"I'm glad it was no big deal," Attis replied smilingly, "I thought for sure something terrible was going to happen with him. But I'm glad he's okay."

Nike was a bit confused at that. Something terrible was going to happen? He shrugged it off, though. Attis was weird like that sometimes.

"Well, we're all pretty bad off when we get here," Nike remarked, "But we always get better. I mean, look'it Dagan here! He's the perfect picture of health."

"That's true," Attis suppressed the urge to laugh--but it was pretty clear that he had the urge to, "Dagan was way more out of it than anyone else! At first."

"Still kind of out of it, wouldn't you say?" Nike cracked a grin--a wide grin, one indicative of a joker at heart. That was just the kind of person he was.

"W-well . . ." Attis laughed nervously . . .

Dagan frowned and quirked his head a bit, looking first at Nike, and then turning his attention to Attis; needless to say, he was pretty confused. Nike had mentioned it earlier and Dagan had more or less accepted it, but had he really been so out of it?

“Was it really that bad?” He asked inquisitively, betraying his curiosity rather than his worry; “worse than the arrival’s?”

Dagan briefly stopped speaking after his question, though it wouldn’t have been enough time for either of the two to answer, unless they did so purely out of instinct, right after he had spoken, because he’d immediately continue onwards: “How long did it take for me to get better?”

It would seem as though he was associating his (former?) condition with that of a sickness--a sickness that the new arrival now had. Naturally, there really wasn’t any other way for him to grasp what was going on. In the end, he had to settle with the idea that he had been sick and eventually got better; that the new arrival was also sick, but would someday get better.

"Oh, uh . . ." Nike trailed off.

"N-no," Attis shook his head, "Not really."

"Yeah, I was just busting your chops, man," Nike explained.

Not that Dagan would probably know the exact saying--but hell, stranger things had happened. Nonetheless, the indication that Dagan was still pretty out of it was little more than a joke. It was a joke that Attis didn't go with, it seemed, much to the regret of Nike, who thought it might have made a pretty good tease.

"I mean, yeah, you were out of it and all, but you got better," Nike remarked to make up for the failed humor, "Just like our new buddy here's going to get a ton better, too."

“Oh …”

Dagan remarked rather dumbfounded; obviously lost on the whole situation, but he at least understood it was mostly a joke. At the very least, it was one less thing to worry about, and Nike’s reassurance did count for something, especially when it was echoed full-heartedly by Dagan, himself.

It was all still a little odd, though, to imagine the New Arrival having gone into such a pitiful state, despite the fact that he had been the perfect image of health (albeit frightened out of his mind) when Dagan had first met him; that made Dagan think that maybe something in the city triggers the sickness, but… He wasn’t so smart as to be able to phrase it eloquently enough to inform the others, and Attis had to be at least ‘a whole bunch’ smarter than Dagan, so he no doubt already considered the possibility! And now that he thought about it, hadn’t Nike mentioned something about him coming to the city while uttering a name, too? So had he fallen ill only after coming to the city, as well? It was all too much to take in.

“Mm! Yeah, I’m sure he will, too!”

Dagan comfortably straightened himself in his seat and folded his arms behind his head, looking towards the new arrival with a smile, and slightly nodding to himself.

Everything'll work out in the end, he thought to himself.

"Well, Attis, I'm going to head out of here," Nike declared after a briefly silent moment. He put his hand upon Attis's shoulder in a reassuring way. "Quit working so hard, will you?"

"I-- I'll try," Attis replied with a nervous, guilty smile. Chances were his attempts were going to fail--and that was okay. It was for the good of everyone, after all.

Nike grinned knowingly, before turning away, towards the door, and lifting his foot up as if prepared to march out the door right then and now. But then he stopped, slowly let his foot fall, and thought for a few seconds. He'd almost forgot about something. A pretty important something, for that matter.

"Oh, hey, Dagan," Nike turned to face Dagan, "You want to come with?"

He motioned towards the far end of the Great Hall, the doors from where Nike had come earlier.

