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.

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[ 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)

Years of practice, darling.

[ He sees the opportunity for levity and takes it, even if nothing here feels remotely light at all. It opens up a space to breathe in, even if the resulting half-laugh sounds somewhat winded. He glances up at Arthur sadly, not wholly unaware of how difficult this must all be to say, especially when his own prior admission had been met with such distrust and upset. But he's never backed away (~~at least not first~~), and he doesn't fancy starting now.

Everyone is worth fighting for. ]

Trust me, I've made my share of mistakes, had my share of run-ins with the law. The last thing I want is to belittle what it is you need to say, but it's not going to push me away unless that's what you want.

[ He smiles but it doesn't fit that well with his expression, something along the levels of devastated pulling it back. Not allowing it to get any further than the edge of his control. He's not breaking down here and now. His own past and hang ups don't matter in the present. Not when these could be their last days.

He rubs at his eyes with the ball of his hand and then runs that same hand through his hair. ]

Not what I want. Just what I was sure would happen.

[ And Arthur's usually not wrong about how people respond to things. Though he has been wrong before... ]

[ After everything that's happened, at the end of the day, Charles has assumed this would work very much the other way. They'd fought, they'd parted, and he'd thought that would be the end of it. ]

I have to admit I don't have the best track record.

[ He hasn't had a real relationship in years. He pushes away, makes sacrifices for the greater good and rarely considers his own feelings in any of it, at least outside the bottom of a bottle of brandy. ]

But I'm not going anywhere.

[ Not again. All those years spent wasted in regret and guilt and depression, it can't end like that all over again, can it? ]

[ Arthur stares at him a long moment before finally pushing himself away from the shelf. He walks over to the table but doesn't sit down; he stands beside Charles, looking down at him before he reaches a hand up to rub his fingers through the other man's hair. The touch is gentle, with a tenderness akin to loving.

The words are there. He can feel them in his throat. But they don't come. Even now, at the edge of what feels like the end, he can't say them. Three other words come out instead. Softly but still managing to be clear in the silence of the room. ]

I've missed you.

[ In the aftermath of what had seemed like the end, here at what seems like a literal end, those three words sound so similar to those left unspoken. It's more than he knows he deserves here--more than he'd really thought he'd hear again from anyone--but he can't lie and say he hasn't wanted, desperately, to hear something (anything) similar. It's difficult to find too much happiness in this landscape, and beyond this room he's not even sure it extends.

But the soft smile is present all the same at that touch. ]

As contraries are known by contraries, so is the delight of presence best known by the torments of absence.

[ Arthur smiles more at that, shaking his head but his expression and voice can't hide the fondness there, ]

Now you're just showing off.

[ But when have either of them ever held back when it came to tossing out quotes like that? Spoilers: never. Arthur just uses it as an excuse to lean down and kiss the other man before he can toss out another one in response. ]

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August Event Log: Part I

hitting the road

storm front

wild life

old familiar places

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boi

how dare

shrug emoji

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