all of his organs if he didn't work for him, and now considered to be as close as if they were brothers. He leaned his arms against the doorway, making no real effort to shroud his reiryoku as he waited to be invited in.

After all, I would not blame Alex one bit if the first thing he told me was 'I'm out.'