The New Arrival didn't appear to react to Dagan at all. He remained where he was, hunched forward, eyes to the floor, as Dagan spoke--going so far as to think aloud about the first time they'd met, something that may have had more importance to Dagan than it did the New Arrival.

Before Dagan met the New Arrival and the Seeker . . .

Just what was there? The streets and roads of an Unreal city? Never once making sense, always winding across corners and into more roads, crashing into gates and walls and higher structures, never ending. An end, perhaps, would have been the gates, but it went on-- it bled into the gray world and the unlimited fog and continued ever onward--

But perhaps that was origin.

Offtopic: This is your cue for an epic and disorienting flashback, sir.

Dagan’s shoulders slumped, the anticipation and anxiety from before slowly vanished, his eyes growing lazy; he stifled a yawn with a hand, but he wasn’t really tired. Rather, he was bored and after such a false-hope filled experience he was maybe even drained a little, emotionally. His eyes, green and speckled with brown, seemed empty, as though his consciousness were far away; that is, he was still awake and there, sitting crossed legged before his charge, but, at the same time, he wasn’t there, he was in another place, a hazy dream-like place.

In reality, it was an odd feeling; Dagan’s mind seemed to wander, to go places he hadn’t gone in what felt like forever. At first his mind seemed heavily focused on what he could do later, with his new friends, they could go out of the city, maybe, they could find others, new people, new arrivals, new friends, or fight the predators. He didn’t like the predators, he thought to himself, as he focused for a moment on the revolting things from before.

“And … “

His mind would shift and center around thoughts about the past. Memories were flooding his thoughts, experiences as far back as he could remember were coming to mind; indeed, he was recalling things from so far back that some details were missing, some things had to be added, with thought, things that did not seem right were ‘fixed’ with reasoning, a logical ‘no, that isn’t how it happened.’ Still, not everything needed to be retraced, as it were; some things were strong in his mind, having just been recalled, coming to him with a sudden jolt, a shock.

“I saw some shadows.”

Like the new arrival, he hadn’t actually spoken aloud and, instead, mouthed the words, a very small movement of his lips giving it away, but needing to actually be focused upon in order to see.

He had seen the silhouetted people, the shadows, from purgatory, before, but they weren’t actually shadows, were they? No, maybe that isn’t what he was recalling, or maybe it was, but there were details that didn’t belong being added into the mix … He remembered one of the silhouettes, though …

It wasn’t that long after his first memory of the city. He was overwhelmed, as he often still is, by the city, the sights, the occasional glimpse of another, how his heart started beating faster when he spoke to someone, when he interacted with them, even though they seemed to avoid him, they each had their own group, it felt like, there weren’t many of them, of course, but they all gathered around others, sometimes similar in appearance or mentality to each other, and sometimes completely opposite of one another; however, one thing was true: Dagan was always alone.

There was a person he had often spoken to, when he was lonely, bored, or just in passing. This person, in every aspect, was far smaller than he was, but they were also much wiser than he was, they offered him advice, reassured him that he wasn’t simply being avoided, that there were reasons why it was so hard to find others, but those reasons were unknown, even to that person. Still, this person was comforting, even despite their stature. Dagan recalled how sad he felt, when he noticed this person no longer around, he wasn’t sure what happened to them, why they simply just vanished, but he didn’t hate the person for it, either. No, maybe he actually appreciated the person all the more, for what they had offered him, for as long as they were around. (Still, he’d like to one day meet them again, he mused.)

However, there was something about that last day … The last day that he had spoken to that person …

Offtopic: No idea what I'm doing, true story. Also, not implying that person is dead, since he wouldn't really recall that person if they were dead. WHATEVER.

". . . Da-- gan . . ."

The New Arrival spoke. He did not simply move his lips to mouth out a name that seemed long forgotten and purposeless to his cold and drooping face. He spoke. He used his vocal chords. They felt dry in his throat. It hurt him when he tried to make sounds, but that was it, that was the first two sounds he'd made since he was brought to this unreal city, the first name he ever spoke-- and by the way he focused upon Dagan's face, it was clear that he knew the weight of that name. Even if it was not conscious, even if he was still a veritable vegetable, there was some part deep down inside of him that understood that the man before him had a name, that his name was Dagan, and that Dagan called him a friend. It was all learned some time ago, sometime before this, sometime before a blank of his mind, sometime before the shadows.

