Entry tags:

August Event Log: Part I

Who: Everyone
When: August 9 and onward
Where: An unexpected destination
What: The newcomers go on a trip and end up far from where they expected
Warnings: Potential violence. Please label your content!

NOTE: PLEASE READ THIS OOC POST FIRST.

When the time comes for the travelers to go on the off-world trip that will help restore Thisavrou, they are not alone. Others who have settled on the planets longer and come to call them home are also prepared to travel; through the Ingress and do their part. Yet when the newcomers step through, whether they stepped through the Ingress seconds or hours apart, they will find that they have arrived at the same time, and only newcomers are in sight.

What awaits them is not a land of plenty. The land is barren, and dark storms in the sky resemble those held at bay by the Ingress complex—but much, much closer. Those who traveled on the Moira may recognize the landscape; though they have come through at a different point from the crash, they are on the Midway Hub. And there is no portal back. They are trapped.

hitting the road

Though some have been here before, the Midway Hub is not as they remember it. The storms fill the sky, leaving it dark and ominous even when they are not sweeping across the landscape—but they have clearly done so in recent times, and often. While never a lush land, large patches of ground an acre or more wide looking nothing more than utterly dead; the thistle that naturally grows is brittle, black and unable to be consumed even with the usual preparations to make it edible, and here and there animal corpses are found twisted into unnatural poses, but seemingly uninjured. These places are particularly concentrated near the broken Ingresses litter the landscape. While Midway Hub as a whole may seem naturally arid, these dead spots leave no hope that anything can possibly live there again.

The travelers have two options: stay where they are, or move on. While it might seem that they've been tricked into coming here and been left abandoned, those with the technological ability to do so may detect a sign of hope: a familiar energy source, far in the distance. Although none of the Ingresses they pass will ever work again, the faint energy shows that one still-functioning Ingress lies far in the distance, days away.

Although technological scanning or impressive memory of the landscape indicates that they are not separated from their destination by one of the gates that divide the land, they are also far from the shelter of the facility at the center of the Hub. Any attempt to travel in a direction other than that of the energy signal will result in a strange disorientation after several hours, bringing individuals back to their original path as though they've gone in circles. Meanwhile, though travelers will feel the need to slake their hunger and thirst through any natural water sources they discover, wildlife they can hunt for food and any supplies they have on them, if they don't find sustenance, they'll find that they will never pass out or reach the point of starvation. Instead, they'll be left alive and awake but feeling utterly hollow.

storm front

At regular intervals, the energy storms above descend onto the land, bringing not rain but violent clashes of negative energy and thunder so loud that nothing can be heard above it. The passing of the storms leaves some strange effects. The ground is warped and rotted by their touch, even solid stone degrading to a spongy surface. The air is tepid and oddly charged. Prolonged contact with air or ground will not supply energy, however — it drains it from organic and synthetic life alike.

Those who remember their last trip to the Hub, or simply explore in the right direction, may come across the cave complexes with their glowing surfaces and streams. The light is dimmer now, a sickly green, but drinking from the streams will still restore the energy lost, for a time. This time, however, the lethargy that inevitably follows is much more severe, and the drinkers are left with a raw, empty feeling leeching in from the wasteland around.

Those who are exposed to the storms, either by finding themselves in very close proximity or even closely observing them for too long as they approach, may lose their sight, or hearing, even much of the ability to feel touch — whatever sense they used in observation. What lingers in its place is a numbness. A hunger. And as time passes, the time between storms decreases; what seemed like hours between the storms becomes scarcely one, and their intensity grows.

wild life

Sentient beings are not the only ones affected by the storms; these creatures, attracted to sound and able to track by scent, and these panthers, which once looked normal but have been twisted by the storms into more monstrous forms, are numerous enough that travelers must be constantly alert for their presence. Though natural predators, the threat the creatures represent is not itself natural. They are also more aggressive. Some strange instinct drives them, not a need for food. While the panthers themselves can be caught and their meat cooked, it has little taste, offering nutrition but not satisfaction.

old familiar places

Although it's difficult to track the passage of time without day-night cycles, after what seems like more than a week of the travelers' unexpected trip, the storms abruptly come rushing in at the group of travelers, as if they're herding the group to move faster toward their destination and the Ingress energy that awaits them. The true nature of that destination becomes clear when debris appears on the horizon; the energy comes from the wreckage of the Moira, the interstellar ship that crashed here months ago.

