A Spacemas Carol: December's Mod Event Log

[savmods]

Who: Anyone and Everyone
When: December 19 onwards
Where: Avagi... and beyond?
What: Your past, someone's present, and potential futures.
Warnings: Body horror and an associated image in the second part. Otherwise, label your content.

While the Ingress may have been destroyed, the energy powering it remains alive and well. The residents of Avagi know this intimately: from their own arrivals, from the portals that have appeared, and the short-lived changes (as well as longer-lived possessions) that have cluttered the station over the last few months. Recently, whatever force is manipulating this has even gone so far as to revive the dead—demonstrating, perhaps, an unwillingness to relinquish those it has brought to this place. To say this entity is seasonal would probably be a mistake. In the heart of Avagi's storms, there are no stars to mark the seasons, much less connect them to a certain planet's holidays—or the literature thereon. Still, from luck or from intention, the current fluctuations comes with a certain theme...

Past

It starts at the turn of the station clock's midnight. Flickers at the edge of one's vision. Indistinct whispers, ghosting through walls and down corridors. Those who are sleeping will be untroubled, but the wakeful and wary can watch the light build: from flickers to pulses, from pulses to pools. Over several hours, silver mist fills rooms and corridors, varying from a thin veil to dense, obscuring fog. If you step into the mist, you'll feel a sense of displacement; of sound and color, energy and a shift of life. Ingress travel. Except... not quite. Shortly after entering the mist, you'll find yourself free of disorientation and apparently free of physical form, unable to interact with your surroundings. As a quasi-ghost, you've been transported to somewhere and somewhen—a location from the past, back on a world of someone’s origin or from any place you've been since first arriving through the Ingress. While these experiences can vary wildly, some things remain consistent: The past matters: These visits to the past are not repeats of idle afternoons—each has emotional significance to someone currently on Avagi. The past cannot be changed: As real as any given scenario seems, you're fundamentally incapable of altering it. The past event will play out as it did in real life and dissipate when it reaches an ending. Trying has consequences: Attempting too hard to interfere increases the emotional significance, and will consequently draw onlookers further into the scene. You may find yourself anchored to any participant in the scene: first physically (experiencing the scene through their eyes) and then emotionally (experiencing their emotions and thoughts). If drawn in too deeply, you may lose track of your own nature during the experience, drowning in the sense of being someone else.. You are not alone: While immersed in a scene, you'll see nothing but the history playing out. However, at the its conclusion, the fog will once again displace the world around. As it melts away, you'll find themselves back in Avagi's halls—and face to face with whoever else was also viewing that piece of the past.

Present

Whether through one memory or several, eventually, the fog disperses. Only a faint mist remains, gathered in corners of the station's halls. It's simple enough to avoid, and nothing obstructs efforts to return to your rooms, your friends, or any other destination. Nothing, that is, except finding them. The layout of the halls has shifted. The clutter you so painstakingly cleared is back. The GPS on your ACE mistakenly reports that you are floating off in space far outside the station, and any efforts to locate or call your companions results in glitchy static. Something is interfering with your calls—more effectively than the distance between worlds. Inference and intuition are all you have to put together the pieces. The layout has changed, but the construction stayed the same. You're still on the former Ingress station. But not the same area that you called home. This is a different section of Avagi. An inhabited one. Dank, warm air pulses in and out of the vents in odd rhythms. Water damage stains the walls, and some seep dark liquid. There's an odd symphony in the distance: four notes, hummed to a pattern that buzzes in the back of your head. It's possible to wait it out. But if you do explore, you might come across your friends. And together, you might find the source. Further in, a wall of flesh fills the pathways, rising and falling with intermittent, massive draws of air. A fluid wash of features glues it to the bulkheads. Claws and eyes, hands and faces: half-made bodies shifting in and out of recognition with each pulse of breath. And always with the same gold glow beneath the skin. It's a familiar shade, to those who witnessed Thisavrou's destruction. It's the being who destroyed it. Those who flee will escape her notice. Those who wait may watch in secret for a time. Mother's focus seems to be elsewhere...or, perhaps, something else is hiding your presence here from her. Any attack on Mother's flesh shape, or any overt effort to draw her attention, will meet violent, immediate reprisal. You'll experience an immobilizing psychic force before the flesh consumes you. But whether you hide or fight or run, your time on this section of the station will end in the same way: a burst of brilliant, clear light providing transport back home.