And it was in that moment that he fell.

The New Arrival fell forward from his chair. He'd slipped forward when he spoke, almost as if he were trying to get closer to Dagan for some reason, and he did just that, whether he intended it or not. He'd fall forward, he'd land into Dagan, where Dagan sat upon the floor before him, and he'd crumple.

He was limp; he was weak, he could barely move. His muscles tensed; he was clearly trying, but it seemed like he simply hadn't the strength in his body to push himself up or remove himself from Dagan's person in any way. The New Arrival, physically, mentally, and emotionally, was lost.

Dagan would suddenly be jarred from his day dreaming, his recollection of past events not quite fully remembered, by the new arrival’s fall, landing on top of him without warning; hell, even the fact that Dagan’s name had been spoken had went unnoticed, so deep in thought was the man. However, being brought back to a conscious-level, an emerald green flashed as his eyes opened, having closed while he was dreaming; he felt strong, unnaturally so, but it was not a foreign strength, and it was fading fast. Still, he didn’t have time to ponder this, either.

“A-a-a, are you …?”

His words were jumbled at first, he wasn’t scared, he was one of the few people to have no need to fear for anything, in reality, even if he didn’t know this specifically, the sensation of fear, aside from possibly the concern for the wellbeing of others, was completely unknown to him, mostly. Still, he was put off by the new arrival’s fall and the fact that he had landed on top of him; luckily, Dagan was not easily moved or forcibly dislodged, regardless.

Everything Dagan had been remembering was thrown out of his mind, it was still there, but it was now a second-thought, placed on the back burner of his mind, so to speak.

Although taking a few moments, seconds, really, Dagan eventually realized that the new arrival could not help himself back up, which was to be expected, even he felt weak when he was just waking up!

His right hand grabbed the new arrival’s forearm, his left helping keeping the man stable, offering support, as Dagan stood from the ground, easing the two of them up, one of them on strong, unyielding legs, and the other not so-much, most likely.

“Are you okay…?”

Though Dagan helped him stand, the New Arrival still struggled to find his legs, failing each time. Held up by Dagan, he was much like a doll--helpless in every way, except unlike a doll, he was perfectly conscious and acutely aware of his surroundings. He understood that he was lifted by Dagan right now. He still understood that Dagan was this man's name. He also remembered something to do with friends. Dagan was a friend. He mostly did not recognize the word, but he felt fond of it. Yes, he was keenly aware of his surroundings, his eyes darting around in spite of his body's limpness--he simply could do little more than that.

It was . . . odd . . .

He felt helpless.

The New Arrival looked at Dagan with a painfully confounded stare. Was he all right? He thought about this for the longest time. Truthfully, he just didn't know the answer to that question.

As much as he wanted to voice this, he couldn't quite find his voice. He couldn't quite find words. He felt like he understood what Dagan said, at least in the most basic of ways, but he felt like his own vocabulary was . . . lacking, and tremendously so.

In the end, all the New Arrival could do was stare at Dagan's face confusedly. It was the best he was capable of for the time being.

Although hesitant in moving the New Arrival, especially with the man’s lack of an answer concerning his well being, Dagan could not very well simply stand there, holding the man up. Slowly, he and the new arrival would make their way back to the bench, which, although not too far from where they were, obviously, each step was more like an inch, calculated and steady, just in case. The black haired, green-eyed man who was offering support to the new arrival was new at all of this, he wasn’t sure how to react, and so he defaulted to caution, even if there was really no need for it.

“Okay, I guess you don’t really need to answer that, anyways, huh?” Although it could be mistaken that Dagan was annoyed, he wasn’t; no, the New Arrival’s silence was just as much an answer as spoken words might have been. Still, he didn’t seem to be in pain, so that was good, Dagan though to himself.

Once the two young men were near enough to the bench that they could actually sit, Dagan would maneuver the New Arrival so that, instead of being supported by Dagan, he was instead sitting beside him, to his right.

