[ as you all contemplate your individual mortality, semi-rejuvenated thanks to temenos' healing magic, you might hear a very distant dripping noise. it's thick, not like splashes of water, but splashes of goop. bloody, meaty water with a translucent membrane begins to seep in through the edges of the concrete. there's a distinct burning scent to it as well...
as though maybe it's devouring its way through the stone towards you.
you didn't think you left the monster behind in the concrete cave-in, did you? and before you think this is going to be a slow process that could afford you time to make a choice of leaping to your potential dooms, don't worry. i'm making that decision for you. one palm-sized block of concrete just spurts out of place, hitting the opposite wall as a gush of the fluid enters in the way of a tentacle, another also enters, clambering in greedily after it. like a person trying to lick the inside of a container to get the dregs of their delicious meal, this thing is pissed that you thought you could get away.
the feeling of hate permeates, radiates.
and then explodes as concrete bursts forth from the cave-in, and the creature (if you can even call it - it's a mass of faces and necks and heads, eyes rolling, mouths lolling. your rest is done, because this thing is sweeping its large tentacle in and just like a petulant cat...
smacking you all straight into the pit.
what's it like? for you to fall
and fall
and fall
and fall?
how do you fall? loudly and windmilling? silently and embracing what lies beneath? anxiously and twisting like an errant kite in the wind? there are no walls to cling to, nothing above or below you soon enough it is dark. all... dark...
[ you know, i made a joke about this, but it's not really that wrong. falling is - unpleasant, but not unfamiliar. there's not really any time to do anything when they're swept off, either. no reaction. no stopping. the light on his staff hopefully stays lit.
which - temenos holds onto his staff for dear fucking life when he starts to fall, death grip so it's not separated from him for a second by gravity, by god knows whatever else. the sudden darkness is consuming, familiar, the moonshade order's darkest delights.
he closes his eyes. maybe he'd pray, if he were more the type. he doesn't. he just thinks don't you abandon me, now and lets himself fall.
[ temenos, you're falling and there's nothing here to catch you. gripping your staff so tightly, you'll at least find you are not alone in this aspect. the light still follows you, a little light. as you close your eyes, you can still see it through your eyelids, always there, ever-present. faith and doubt, flip a coin and you could get either side. faith in yourself brighter than any flame, doubt until the truth is at hand. the warm wind flicks at your hair, and as you fall and fall and fall.
the only thing you know for certain about this fall... is that it’s long, and that it has begun to hurt. the extensive weight of it can’t be adequately put into words.
biology and time are immutable forces.
and then you open your eyes, and you are surrounded by shallow waters, they're cool waters, refreshing waters. they lap gently at your shoulders, your weary body. using your magic has made hunger lick at your senses, and even with the healing, you find that these waters soothe your aches and pain. (it... massages... the meat of your brain. it is pliant and soft, it is tender.) there's a warmth around you. and then, you feel it. something careful, a pair of fingertips moving a bit of hair out of your eyes. a familiar laugh. so familiar, you can forget the fall, you can forget the beast... the beast? what beast... no beastly thing...
doubt? for now... is washed away, pulled out by the lapping tide of the water. you are... calm... you are dizzily happy. with your 11... nothing is wrong. and you are at peace. the sun is warm on your face, real sun, and the air is temperate, perfect. you are neither too cold nor too warm, you're just right. even being wet from the water doesn't really bother you. especially not when you open your eyes and are met with something that should be impossible. but it feels... too real... too too real.
when he comes to, temenos finds himself staring upwards into the face of the person he has simply called to others his dearest friend. "dearest friend" doesn't even begin to cover the bond between them, two foundlings brought under the the loving wing of the pontiff, raised tenderly in the cradle of the sacred flame. two clerics, two inquisitors, an inseparable pair. it's been five years since temenos last saw roi, since he turned his back with that accursed bow in his hands. five years since temenos promised himself he'd find a way to solve his mystery. five years, since he's heard his brother's big, warm laugh, the way it lights up an entire room. five years since he watched him fall victim to (yet another) one of temenos' light, playful pranks. so gullible. so purehearted. so utterly, amazingly, perfectly kind. the sort of person who just brought the light into a room. like crick, like roi, golden hearted, paragons of the sacred flame.
and the thing is, he never really let himself mourn. there was never time, in those long five years. the thing is, he never allows himself to feel long enough to start. it feels like an insult to his memory, to waste time hurting when he could be finding the truth roi tasked him to, whether on purpose or not. so maybe that just makes it easier - just for a few minutes, to believe that this might be real.
he blinks. once, twice, three times.
(when something comes to fill the crater left behind in your life, do you turn away from it?)
temenos is... wet, he thinks. wet and staring into a pair of eyes that match his. ]
...Roi. [ he says, slowly. ] Did I...?
[ he wants - he wants to sit up. temenos thinks like a child, for a moment, with a deliriously happy eleven, that he wants to reach out. one hand comes up, almost hesitant, curling in the air before he reaches up to very, very lightly touch roi's hand like it might burn him.
it can't be a dream. even when he dreams, he dreams realistically. temenos only ever dreams of loss.