Despite the trauma of impact, large sections of the ship remain surprisingly intact, though few of them are properly vertically oriented. If travelers are able to make their way inside the damaged sections of the ship, they'll find familiar territory, if they are one of those who traveled on the Moira, as well as shelter—something that's increasingly necessary as the storms seem to center over the ship, leaving little hope for survival outside. Useful items may be scavenged from the ship if they are willing to explore, but no personal items of any kind remain.

Strangely, the deeper travelers go into the crashed ship, the less familiar their surroundings will seem, regardless of their orientation. The inward-leading paths into the ship become generic metal, and as with the travel on the surface of the planet, they may find themselves back where they started. And no matter how far they go or how hard they try, they will find themselves unable to make it to the Ingress chamber itself...for now.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ He notices the pause on Charles' end, fleetingly wonders if it had felt the same coming from him before he's trying not to snort at being asked another question. He shrugs, his shoulders feeling heavier than they are. He's not sure if he's feeling that tired again or... something else. ]

Found you.

[ Despite the awkwardness, the fear that's settled in, and the pervasive exhaustion that has followed for days, he gives a short laugh. It's still tired, but he's far too tired to mask it either. Here they are, in the aftermath of a fight and the likely end of the world all at once, and this is what it comes to? ]

Given the last few days, I'm certain that's more trouble than it's worth. [ The more things change...does he at least get points for honesty? In terms of the last conversation, he doesn't have the pretense of thinking this is the desirable outcome.

Another awkward pause passes before: ]

I am glad to see you made it alright.

[ He shakes his head, voice and expression softening as the words hit him harder than Charles intended them to. ]

You were never trouble.

[ And it was true. If anything, since the time he arrived, Charles has been one of the few good things he's had since losing everything else. Being here, left with his thoughts when not focusing on surviving, Arthur's had a long time to think about things. His chest tightens as he pushes out more honesty. ]

You shouldn't be here.

[ Don't think he hasn't noticed the lack of a chair. ]

[ Charles very much doubts that. He's heard plenty of platitudes over the last week, most of them designed to make him feel marginally better about forcing his burden on others, but he's not near naive enough to think that it hasn't made the journey more difficult on anyone offering their assistance.

An offer, however freely given, still requires work to be done, doesn't it? He makes a face and shakes his head, but doesn't continue to push it. It verges on self-pity. And he'll internalize that, thank you very much. ]

Where should I be, then?

[ No one had been given a "choice." He's fairly certain of that. No matter how convincing the argument had been--they'd all been tricked, and it speaks of manipulation out of even his purview. Even if they had, he's not leaving the kids to their own devices. Not like this, not again. ]

[ A breath huffs out of him, not quite a laugh but very tired, bordering on a scoff. ]

Not here.

We've pretty much been left to die here.

[ And for as mad as he had been at Charles, the other man doesn't deserve to spend his last days here. ]

[ No one deserves that. Were that spoken aloud, that would be the only answer he'd have. As it stands, he gives Arthur a pained glance. ]

You know I couldn't do that. Not even if we'd had a real choice. Knowing I'd survived when everyone I cared about hadn't?

Arthur, that would--

[ Make him no better than the threat he'd felt like when that accusation first flew. ]

That would kill me sooner than anything here can.

[ A heavy sigh leaves him this time, shoulders sagging more as he leans back against the shelves. ]

You'd still have more of a chance of getting away there than you would here.

[ Here... they were all stuck, as far as he could tell. He shakes his head again. ]

You don't deserve to be here. Neither you or them.

[ This discussion is quickly ranking as the most upsetting part of this whole affair, including every point at which his normally vast patience had been stretched to the point of snapping. That pained glance only grows more concerned, frown deepening. ]

And you do?