“You’ve been," Dagan paused for a moment …, "Asleep for a while,” he remarked off-handedly to the new arrival, unsure of how to exactly phrase the daze his friend had been in for so long. “So take it easy.”

The New Arrival did not protest when he was essentially lifted up and pulled to the safety and sanctity of a place to sit. He leaned against Dagan where he sat, his attention lolling off to the center of the hall, as if it were the first time he'd ever seen such a place. His lips tried to part and his jaw tried to unhinge itself to display his awe, but only the former found [un]reality: his lips parted slightly and he took in a slight breath, but that was all. By that point, Dagan had long since spoke to him, and he tried to focus on the man next to him again. Unfortunately, with his head upon Dagan's shoulder, it was difficult to look up at his face.

He tried to mouth out the word "asleep." It seemed to be working for him, but it was entirely voiceless. The New Arrival tried, but failed to emulate the word, much as he tried and failed to speak just a moment earlier. Comprehension may have played a role in this, however . . .

On the opposite end of the great hall, a pair of doors side-by-side in conjunction with one another opened with vague excitement.

Pushing through the door was a young man, perhaps no older than Dagan or the New Arrival, though the age of both could very well be questionable--and so could, perhaps, the age of this third young man. He was short, skinny, and seemed to wear the same type of clothes that one might see Attis in. His light hair (blond, provided color) was a mess of bedhead and a lack of care, and he carried himself with a satisfied grin.

"This the New Arrival?" he called out as soon as he was in.

The New Arrival tried to focus on this man, but quickly found it awfully difficult.

Dagan had not noticed the New Arrival’s attempt at speaking again; in fact, he didn’t notice much of anything, he simply sat there, unsure of how to proceed. He had volunteered for this, as he had already reminded himself once before, but this was all a little new to him; regardless, Attis did need rest, too…

The black-haired man’s attention shifted to the arrival of the new comer, not the new arrival, of course, but the one who had made his way through the door. At first, Dagan was almost a little cautious of the young man’s sudden appearance; after all, he had (relatively) just came back from the ‘wilds’ of Purgatory, even despite his normally friendly disposition, he had seen and heard things horrible enough to warrant a sense of protectiveness towards the New Arrival, sitting next to him.

“Yes,” Dagan repositioned the New Arrival so that he wouldn’t fall over, using his arm to guide and nudge the other's body. “Why? Who are you,” he looked the man up and down. “Are you a friend of Attis?”

The man stopped in his tracks. He had a confused look about him. It wasn't the question of what he wanted or if he was a friend of Attis's that got him--it was something in-between. Something about recognition. Something about being lost to Dagan's memories.

With vague awkwardness, he looked from one side of him to the other, as if investigating his own attire. He fixed his hair to try and make it look more normal--but that probably wasn't going to do it. At long last, he focused on Dagan again and held his arms out in confusion.

"What, you don't recognize me?" He asked with a vague hint of hurt--though it didn't seem to betray the inner confidence he carried with him at all times. "Sure, I changed the outfit a bit, but jeez. It's not that huge of a change . . ."

That, too, would no doubt end in confusion. It'd take only a second for the man to show[ed] signs of irritation, which he'd quickly disregarded.

"It's Nikelas, man."

Dagan narrowed his eyes as the man hesitated, instinctively leaning forwards, as though he were about to stand, but instead remained seated. Honestly, the man acted with almost familiarity with Dagan, but maybe that was just how he was, Dagan, himself, wasn’t too far different, in how he normally spoke to people, but… No, he hadn’t the slightest knowledge or memory of the man in front of him. Had he met the man before? Attis and Seeker had mentioned something about forgetting things in the early days of coming to the city, but Dagan had already been in the city for a while…

His brow only furrowed more when the man spoke to him, asking if he didn’t recognize him… No, no he didn’t recognize the man. Should he have? Was it important that he didn’t know this man …?

“Yes, … No, I mean. I don’t--do I know you,” his voice came out a harsh whisper, almost, but straightened as he spoke on: “I don’t know you. I’m pretty sure I don’t, I think.”