[ but wouldn't it be nice if the script was flipped for a change? would it be wonderful if you didn't have to grieve, didn't have to mourn, didn't have to keep losing because loss is a wound and if you don't let it close, it's bound to fistulate.
temenos reaches upwards, tentative as a blooming flower broaching the post-winter thaw, and roi reaches back. roi reaches back gently, turning to catch temenos' fingers and to lift them high. he puts them gently on his own cheek, which is so warm and so real under your fingertips. he's as you remember him, as you want to remember him, gullible smile.
if he sits up, roi just joins him in the water, smiling even brighter, his presence a warm beacon you want to cling to tightly. ]
Temenos... [ the way he says your name is beautiful. ] Would I lie to you?
[ you know the answer to that.
and then, a laugh, that laugh you hold so fast to your heart, a memory etched in the stones of your own temple, the temple of your body, where you are beholden to yourself and to your faith, intertwined and self-same. he reaches with his arm now, to draw you towards him.
roi knew him when he was little and shy, when he cried easily. roi knew he was a bit of a loner, that he tended to be introverted and a little odd. roi could find the mask of composure he's taught himself to wear and get a smile out of him that lit up his eyes in a way that so very few things do, nowadays. roi was the sun to temenos' moon, and now here he is, shining once again, like nothing ever happened. for all he knows, the pontiff is awaiting them both, for dinner and evening services, like a normal day in flamechurch.
(something about this is wrong. he should know better. he needs to know better.)
[charles lets out a yell of surprise when smacked into the pit, though he manages to hold back anything further as he falls. this is deeply unpleasant, though!! falling bad!!!
there's nothing to cling to, nothing to try and stab his sword into to slow his descent, but he frantically glances around nevertheless.
gripping his sword tightly with one hand, blindly or not, he tries to reach out for someone nearby to at least hopefully be able to break their fall, but. presumably this fails. it's fine.]
[ charles, you're falling and there's nothing here to catch you. you hold onto your sword and try to glance around - you can see the others but then they are vanishing from your sight one by one, quicker than you can blink. eventually, in the dark, it's just you. reaching out with your other hand, your hand that is always so willing to give, to extend itself, to grasp tightly and form those stubborn bonds... air is slipping through your fingers. just air and darkness.
the only thing you know for certain about this fall... is that it’s long, and that it has begun to hurt. the extensive weight of it can’t be adequately put into words.
biology and time are immutable forces.
and then you open your eyes, and you are surrounded by shallow waters, they're cool waters, refreshing waters. they lap gently at your shoulders, your weary body. these waters soothe your aches and pain. (it... massages... the meat of your brain. it is pliant and soft, it is tender.) there's a warmth around you. and then, you feel it. something careful, a pair of fingertips moving a bit of hair out of your eyes. a familiar laugh. so familiar, you can forget the fall, you can forget the beast... the beast? what beast... no beastly thing...
doubt? for now... is washed away, pulled out by the lapping tide of the water. you are... calm... you are... content. with your 14... something... well. something is strange, but it flutters and flickers, it twitches away, melts. is kneaded away. you... are at peace. for now. not a doubt. feel... relief. the weight on your shoulders suddenly feels so light, lighter than air, lighter than it's been in a long time.
you can even hear your friends chattering quietly in the background. someone is prodding at arthur over something silly that gets him to reply back with his usual curt, southern tone. owner chuckles a little behind a pale hand. over your head, a familiar face peeks, her smile like a balm on all your worries. ]
Oh! There you are... [ alaune says with a kind smile. did she always look like this? yes. yes she did. there is nothing wrong. doubt may leak in, because have you ever felt this relaxed before? maybe. maybe not. not lately anyways. the doubt washes away with the water. ahh... nice... ] You're finally awake. I missed you.
[ the water feels so nice. why leave it at all?
at the end of your tag, please roll a d20 and tell me what you get. ]
[water is a double-edged sword. of course, being from the riverlands, it's practically something sacred to them. a source of vitality, the source of their prosperity. it keeps their land fertile, it brings trade to them. but the waters can hide monsters and blood, and charles has witnessed enough battles fought on the rivers and sea, either; all the deaths that have sunk into their depths.
which is this...?
something inside of him twists, before it's gone. it's easy, to feel like he's home. he can't remember feeling this light, truthfully. because the carefree "charles, the traveler" isn't a lie, per se, but even so. his true name and title are an undeniable weight on his shoulders, a neverending reminder of his duty. (one he was born with, one that was escalated at least a decade too early, but even if he had nothing to his name, it's one that he would choose over and over again of his own volition.) prodigal son of riven, guardian of light, symbol of hope for all of orsterra. (so many people have died for him or in his name, believing in that hope.)
for all that charles sincerely believes in enjoying life in the moment, rather than stressing over what-ifs of the future, and cherishing happiness as it comes—that belief stems from awareness of how grim things can be, that peace does not last unless you fight for it with all that you have. difficult to build, all too easy to destroy. it always lurks in the back of his mind.]
... Alaune.
[despite their relationship, they don't always get to spend much time together. the past months are probably some of the most consistent they've ever had. not exactly a conventional union, but it is what it is with their stations. work comes first. neither of them has ever regretted this, when they met precisely because of that mutual devotion to a better future for all.
should she be here? he's evidently not actually back in his world, given the presence of his other friends. and maybe, somewhere in the back of his mind, charles would be furious that his loved ones are used like this again and again, whether it's back home or in these rifts. distantly, none of this makes sense.
but, well. right now, in these waters—he reaches out to her in return.]