"I mean, I'm sure Sera'd love to see you again," Nike nodded affirmatively.

Cautiously scratching his head for a moment, Dagan wondered if it was the ‘nice’ thing for him to do, leaving Attis by himself, and going off with Nike; then there was Nike, who was inviting him to go somewhere, and turning it down would have been mean, too.

“Is… that alright with you, Attis?” He hesitated only slightly while speaking, but stood up anyways. While he doubted that Attis would say no, after all, that wasn’t really in character for him, Dagan would wait until he replied, regardless.

Assuming Attis didn’t object, Dagan would excitably announce an affirmative “Alright!” and quickly rush to Nike’s side, having completely missed the name ‘Sera’ or the implied fact that he had met them before.

"Yeah," Attis smiled, much less nervous this time. "We'll be okay here."

Indeed, it would have been vastly out of character for Attis to say "no" to anyone that sincerely asked for permission for, well, anything. Attis was kind, perhaps even too kind for his own good. But to him, it didn't quite matter. Even if he was being taken advantage of, if it wound up turning out well for others, then so be it. So, Dagan leaving him with the New Arrival was just fine by him--though, it wasn't quite Dagan taking advantage of his kindness. Truth be told, Attis was fine by himself with the New Arrival. He was usually alone in helping people like him adjust to life in the Unreal.

"Well, then, let's head out," Nike replied to Dagan and motioned for him to follow.

Nike led Dagan out of the Great Hall and into the gray streets of their Unreal city. He paused a moment, looked from one side of the road to the other, and crossed the street--though presented no indication why he did that. It had just become a habit over time.

The walk spanned several blocks, and the two men chatted during it all. Nike was a bit of a talkative person, sometimes bordering on a braggart--but Dagan was a little of both, too, at times. Nike got along with Dagan fine, at least from his own point of view.

When they arrived at the house, this three story, thin looking house, smooshed between two thicker apartment complexes. Dagan lived in something similar to those, but whether or not he was alone in his building, there was no way to tell at the moment. If Nike was right and Dagan was friends with him before, then it wouldn't mark the first time Dagan had outright forgotten someone.

Nike climbed the short steps to the house, approached the double-doors, and held one open for Dagan. "Ladies first," he announced in a mock gentlemanly way.

Talking with Nike was probably the most comfortable thing for Dagan. Though he thoroughly enjoyed conversation, he couldn’t recall ever really having an extended one before he met Attis, as odd as that was, and he even recalled specifically looking for people to talk to. It was unsettling, of course, but the thought was only at the fringe of his mind, as speaking with Nike helped in keeping him focused on several different subject entirely. Regardless, by the time they reached the house, Nike would have been briefed on Dagan’s adventure outside of the city, and even how he had met with Seeker, surviving being knocked into a wall, and leaving a good size crater in another.

When the two came to a stop at the apartment complex, Dagan instinctively followed the building with his eyes, much like how he had traced the Great Hall’s shape, but not quite for the same reason.

“Har, har.”

With a sarcastic laugh, Dagan walked forwards and into the building; though there were a few quick jabs he could have probably given Nike, it would have looked awkward suddenly saying them, after having already entered, and that was a fact that probably wouldn’t have been lost on Nike, either.

The house itself was just as thin as it looked on the outside, as if it'd been built to fill an alleyway. It could only support the width of a room and a small corridor at a time. All the grays of the place seemed old, much like the majority of the city, but a bit more run down than most.

"Up this way," Nike remarked with a vague hint of a rush.

He moved ahead of Dagan and started up the staircase at the far end of the corridor, walking three steps at a time, but moving much slower once he was off on a level spot. He continued this, with Dagan behind him the whole time, until he was on the third floor, and stopped in front of a door to the only room to be found up there. Slowly, he opened the door.

Within the room was a woman, seemingly waiting for someone--anyone--to show up. The room was dimly lit, and she seemed to be the only color within it. It was narrow and could only fit a table with four chairs, a series of cupboards behind a bar full of short glasses, and a mirror lining the whole left side of the room. This room seemed to be much higher class than the rest of the place. The woman perked her head up as soon as she heard the door open.