[ He closes his eyes and sighs through his nose, his head starts shaking again. He can't seem to agree on anything the other man is saying. Maybe because it just feels like this could be one of the last conversations they have together. It very well could be and Arthur isn't enough of an optimist to ignore all the factors. He was so mad at Charles for keeping his powers a secret when Arthur has been keeping more secrets about himself. ]

I'm not a good person, Charles. I... don't have anything back where I came from.

[ He doesn't have anything left of value, honestly. He did but... look how that turned out. ]

I don't want to see you or your kids die here and that's what's going to happen if we can't find a way off of this rock. I can't pretend to understand how... any of what you can do works but I know you are the kind of person that changes things. For the better. You are... a good person. You believe so much in the goodness of others in a way I have never been able to do. You have something to offer to the world and that's what I mean by 'you should not be here'.

Oh, for fuck's sake, Arthur. I'm not a bloody saint. No one is. It's about what you choose to do here, now. Not what's already happened.

[ He's always known Arthur was guarded and secretive at best. The slow reveal of the man underneath the veneer has been something he considers a privilege to discover, not something he's going to dig into without permission. But even the idea that the truth is darker than he'd wanted to believe doesn't deter him. ]

And I hate to disagree, but the fact that you recognize and care about that makes you a far better person than sound determined to admit.

[ He huffs out something that sounds halfway between a laugh and a scoff, ]

I know you're not, okay? I didn't say you were.

[ Though compared to the people Arthur is normally around, he kinda is. He brings up a hand to rub down his face. Fuck. Why is he so bad at this shit? Oh yeah, because of years of emotional suppression and conditioning. ]

I'm trying to say, I'm an asshole, too.

[ ~~Sorry, Charles.~~ ]

I've lied to you, too.

I know.

[ Well, to a point at least, that's always been evident. He's lived for years around kids who change their names, pretend their families don't exist. An obfuscated "backstory" has never been his first point of concern. Still, he relents, with a sigh, and motions the man over. (He doesn't quite fancy crawling to attempt to make a point just yet). ]

People don't change their names for chance meetings if they have nothing to hide. I'm not blind, it just... [ didn't matter ] I don't see what anything you're about to say changes about you.

[ Nope, he's staying right where he's standing tyvm. Despite everything Charles says, Arthur needs to say this and he can't bring himself to get closer to the other man as he does it. He needs the space between them almost as if it's going to protect him. Or them. He's not even sure anymore. ]

Of course you wouldn't. I've never talked about it. Not with anyone else that wasn't involved in the same line of work.

[ He bites back a sound of frustration, impatient with his own inability to just say it. His jaw clenches along with his fists and he pushes through it. All the defenses and layers of lying he has spent years doing so no one knows what it is he really does. ]

It's why I got so mad about your telepathy. It's not because you're a mutant or whatever. It's because--my mind is mine. It's something I have to keep locked to everyone else because of what I do. What I do...I go into other people's minds. I research them, everything I can find, and I help other people go into their minds to take their secrets, private information, codes, memories. Whatever is being asked to obtain. One time we even planted an idea and made the mark believe it was his.

I help them get it, whatever it is. I organize the whole damn thing to make sure nothing goes wrong. In and out, the mark never knowing we were real and in their head.

[ His throat feels constricted and his stomach heavy. God, this was a bad idea. ]

How?

[ He doesn't ask why. Doesn't ask what it means, what happened, who asked him to, or what it was used for. He knows enough of the people who want his own that he's not blind to the implications here either.

Arthur hadn't known. That anger hadn't been faked. Confusing at first, yes, but not a ruse. And here, that intent (or lack thereof) means everything.

What interests him here, first, is how it works. The why can come later. ]

[ Okay. That was not the response he was expecting. He stares at Charles for a moment, not even sure if he processed what was asked. ]

...what?

[ That's it? ]

What? You expect me to castigate you for choices you clearly recognize as flawed? [ The huff he gives here just sounds tired, and the eye roll is...well, forced. ]

Fine, Arthur, why?

For fuck's sake, I'm a criminal!