[ which one is this? the waters here lap cleanly up against your body, fresh and crisp as a few droplets fleck at your chin. it sure would be terrible, wouldn't it? for this sort of thing to be used against you? but it's not, it's absolutely not... she's real, real as the sun and the air, and the murmur of happiness behind her.
her hair is like a halo around her, beatific, kindness above all else, the ending point, the firm hand to sever the cycle of blood begetting blood begetting blood. ]
It has been quite some time since we were able to spend this kind of time together... we should steal it while we can.
[ she reaches to just place her hand, steady, against the side of your face. overhead, a few clouds gather. in the distance, a quiet rumble, a shake of the ground beneath you. it is not dangerous, your mind tells you that... but it's. strange. strange isn't it? your chest hurts just a little bit.
but alaune is here, and alanue is real as anything. so very real as she says a familiar name to you, her voice strong, but the strength flooding out in relief with strangely slightly wet eyes. ]
███████ ...
[ she looks so happy, so relieved. she looks light as a feather too, like the both of you finally can take some precious time.
[precious time—because that's what they fought for, after all. conflict after conflict, for even just a moment of peace, for themselves and for others. even if they are the losses they carry with them, the embodiment of the hopes and expectations that the world has of them; the remnants of the kingdom of ferien that tore itself apart into the nations of edoras and riven. the first in hundreds of years to truly choose peace between the two, a pivot point in history.
all they wanted was a better world for the next generation, whose lives would not have to be defined by strife. for ██████████, for the devastated nation of donescu whom charles continues to have personal investment in rebuilding, for the entire continent. they have some semblance of peace, but charles is greedy, and he wants not just calm but freedom as well. and so, he has denied others' vision of a perfect world if it deprives them all of the latter as well. if peace and freedom come with instability, then so be it if it is simply in their nature.
and so, something feels wrong about all of this, to feel so happy without a worry at all. charles has said it again and again to those here—
"In the end, all we can do is live our lives the best we can regardless."
"What kind of life is that for your, Charles?"
"Well, I'd say my wishes are simple. I want to be happy, and I want those around me to be happy as well, through the paths they choose for themselves."
"What if you don't agree with those paths?"
"Depends on how much I disagree with it, I guess. I'll fight them if I have to."
"Isn't that tiresome?"
"Sure, it is. I'd love to not have to disagree with people. But I'll keep on fighting for the future for however long I have to."
a conversation that feels so long ago, with shouxue. it's hard to remember right now, faced with alaune and this happiness, unburdened by the grief of everything that's happened.]
[ shoma's always been the one to use his brain to get out of tough spots. he's physically unimpressive, he's young, and the only thing he has going for him is the ability to plan and dodge.
there's no planning for this. there's no dodging this. all four of them are knocked straight into this pit...and it's the fast, tense, terrifying sensation of falling. somewhere in the dark there's a yell that's probably coming from shoma, and he tries to find something (anything) to cling to on the sides as they fall.
there's nothing. it's only the one sound of fear before he goes silent and the wind rushes around him and trying to tuck his limbs closer into himself to brace for the impact. maybe that'll help? but...you know, probably not. maybe this really is just how it ends.
...how ironic. he's finally started wanting to live, only to find himself falling and potentially never coming back from this. ]
[ shoma, you're falling and there's nothing here to catch you. you are so young, you've got so much more to live for than the inevitability of the fall, the landing, the crashing. you curl in on yourself to make yourself smaller, to brace your frame for the impact that never comes. there are a lot of things that will never arrive for you... how sad. no amount of planning can save you now because there is no plan, there is only this.
the only thing you know for certain about this fall... is that it’s long, and that it has begun to hurt. the extensive weight of it can’t be adequately put into words.
biology and time are immutable forces.
and then you open your eyes, and you are surrounded by shallow waters, they're cool waters, refreshing waters. they lap gently at your shoulders, your weary body. you breathe in deeply, and the air is pure, perfect, not a singular rancid stench to be found and you can fill your lungs without worry. you find that these waters soothe your aches and pain. (it... massages... the meat of your brain. it is pliant and soft, it is tender.) there's a warmth around you. and then, you feel it. something careful, a pair of fingertips moving a bit of hair out of your eyes. a familiar laugh. so familiar, you can forget the fall, you can forget the beast... the beast? what beast... no beastly thing...
doubt? for now... is washed away, pulled out by the lapping tide of the water. you are... calm... you are dizzily happy. with your 2... nothing is wrong. nothing at all. and you are at peace. the sun is delightful on your face, real sun, earth's sun. even being wet from the water doesn't really bother you. life suddenly feels so simple, so easy, without the weight of your worries. ]
[ to everyone's surprise (especially his own), he's alive. the weight of the fall was heavy, unbearable tough and enough to almost make him lose his breath--
--but then there's the water. he's not sure how he got here because he was sure he'd have made a splash, at least, but nothing. he doesn't sit up, reveling in the water for a moment and simply letting himself be. the water's always been something that's calmed him anyway, even if it might not seem that way. even last week, floating around and around on a little floaty asleep in the lazy river, had put him at ease.
nothing hurts, which is the other incredible thing, and his eyes are shut for the time being as he absorbs the comfort of his surroundings. there's fingers in his hair and he figures he has to swat someone away, but...