The woman had a bit of an odd look about her. Most couldn't really figure out which was the oddest thing about her upon first seeing her. Was it her hair? Short and silvery white, with a red patch down the center of her bangs? Was it the small metal stud under her lower lip? Or maybe the dark, yet vibrant green eyeshadow (albeit far from excess) she had about her eyes to offset their glowing blue color? Or perhaps it was the way she so shamelessly stood with one hand upon her hip, her weight, however menial of a weight her thinly body possessed, all on one leg, and her other hand idly patting some rhythm against her leg?

"Nike!" she exclaimed as soon as she saw his head pop in.

She stood up almost instantly, at first looking relatively excited to see Nike, smiling cheerfully and bright, but then she frowned, pouted, and looked to him with contempt.

"You took way too long," she condemned, "I've been waiting here for hours."

"Yeah, yeah," Nike waved her disdain off, "I ran into an old friend."

Nike pushed the door open all the way and stepped in, his arms held out to indicate Dagan behind him. The woman's annoyance was almost instantly quelled.

The woman's eyes grew wide, her brow lifted, and her lips parted. Soon after, she furrowed her brow, but still looked just as surprised--not to mention speechless. "D-Dagan . . .? Is that really you?"

“Yeah?” Confused, Dagan walked the rest of the way into the apartment. He surveyed the woman for a moment; he didn’t recognize her, he was sure of that, but since he also hadn’t recognized Nike, he could only trust his memory so far. She had an odd sense about her, though, and he was sure he’d have remembered her from looks alone, had they truly met before…Yet, despite what Nike had told him, he most definitely didn’t recognize her, but the building itself felt familiar, comfortable. It was similar to his, but also a bit different. It felt…

Thinking carefully on his next words, Dagan spoke as ambiguously as possible, choosing to not fully disclose his apparent forgetfulness concerning others: “How are you?” He asked, his tone normal, but his words slightly odd, as a more familiar way of asking definitely existed, but he also didn’t want to feel as though he were lying to her. Indeed, ambiguity was probably for the best, even if he didn’t know what that particular word meant; it was the meaning that mattered, honest!

"I-I'm great," she replied quickly, a very strong hint of hesitation being broken with the utmost rush--or perhaps the feeling that she needed to rush. That maybe Dagan was going to turn and walk away if she didn't say anything quickly? Such a weird thought. She averted her eyes from him with a strong display of awkwardness and cleared her throat.

"W-well, uh," she began awkwardly, contradicting herself a bit, "Good. I mean. Okay. Sort of. T-ticked off at Nike for, um, making me wait, uh . . . so long . . ."

"Ehh," Nike shrugged his shoulders as he started ahead, passing the table and heading for the bar at the far end of the room. "You'll get over it, Sera."

The woman, Sera, turned a bit to regard Nike with a scowl. It was a bit mean of Nike--but who's to say she hadn't disregarded his feelings like that before? It was probably well deserved, but that irked her a bit to come to terms with. The whole "just desserts" thing rarely effort sat well with her. Remembering Dagan, though, she let her scowl turn back to a vaguely excited expression, as she motioned for the chair across from her.

"Um, hey! Come in, have a seat!" Sera invited Dagan in verbally, and rather excitably. Indeed, it seemed she knew him--well enough to be excited at the prospect of seeing him again.

Sera! Okay, good. He recalled Nike saying that before, and he had dismissed it. In hindsight, it probably was not the best idea.

“Y-yeah, right!” He replied quickly and took her advice, moving to the seat directly across from her, and plopping down casually. Honestly, though, he felt welcomed in the woman’s home, and she really did seem to have met him before. The dilemma he was facing was on whether or not to tell her that he had forgotten her, Nike seemed slightly wounded by it, even though he had gotten over it, and Dagan didn’t want to intentionally hurt someone and especially an old friend.

Nike and Sera were pretty familiar, it seemed. It was nice to have someone to talk to like that, Dagan was sure. They didn’t seem genuinely hurt by what the other said, either. Had they been able to talk to Dagan like that? Well, Nike had already started, it seemed, but what about before?