Future

You flash back to reality amidst a burst of light—but this time, you recognize your surroundings. You have returned to the Avagi you know, and the silver mist that filled the halls has cleared. Over the next few days, most of Avagi will settle back into a state of normalcy. The ACEs are working properly, and station residents will have all the time they need to compare notes on their experiences—and, perhaps, on any plans to act on what they've learned. Avagi is not as empty as it seemed. And one place in particular will remain changed in the wake of the event. The Ingress Memorial, once inactive, has come to life, emitting a swirl of silver light that shifts and flickers, like the light of the portal it once contained. For the next five days, it will offer a vision to anyone approaching it: a single, brief scene from their potential future. Players have the following options: Canon future: Your character catches a glimpse of their future if they were to return from Avagi to their own world. This consists of a canon event. Avagi future: Your character catches a glimpse of their own future on Avagi. This can be a short-term future (i.e. an actual vision of a future scene you plan to play out), or a potential longer-term one in which they stayed on Avagi for months or years. Storm future: Your character catches a glimpse of themselves as a Mirtos—a desiccated husk and incarnation of the storm's hunger. As seen in Thisavrou's destruction, these creatures are carried by the storms and destroy all they come across. The visions can observed by any present when the Memorial is approached. And while the past is fixed, the future is always capable of being altered. What will you do regarding yours?

---

[OOC: Check out the OOC post for more information!]

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ʙɪʟʟ ᴅᴇɴʙʀᴏᴜɢʜ's ʙɪɢ ʜɪᴛ

[shipsandsealingwax]

[It's a strange sensation, watching himself through Richie's perspective as a piece of their past he doesn't remember plays out. He's lost in the confusion of it all. He recognizes everyone, but the words being said, the emotions behind them, Ben's injuries and this whole memory- all of it is off.

There's something not right about it and what it is becomes even clearer when Richie lashes out verbally.

Georgie's not dead. That's his voice flooded with hurt and anger and denial. That's him insisting his brother is still alive when Bill knows all too well Georgie is gone. He bled to death, probably scared and alone, and it was all Bill's fault.

He can't move, there's nothing to move in this strange form he finds himself in a second time. It's like a dream, or a nightmare, and one he can barely piece together. And it only gets worse. He watches as his fist collides with Richie's face, feels Richie's anger, his pain and panic, his fear. Feels the anger towards Bill and the hurt that isn't wholly physical blossoming from the place Bill's fist connected.

When he has his body back, there's a sharp, prickling pain behind his eyes that are shining wet with unshed tears, and a hard lump in his throat. Just like before, the other boy is in front of him when it ends, but unlike with Eddie, Bill doesn't push forward. He takes a step back from Richie, tries to open his mouth to speak, but nothing, not even a stutter comes out.

He shuts his mouth and looks away. There's shame and pain and fresh wounds ripping at his insides, some to do with the look that had been in Richie's eyes, or the tone of his voice. Some to do with Georgie, and the conviction that had been in the strange, nightmare Bill's voice. The fear and denial and refusal to accept the truth. He had punched his best friend, over what? The truth? Sure it hurt, but that didn't change the fact that Richie hadn't said anything that wasn't true. It bothers him that he doesn't remember any of this, but not near as much as it bothers him to have seen it play out.

Bill doesn't even know what to do or say, faced with Richie after all of that, and he chokes on the words as he gets them out around the lump in his throat.]

I'm s-s-sorry, R-Richie.

[beeped]

[The wounds from this fight are still fresh. Richie and Bill never apologized. They parted ways, Richie spent weeks spending time with Stan and in the arcade. It hadn't been a great time, he spent much of it angry at Bill, worried about Eddie but completely denied access to him.

Beverly's kidnapping had been the catalyst that brought the losers back together, but things hadn't gotten resolved so much as cast aside because there was shit to do. A girl to save, a fucking clown to kill. Then they're moving forward, summer vacation comes to an end, Richie and Bill end up here.

Being away from Derry, and just being relieved that so much of the gang is here meant that he's not thought about the fight too much. But it still happened recently, and experiencing it all over again brings it all right back to the surface.

Richie's not so mad as he was originally, but he squares his shoulders and rebuffs the apology anyway. Bill never seemed apologetic before, and he might be now, but that doesn't change Richie's own conflicted emotions.]

Yeah? Well it's about fucking time.

[shipsandsealingwax]

Those th-things th-th-that happened...

[Bill doesn't even know where to begin. He didn't remember punching Richie. He didn't remember any of it.]

I don't... I d-d-didn't. [He exhales, trying to process Richie's emotions and extract them from his own. It's difficult to say the least. He worries his lower lip carefully reaching out to Richie before dropping his hand.]

I don't remember any of th-that. Eddie's arm... Bowers b-b-broke it. We w-w-weren't there.

[But this isn't an excuse. That was his face, and his fist.]

I sh-sh-shouldn't have hit you, Rich.

[beeped]

[If Eddie hadn't already told him about Henry Bowers breaking his arm, he might've been suspicious, but only a tiny bit. He trusted Bill, even if he was mad at him. His jaw's clenched, but after a moment

he lets his tension fall away.]

You shouldn't have. [He pauses.] But it was a different you.

[shipsandsealingwax]

D-Doesn't matter. I still punched you. That w-was still me.

[Bill reaches out not immediately pulling Richie into a hug, but resting a hand on his shoulder, his fingers against the back of Richie's neck and an earnest look on his face.]

You we-were right to be mad.

[beeped]

[The hug is a good way for them to resolve things, ultimately. Richie returns the hug, reluctant to let go for now.]

Thanks, Big Bill.