...funny. he knows this isn't normal, but there had been that entire week. he knows what she can be like when she really feels like being affectionate (and really, isn't that what he's been struggling with lately? wanting that, still, and knowing he doesn't stand a chance of getting it back.) even if this doesn't make a lot of sense, it's hard to convince himself that because everything feels calm and bright and easy. it doesn't matter that he should remind himself that it isn't real, remember that he'd just fallen a very far distance, remember he was here with four people (io included), remember that places like this like to play games. hadn't they just warned keith about this? that this place can (and will) use people they know against them. hell, he and mizuki even talked about this upon her return last week. sometimes it makes zero sense for certain people to be where you are.
so why not accept it for what it is? this is relaxing. nothing's wrong here, and even though he might normally be far more aware of how unlikely this situation is, right now everything is so easy as life's worries melt away. for once, he can feel complete peace and stop struggling under the weight of the world. he opens his eyes, and he looks at mizuki, giving her an equally cocky grin. ]
Like they wouldn't believe you didn't just push me in the first place. [ he says, and even though he knows her and knows this could be just a trick, he does lean into her hand just a touch. he hasn't even thought about the fact he's not wearing his helmet anymore given she's able to touch his hair, but...maybe he doesn't need it for this part. the water makes it easier to breathe. she makes it easier to breathe. she usually does, even with the grief she gives him by nature of being a force to be reckoned with. she's always been the one person who's treated him like a normal person, a bright spot in an abysmal existence. ] Anyway you choose to associate with me, so it's your problem now.
[ he says, with my roll of 11. ]
Edited (me realizing no i made him still too self-aware for rolling a damn 2.) 2024-04-10 05:53 (UTC)
[ weird, that you don't need your helmet here, but as soon as the "weird" sentiment is broached, it's gone, a flutter, a flicker, dust carried away by the wind. this mizuki, she feels right at home, feels just like how you left her - someone who has always treated you in a way that you have longed for, just like you.
the water laps at you gently, peaceful, soothing. it's everything perfect about this moment. even mizuki doesn't seem to mind kneeling in it, your head resting on the grass, her sitting right here with you. you lean into her touch, and her palm is warm, even through her glove, her thumb stroking your cheek. ]
Maybe I should have pushed you in.
[ her grin is sharp.
the air is cool, crisp, filling your lungs again. in and out. fresh air. better than the musk and dirt and blood and offal scent that had stained your skull not long ago (how long ago? how long?) you are a human here, you are yourself, you are nothing more than you - no one's to toy with or to tinker with, you're in control, master of your own ship, sailor of your own sea.
[ wow. this sure does feel familiar, doesn't it... he's really gotta stop getting knocked into voids, without any hope of surviving. he doubts the black lion will be here to save him again... or ya know....
with no walls to jam his knife into, in attempt to stop this, he looks around at the others. temenos with his eyes closed, clutching his staff. charles reaching out. and shoma curling into a ball. kosmo looking towards him (father why), and then whatever io is doing.
it all happens to fast to do more than just let this happen. so he closes his eyes and does what he's done so many times before.
falls.
because he always gets back up. one way or another.]
[ keith, you're falling and there's nothing here to catch you. but you're used to falling aren't you? you're used to falling down in life metaphorically, physically, in all way. you're someone who isn't afraid of this because you know that if you're going through hell you just keep on going. no matter what. one by one, your fellow crew members disappear into the dark, faster than you can track them with your eyes, and you are alone. just like you've always been in the end. alone.
the only thing you know for certain about this fall... is that it’s long, and that it has begun to hurt. the extensive weight of it can’t be adequately put into words.
biology and time are immutable forces.
and then you open your eyes, and you are surrounded by shallow waters, they're cool waters, refreshing waters. they lap gently at your shoulders, your weary body. these waters soothe your aches and pain. (it... massages... the meat of your brain. it is pliant and soft, it is tender.) there's a warmth around you. and then, you feel it. something careful, a pair of fingertips moving a bit of hair out of your eyes. a familiar laugh. so familiar, you can forget the fall, you can forget the beast... the beast? what beast... no beastly thing...
doubt? for now... is washed away, pulled out by the lapping tide of the water. you are... calm... you are... content. with your 14... something... well. something is strange, but it flutters and flickers, it twitches away, melts. is kneaded away. you... are at peace. for now. not a doubt in your mind anymore. wondering if you're ever doing the right thing, if you're fit to be half the leader you want to be, every single doubt is slowly melting away and your heart feels light.
you can even hear familiar voices chattering quietly in the background. you can hear your mother's voice as she shoots the shit with baiken, old hands in combat and trading superficial stories because they've always played it close to their chests, but you feel like maybe they deserve to be friends - worlds colliding. and over your head, a familiar face peers down at you. ]
Keith? Earth to Keith - [ shiro says with a kind smile. did he always look like this? his hair is a sharp shock of white, and the tired look in his eyes has so much kindness held towards you. when he smiles, it's like the clouds are breaking. he puts a hand against your head, strokes your hair back, but then taps gently with a flesh and blood finger in the center of your forehead. ] I told you to be careful at the edge of the water. You're always so stubborn.