Oh well, he thought. "To be honest..."

It wasn't until Dagan sat down that Sera actually stopped to think about her appearance. Her hair was a mess and she only had a white tank top and shorts on. With her back to Dagan, she double-checked to see if she was wearing a bra, at least, as the whole notion of wearing one or not hadn't crossed her mind all day. Fortunately, habit had its way, and she was at least a bit more decent. Still, there was a lot she couldn't done with her appearance to, well, fix it. Make herself a little more presentable.

So she did the best she could: quickly ran her hand down her hair, flattening it out. She bit her lower lip and constantly tried to keep looking up at her bangs, all to see if she was doing it right--at least until she remembered the mirror, at which point she turned, stared for a second, and tried to flatten her hair again. It just didn't want to cooperate with her today, though.

Ungrateful bastards. She took such good care of her hair, too.

Wasting no time, she practically rushed to take a seat across from Dagan. It'd really been so long, and Dagan would have been crazy to not see that she was practically elated to see him again. But how long had it been? Well--how would someone like Dagan be able to tell for sure? In their Unreal city, where time seemed to stand still, they'd no concept of time--no need of a concept of . . .

Time.

Seconds. Minutes. Hours.

Sera did mention that word just a moment ago.

It seemed like there was something Dagan wanted to say, though, and Seras was more than willing to hear it. She tilted her head to the side and hummed, "Hm?"

He had waited for a moment, allowing his words to fade into silence, as Sera double checked her appearance, and unwittingly made it all the harder for her guest to speak his mind.

“The truth is …,” he hesitated. “ … “ Doesn’t matter, Dagan. “I guess you could say that I don't remember anybody," he shook his head solemnly, lowering his gaze for a moment, but quickly regaining his composure; however, he didn't specifically say he had forgotten her, though the meaning was obvious. "I didn't remember Nike, either. He says that I’ll--well, never mind. Sorry.”

He sighed and indistinctively confirmed where Nike had wandered off to, before looking back towards the woman, back towards Sera. Dagan definitely looked apologetic for his loss of memory, even more so than when he had revealed it to Nike, but the reason for this was unknown to Dagan, who looked at Sera with an expression of sadness; his limbs felt heavier, heavier than they had ever felt before.

“Sorry,” he reaffirmed in a whisper.

"Wh--" Sera stopped herself in the middle of her word, though.

At first, she thought he was joking--but she didn't show it. No, that was all a ruse, anyways, something she wanted to tell herself. The truth was, Sera knew things. Emotions, notably. She knew what was honest and what wasn't, and Dagan wore no mask over his heart.

He never really did.

"Y-you . . . you really forgot?" she asked, then with the utmost seriousness--though she couldn't hide her sadness at all.

A very sudden onset of sadness, too. It was overwhelming. She'd been in such a great mood despite her annoyance with Nike, happy as she ever could be, because she was seeing Dagan again for the first time in ever. But now . . . this? This notion that Dagan had forgotten it all? Was that why he seemed to come in here with all these apprehensions and unease? It had nothing to do with . . . maybe being a little shy? Like she was. Nothing at all? It was all just because--

"Y-you forgot about me . . .?" And now she seemed even sadder.

That was a change. A horribly unwelcome change. From so overjoyed to so . . . shocked. Was that it? She felt sad, yes. Terribly sad. It was like her joy hit a brick wall of deep seeded depression, but there was something else there, too. It was a little less noticeable, but she picked it out without really realizing it. Surprised. Shocked. Stunned. Hurt. Yes, hurt. That was the worst of it. The notion that she could be forgotten was nothing but painful--excruciating, even. She'd taken the hint, and it was almost like Dagan never said anything at all about Nike or any of the others.

The young woman hung her head and sulked with her shoulders. She didn't say anything further, and Nike seemed to be occupied, away from the conversation at hand, behind the bar, filling a small glass from the cupboard with liquid from a flask he'd withdrawn from his pocket.