Finally, Dagan did stand from the bench, again making sure that the new arrival didn’t fall, either off or to the side, of the bench.

“Neekaylas?” He questioned, “and I know you?”

The New Arrival did all he could to remain up. His arm twitched as he tried to hold himself up once Dagan stood, but after a moment, he could support himself no longer, inevitably falling onto his side limply. This went unseen (temporarily) by Dagan (whose back was turned) and Nikelas--who stared only at Dagan in vague disbelief.

It took several seconds of silence and confounded staring for it to finally dawn on Nike that Dagan wasn't fooling him. He released a deep sigh.

"Jeez . . ." Nike trailed off, scratching the back of his neck nervously--perhaps in a bit hurt and confused. "You really don't remember me?"

As if giving up hope, he sulked his head and shoulders. When he stood up straight again, he looked past Dagan, to the New Arrival set upon his side.

"Eh, I'm sure you'll remember soon," he shrugged his shoulders as he took a few more steps forward, "Anyways. This the New Arrival?"

Dagan was justifiably silent for a moment, while thinking this over, the man in front of him claimed that the two had already met, or at least implied it very heavily; however, Dagan had no memory of the man in front of him, not even the slightest stirring inside of him.

“I’m… Yeah, I’m sure I will, too,” he quickly commented. The mistrust Dagan had felt when this new guy showed up had been brushed aside, if it turned out he had simply forgotten someone, especially a friend, then he would feel a horrible and excruciating sense of guilt.

“Yeah, this is …,” Dagan turned to face the New Arrival, the now-subject of conversation, only to find the man fallen to his side, although still on the bench. Swiftly, Dagan went to the New Arrival’s aid, helping him back up, and repositioning. “Balancing is hard,” he muttered to himself, realizing his previous attempts at keeping the new arrival steady had not worked. “He’s the New Arrival,” Dagan said again as he turned back around.

Nike looked over the New Arrival as Dagan lifted him back up. This guy was really having it hard. Nike found it tough to think of anyone else found it similarly tough to get used to being alive in the unreal city.

"He's really out of it, isn't he?" Nike observed.

It was the truth. The New Arrival was conscious. He was able to try and speak. He was able to think and feel. But he couldn't move. And all those thoughts, all those feelings? They didn't make any sense to him at all. The word he knew, "friend," didn't make any sense, only that it was associated with Dagan. And that was it. That was all that made since. He looked at Dagan. He knew what to call Dagan. He knew the word "friend" was a reference to him just the same.

"Man. I haven't seen someone so out of it since . . . well, you." Nike thought aloud, folding his arms over his chest. "Jeez. It's been years since that, too."

“Yeah,” Dagan rubbed the back of his head for a moment. Nike probably wasn’t all that interested in the full story, but… “He’s been like this since Seeker and I brought him back, Attis didn’t know what was wrong with him, but he’s at least getting better, I thiiiiiiin---”

Dagan stood there for a moment, semi-frozen in place with his mouth half-open, and a puzzled furrow in his brow.

“I, I was like this, too?” He asked earnestly, unable to remember such a time of helplessness, and unsure of whether or not he should believe Nike, Dagan simply could not see himself in the new arrival’s position; no way, no how. “I don’t remember that at all…”

He looked down towards the New Arrival and then back to Nike, the puzzled expression only growing deeper, as he tried to think as far back as he could, but ultimately realizing the impossibility of the feat. In fact, had it really been YEARS since Dagan had came to the city? It sure didn’t feel like it…

"Yeah, man. Attis found you out past the walls, just sort of . . . wandering. He brought you in, and you were in just . . . well, like this. For awhile. Only word you knew for awhile was some name. Weird name, though. Can't remember it for the life of me." Nike tried to remember it, but it was clear that he wasn't going to.

Nike trailed off. He folded his arms over his chest and thought about it for a moment. Actually, from what he knew, he wasn't too cognitively swell when he got here, either.

"Anyways, we're all pretty out of it when we first get here. But we all get over it eventually, even if it gets weird sometimes, like with you two . . . apparently," Nike thought again for a second, "Hey, think that's why Attis asked you to watch him? 'Cause you two are so similar and all?"

Well, it was a good guess . . .