[ the water feels so nice. why leave it at all?
at the end of your tag, please roll a d20 and tell me what you get. ]
[ he's stubborn. always has been, and always will be. he gets it from both his parents, among other things. his perseverance and the way he acts first, thinks later, all from his father. the way the man just never stopped, kept moving forward, and put his life on the line every single time. even if it did mean running back into that burning building and not coming back out... leaving keith all alone. just the poor orphan boy with an attitude problem. the loner. the outcast.
he could have given up back then. almost did.
but he didn't.
and he won't give up here. not after how far they've all come.
patience yields focus.
water. water washing away all his doubts and anxieties. huh. being this calm is new. he can't remember the last time he felt this content. even if something feels... off. wasn't he just full of adrenaline and fear? maybe it was a nightmare. maybe it was the fear that comes with falling into a large body of water.
the voices sound close, but also far away. he can hear his mom. wait how is she here? last he remembers they had parted ways. after saving kolivan, the two of them went to seek out all remaining blades who hadn't been slaughtered. and the other voice... baiken? huh. strange, but also not. they are two sides of the same coin, keith has always thought so, since he first got to know baiken. so similar... ]
Ugh... my head.
[ his eyes blink open. the light hurts, especially when you're staring directly into the sun- wait. ]
Shiro?
[ the touch is so gentle, so soft... just like shiro himself. the one person who's never given up on keith. not home, not here... wait. where is here again? and why does shiro look like that. his brain strains, tries to glom onto that uneasy feeling. but he can't quite reach out and grab it.
he's calm. he's content. everything is fine... right?
[ he laughs. and it hits you, shiro is finally here, finally with you as his whole self, your shiro, the one you fought tooth, nail, and claw for. (you saved me, keith.) the sentiment echoes inside of your skull keith as you ponder this shiro's existence, it does... it does seem odd, doesn't it?
especially with the top of shiro's head glitches, the line of his jaw. your brain blips. ganymede?
it blips back, a glitch that's as fast as the blink of an eye but it's there.
(it stays with you, it remains imprinted in your brain, even if it begins to sink underneath the waters, sink to the lapping of the cool waters also surrounding you.) shiro goes back to smiling, his flesh and blood jaw, the familiar wrinkle of the scar over his nose, the warmth of your camaraderie and your lives steeped in struggle and responsibility. held in his eyes just for you. only for you.
you were having a pleasant dream, weren't you? everyone you loved was there, everyone you loved, or have loved before, holding you in their hands as precious as a treasure. your friends, granted peace at last. but is it really a peace that you can enjoy at ease? as each of you try and continue your conversations - some of you walking alongside your companions, others questioning with a niggling uncertainty about where you are... all of you will watch it swept away.
because that's over. the bliss of becoming one with this monstrosity is over.
as your eyes open (snapping, fluttering, widening) you realize to some spectrum of horror (a screaming in your brain or out of your mouth, fear slicking cool on your body, anxiety) that you are in a tight, confined space, arms pinioned to one side, though maybe you can wiggle them up a bit. your weapons? still there, but it's so bruisingly tight in here you can hardly move your hands to grasp for them. it’s hard to breathe in here, the air fetid like rotten meat, long since devoured and left to cling to the surfaces and ridges that are attempting to crush you tightly. something has wrapped itself around you, and you can feel it - a slow burn, a steady burn, a pulsing sensation.
there’s no air in here. what little you have? well. it’s not enough to remain in here for very much longer.
(if you have any desired injuries, here is where you can prime them, make flesh more vulnerable, start to lose sight in a chosen eye. you aren't going to be incapacitated, but the areas can be vulnerable to attack - think of it like a video game, where you've had certain areas weakened. digestion is, after all, a slow and grueling process.)
however, all is not lost. you aren't beaten yet. you've been bruised from the crushing somewhat, and the acid sure isn't pleasant against what wounds have not healed, but you can persist. you must persist.
there’s a cutting sound, a noise like effort, pained. cutting, slicing. it’s trying to get through whatever the hell is holding you fast and tight as something outside rumbles, rattles. whoever is outside is gasping as they try and stab with as much care as they can into a seam of muscle, pulling it apart. acid-burned hands are digging inside, trying to widen the gap. you’re all like peas in a fleshy, weird little pod it turns out, your chambers are connected all but by a thin little membrane. a voice, familiar: ]
Take my hand! I won’t have you dying on me now! We're getting back one damn way or another.
in the end, it's as it should be. reality is cruel and cold - dreams are just that, dreams. go figure it's the sensation that something was nice is what snaps temenos out of it, right? because that life is an impossible one. it all fades away in an instant, and whatever emotional brainspace he could have possibly had to devote to it is immediately taken away by being eaten, which, like, frankly, is preferable!
the crushing pain, he thinks, is maybe navigable. he's not very strong, but he doesn't have to move far - if he can just get his staff. if he can just get his staff, it's just like the heartseed. all he has to do is get to it, cast a divine effulgence, blow the rest of his magic and destroy this thing from the inside. teeth gritted, he tries, tries - and then the muscle is ripped apart by doctor io, baring the light with surgical precision, and the pathway is open.
it's enough. temenos is near the front, he thinks, maybe? it's enough to start to widen, it's enough for movement, and he manages to shove a hand backwards towards whoever's the closest nearby, because he's not leaving without the others, and then starts to go for io like asked. daisy chain of gross... ]
[yeah, more pressing than the dream is that being trapped like this really isn't pleasant, even for someone who doesn't consider himself claustrophobic. he'd rather not be digested today or any day, thanks.
charles struggles against the confined space, trying to ignore the burn, or the way his vision flickers. lightning begins to spark from his hands—ah, there's io. letting the electricity fade now, before he accidentally electrocutes someone. he lets out a little laugh of relief, despite the grimness of the situation.]