[ And now he is laughing -- in a way. Hands getting thrown up, not even knowing what is happening anymore. All this time he's avoided this conversation and the whole journey here he contemplated how he should've said something before he left. Anything.

And now... ]

And you just brush aside like "oh okay".

[ He even does the sweeping motion with his arm. He can't believe this. ]

I'm sorry, were you expecting criminal activity to be a wholly foreign concept?

[ It does all seem ridiculous, doesn't it? ]

By all means, confess what you feel you need to, but when I asked what it changed, I very much meant that.

[ Oh my god. ]

No, I was expecting you to, I don't know, have some objections to it, maybe?

[ And then he blurts it out, frustrated and not knowing if Charles has lost it or if he's still passed out on a table and dreaming all of this. ]

I've killed people, Charles. Are you seriously telling me that you can still look at me in the same way, knowing that?

[ His glance fixes squarely on Arthur and does not waver. It's too literal, but he doesn't want this misunderstood. ]

Yes, I am.

[ But as ever, that glance is still infuriatingly soft, made up of upset and forgiveness in equal measure. Finally, finally, his eyes close, starting to burn as the emotions behind them begin to build, and he takes in a long breath.

And then the glance is back, fixed as ever. ]

We've all made bad choices. Choices we can't change, or fix, or atone for. They don't go away, and we learn to live with that, or under it. So is my approval here what really matters?

[ His jaw is tight at that, throat bobbing as he swallows against the lump he feels. He blinks his eyes a few times. ]

I've never needed your approval.

[ Or anyone's, really. Acceptance, on the other hand, well. That's different, isn't it. And it's been felt few and far between when he's only allowed to be himself around a very select few. Even then, he holds back. He's always holding back. This conversation with Charles is the closest he's come to baring himself. ]

Acceptance, then. Forgiveness. Whatever semantics demand you call it.

[ In the end, it doesn't matter. He has it. All of it. The idiot--loveable as he is--has always had it. ]

In whatever case, does it really need to come from me, or is it maybe time you did the accepting?

[ He points a finger at Charles, ]

Don't do that. I'm not one of your kids.

[ He stares for a moment. ]

So, what, I'm supposed to either yell at you or accept this self-deprecation? Arthur, that's bullshit. Do I wish this were different? Yes. Do I wish you hadn't felt any of that necessary? Yes.

But I accept that you are you. Don't bring my kids into this when you're the one admittedly dodging the fucking subject.

[ He should stop. Wants to. But if he does, then he may never get this out, bottling it up in the same way he's condemning, and what does that solve? Those emotions are closer now, simmering under the surface, loud and obvious and starting to boil. He takes a breath and-- ]

The man I'd once considered my closest friend killed someone while I was in his head. And I felt everything. His pain, his loss, his death, all of it. That same friend is the reason for-- [ He motions to his unmoving legs. He assumes he doesn't need to continue to qualify. ] --and I forgave him. I will always forgive him. I accept those choices, even if I may not agree with them.

[ He pauses only for a beat, and rolls his shoulders around the sudden build up of tension. ]

You are not what your circumstances make you, and I'm not going to apologize if that sounds like a bloody sermon. You wanted an answer. I can object and love you at the same time.

[ To be honest, he had prepared himself for yelling. Prepared himself for upset, being told off, any number of things. He hadn't been prepared to hear any of this. He's stunned into silence in a way few have ever managed.

He has to lean back against the wall because he feels like he's been gut-punched with all of this. He can't even imagine being apart of someone's mind when they were dying. That a friend caused Charles to lose his legs.

And then there's that word: love.

How long has it been since someone said that in reference to him? In a way that wasn't flippant or sarcastic? A long, long time. He looks down at the floor because he can feel pressure building up being his eyes and he can't do this.

Finally, when he can manage to shove the words out, he's still not looking at Charles, his voice more strained than he wants it to be. ]

...and you say you're not a "saint". Sound like you're working pretty hard at it.

Edited 2017-09-01 06:48 (UTC)

August Event Log: Part I

hitting the road

storm front

wild life

old familiar places

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welp

sobs

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boi

how dare

shrug emoji

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