You're a voice for sore ears, Io!
[as the gap widens, he tries harder to go for his dagger in hopes of cutting away any membrane that might impede them, to make it easier for everyone else to grab on.]
[ the good thing is that being ripped out of the dream itself isn't actually terrible, because it's not like he ever expected things to truthfully be that way.
the bad thing is being ripped out of the dream and brought here is bad. it's bad! it's so bad, and even if he's not exactly claustrophobic himself this is definitely making a good case for it. as the smallest and without much strength backing him, shoma finds himself trying to struggle ahead but with little avail. he doesn't have enough to wretch himself away from the confines, burning licking its way all around his body and his own vision in his left eye starts to give out, watery and blurred and burning on its own. he doesn't have a weapon he can reach, nor does he have magic, but he can at least hear the others. he can hear io and charles, he can vaguely see the outline of temenos's hand trying to reach for the others, and it's with that that he begins to pull harder against what has him bound to try and rip away and get closer to the opening.
granted he's still bruised as shit and this is really just a bad situation all around, but we're trying. ]
his eyes snap open or well... one does, the left squeezes shut, full of blood and viscera. acid leaking onto the right side of his face and running down to his shoulder. every slash and bruise has reappeared, but did they ever really go away. no.
was that dream ever really real. no. just a far off fantasy, one where his life isn't a mess and the world isn't on fire. and they aren't trapped on some damn ship for eight weeks, worrying about who will die next. and even if it was real... he wouldn't want it. nothing is perfect and he prefers it that way.
there's light and there's io. they have a way out of the belly of this beast. if only he could reach his blade, fuck the plasma sword. he needs what he's familiar with. ]
Ugh-! Stay together... !
[ grabbing onto shoma, as they all daisy chain their way out of this monster. IT SUCKS IN HERE. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
— EXCISION (like a drop of blood tracing a vein)
ENTER: FESTERING ABOMINATION
as though maybe it's devouring its way through the stone towards you.
you didn't think you left the monster behind in the concrete cave-in, did you? and before you think this is going to be a slow process that could afford you time to make a choice of leaping to your potential dooms, don't worry. i'm making that decision for you. one palm-sized block of concrete just spurts out of place, hitting the opposite wall as a gush of the fluid enters in the way of a tentacle, another also enters, clambering in greedily after it. like a person trying to lick the inside of a container to get the dregs of their delicious meal, this thing is pissed that you thought you could get away.
the feeling of hate permeates, radiates.
and then explodes as concrete bursts forth from the cave-in, and the creature (if you can even call it - it's a mass of faces and necks and heads, eyes rolling, mouths lolling. your rest is done, because this thing is sweeping its large tentacle in and just like a petulant cat...
smacking you all straight into the pit.
what's it like? for you to fall
and fall
and fall
and fall?
how do you fall? loudly and windmilling? silently and embracing what lies beneath? anxiously and twisting like an errant kite in the wind? there are no walls to cling to, nothing above or below you soon enough it is dark. all... dark...
was this supposed to be
a tomb for you... all along?
some eat meat. and some are meat. ]
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which - temenos holds onto his staff for dear fucking life when he starts to fall, death grip so it's not separated from him for a second by gravity, by god knows whatever else. the sudden darkness is consuming, familiar, the moonshade order's darkest delights.
he closes his eyes. maybe he'd pray, if he were more the type. he doesn't. he just thinks don't you abandon me, now and lets himself fall.
wheeeeeee ]
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the only thing you know for certain about this fall... is that it’s long, and that it has begun to hurt. the extensive weight of it can’t be adequately put into words.
biology and time are immutable forces.
and then you open your eyes, and you are surrounded by shallow waters, they're cool waters, refreshing waters. they lap gently at your shoulders, your weary body. using your magic has made hunger lick at your senses, and even with the healing, you find that these waters soothe your aches and pain. (it... massages... the meat of your brain. it is pliant and soft, it is tender.) there's a warmth around you. and then, you feel it. something careful, a pair of fingertips moving a bit of hair out of your eyes. a familiar laugh. so familiar, you can forget the fall, you can forget the beast... the beast? what beast... no beastly thing...
doubt? for now... is washed away, pulled out by the lapping tide of the water. you are... calm... you are dizzily happy. with your 11... nothing is wrong. and you are at peace. the sun is warm on your face, real sun, and the air is temperate, perfect. you are neither too cold nor too warm, you're just right. even being wet from the water doesn't really bother you. especially not when you open your eyes and are met with something that should be impossible. but it feels... too real... too too real.
from above you, roi gives you an easy smile. ]
You awake yet, Temenos? [ roi laughs a little bit. in the background, you can hear a couple of your friends... throné is gently teasing kazuki, who just comes back at her with remark that causes her to feign offense. they banter and it's like music to your ears. roi's voice chimes in from over you again. ] Nature really doesn't agree with you, huh? You slipped in the grass and right into the water.
[ the water feels so nice. why leave it at all?
at the end of your tag, please roll a d20 and tell me what you get. ]
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as temenos mistral loves to say, doubt is what i do. he is a cynical person by nature, someone who always sees reality, who cuts through naïveté and optimism where it's necessary. he is grounded and logical, and he sees the darkness in places where others see the light. but this skill never came naturally - no, it was a skill that he cultivated. a trait he learned, to protect others.
to protect roi.
when he comes to, temenos finds himself staring upwards into the face of the person he has simply called to others his dearest friend. "dearest friend" doesn't even begin to cover the bond between them, two foundlings brought under the the loving wing of the pontiff, raised tenderly in the cradle of the sacred flame. two clerics, two inquisitors, an inseparable pair. it's been five years since temenos last saw roi, since he turned his back with that accursed bow in his hands. five years since temenos promised himself he'd find a way to solve his mystery. five years, since he's heard his brother's big, warm laugh, the way it lights up an entire room. five years since he watched him fall victim to (yet another) one of temenos' light, playful pranks. so gullible. so purehearted. so utterly, amazingly, perfectly kind. the sort of person who just brought the light into a room. like crick, like roi, golden hearted, paragons of the sacred flame.
and the thing is, he never really let himself mourn. there was never time, in those long five years. the thing is, he never allows himself to feel long enough to start. it feels like an insult to his memory, to waste time hurting when he could be finding the truth roi tasked him to, whether on purpose or not. so maybe that just makes it easier - just for a few minutes, to believe that this might be real.
he blinks. once, twice, three times.
(when something comes to fill the crater left behind in your life, do you turn away from it?)
temenos is... wet, he thinks. wet and staring into a pair of eyes that match his. ]
...Roi. [ he says, slowly. ] Did I...?
[ he wants - he wants to sit up. temenos thinks like a child, for a moment, with a deliriously happy eleven, that he wants to reach out. one hand comes up, almost hesitant, curling in the air before he reaches up to very, very lightly touch roi's hand like it might burn him.
it can't be a dream. even when he dreams, he dreams realistically. temenos only ever dreams of loss.
(6.) ]
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temenos reaches upwards, tentative as a blooming flower broaching the post-winter thaw, and roi reaches back. roi reaches back gently, turning to catch temenos' fingers and to lift them high. he puts them gently on his own cheek, which is so warm and so real under your fingertips. he's as you remember him, as you want to remember him, gullible smile.
if he sits up, roi just joins him in the water, smiling even brighter, his presence a warm beacon you want to cling to tightly. ]
Temenos... [ the way he says your name is beautiful. ] Would I lie to you?
[ you know the answer to that.
and then, a laugh, that laugh you hold so fast to your heart, a memory etched in the stones of your own temple, the temple of your body, where you are beholden to yourself and to your faith, intertwined and self-same. he reaches with his arm now, to draw you towards him.
roll me a d20. ]
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[ temenos says, so naturally, so easily, a chuckle. it's a little mean in the way he's always just a little mean, but it's so fond, impossibly so.
his chest aches with the tenderness of it all, of a life that used to be. he'd even said to throné, just a few days ago, how much she would have liked him. who wouldn't? how nice it might have been, to introduce roi to the travelers, to share their joys with him, their sorrows, their family. because they are his family as much as roi was - the family he found on his own. he likes to think he'd be proud, that he'd love them, too.
there are so many things he wants to tell him, in this warm little moment. about the truth he found, but other things too. about the travelers. about the tenuous thread he thinks might exist between him and throné, that could maybe, maybe exist between him and roi, too. they could have been blood all along. not that it matters. roi is his dearest friend because roi is his brother.
roi knew him when he was little and shy, when he cried easily. roi knew he was a bit of a loner, that he tended to be introverted and a little odd. roi could find the mask of composure he's taught himself to wear and get a smile out of him that lit up his eyes in a way that so very few things do, nowadays. roi was the sun to temenos' moon, and now here he is, shining once again, like nothing ever happened. for all he knows, the pontiff is awaiting them both, for dinner and evening services, like a normal day in flamechurch.
(something about this is wrong. he should know better. he needs to know better.)
but he doesn't. he lets roi reach out to him.
(7. :grimacing:) ]
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there's nothing to cling to, nothing to try and stab his sword into to slow his descent, but he frantically glances around nevertheless.
gripping his sword tightly with one hand, blindly or not, he tries to reach out for someone nearby to at least hopefully be able to break their fall, but. presumably this fails. it's fine.]
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the only thing you know for certain about this fall... is that it’s long, and that it has begun to hurt. the extensive weight of it can’t be adequately put into words.
biology and time are immutable forces.
and then you open your eyes, and you are surrounded by shallow waters, they're cool waters, refreshing waters. they lap gently at your shoulders, your weary body. these waters soothe your aches and pain. (it... massages... the meat of your brain. it is pliant and soft, it is tender.) there's a warmth around you. and then, you feel it. something careful, a pair of fingertips moving a bit of hair out of your eyes. a familiar laugh. so familiar, you can forget the fall, you can forget the beast... the beast? what beast... no beastly thing...
doubt? for now... is washed away, pulled out by the lapping tide of the water. you are... calm... you are... content. with your 14... something... well. something is strange, but it flutters and flickers, it twitches away, melts. is kneaded away. you... are at peace. for now. not a doubt. feel... relief. the weight on your shoulders suddenly feels so light, lighter than air, lighter than it's been in a long time.
you can even hear your friends chattering quietly in the background. someone is prodding at arthur over something silly that gets him to reply back with his usual curt, southern tone. owner chuckles a little behind a pale hand. over your head, a familiar face peeks, her smile like a balm on all your worries. ]
Oh! There you are... [ alaune says with a kind smile. did she always look like this? yes. yes she did. there is nothing wrong. doubt may leak in, because have you ever felt this relaxed before? maybe. maybe not. not lately anyways. the doubt washes away with the water. ahh... nice... ] You're finally awake. I missed you.
[ the water feels so nice. why leave it at all?
at the end of your tag, please roll a d20 and tell me what you get. ]
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which is this...?
something inside of him twists, before it's gone. it's easy, to feel like he's home. he can't remember feeling this light, truthfully. because the carefree "charles, the traveler" isn't a lie, per se, but even so. his true name and title are an undeniable weight on his shoulders, a neverending reminder of his duty. (one he was born with, one that was escalated at least a decade too early, but even if he had nothing to his name, it's one that he would choose over and over again of his own volition.) prodigal son of riven, guardian of light, symbol of hope for all of orsterra. (so many people have died for him or in his name, believing in that hope.)
for all that charles sincerely believes in enjoying life in the moment, rather than stressing over what-ifs of the future, and cherishing happiness as it comes—that belief stems from awareness of how grim things can be, that peace does not last unless you fight for it with all that you have. difficult to build, all too easy to destroy. it always lurks in the back of his mind.]
... Alaune.
[despite their relationship, they don't always get to spend much time together. the past months are probably some of the most consistent they've ever had. not exactly a conventional union, but it is what it is with their stations. work comes first. neither of them has ever regretted this, when they met precisely because of that mutual devotion to a better future for all.
should she be here? he's evidently not actually back in his world, given the presence of his other friends. and maybe, somewhere in the back of his mind, charles would be furious that his loved ones are used like this again and again, whether it's back home or in these rifts. distantly, none of this makes sense.
but, well. right now, in these waters—he reaches out to her in return.]
Hey. I missed you too.
[rolls a 12]
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her hair is like a halo around her, beatific, kindness above all else, the ending point, the firm hand to sever the cycle of blood begetting blood begetting blood. ]
It has been quite some time since we were able to spend this kind of time together... we should steal it while we can.
[ she reaches to just place her hand, steady, against the side of your face. overhead, a few clouds gather. in the distance, a quiet rumble, a shake of the ground beneath you. it is not dangerous, your mind tells you that... but it's. strange. strange isn't it? your chest hurts just a little bit.
but alaune is here, and alanue is real as anything. so very real as she says a familiar name to you, her voice strong, but the strength flooding out in relief with
strangelyslightly wet eyes. ]███████ ...
[ she looks so happy, so relieved. she looks light as a feather too, like the both of you finally can take some precious time.
roll a d20. ]
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It would be nice. We're always busy, huh?
[precious time—because that's what they fought for, after all. conflict after conflict, for even just a moment of peace, for themselves and for others. even if they are the losses they carry with them, the embodiment of the hopes and expectations that the world has of them; the remnants of the kingdom of ferien that tore itself apart into the nations of edoras and riven. the first in hundreds of years to truly choose peace between the two, a pivot point in history.
all they wanted was a better world for the next generation, whose lives would not have to be defined by strife. for ██████████, for the devastated nation of donescu whom charles continues to have personal investment in rebuilding, for the entire continent. they have some semblance of peace, but charles is greedy, and he wants not just calm but freedom as well. and so, he has denied others' vision of a perfect world if it deprives them all of the latter as well. if peace and freedom come with instability, then so be it if it is simply in their nature.
and so, something feels wrong about all of this, to feel so happy without a worry at all. charles has said it again and again to those here—
"In the end, all we can do is live our lives the best we can regardless."
"What kind of life is that for your, Charles?"
"Well, I'd say my wishes are simple. I want to be happy, and I want those around me to be happy as well, through the paths they choose for themselves."
"What if you don't agree with those paths?"
"Depends on how much I disagree with it, I guess. I'll fight them if I have to."
"Isn't that tiresome?"
"Sure, it is. I'd love to not have to disagree with people. But I'll keep on fighting for the future for however long I have to."
a conversation that feels so long ago, with shouxue. it's hard to remember right now, faced with alaune and this happiness, unburdened by the grief of everything that's happened.]
... What is that you want to do?
[rolls a 14]
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there's no planning for this. there's no dodging this. all four of them are knocked straight into this pit...and it's the fast, tense, terrifying sensation of falling. somewhere in the dark there's a yell that's probably coming from shoma, and he tries to find something (anything) to cling to on the sides as they fall.
there's nothing. it's only the one sound of fear before he goes silent and the wind rushes around him and trying to tuck his limbs closer into himself to brace for the impact. maybe that'll help? but...you know, probably not. maybe this really is just how it ends.
...how ironic. he's finally started wanting to live, only to find himself falling and potentially never coming back from this. ]
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the only thing you know for certain about this fall... is that it’s long, and that it has begun to hurt. the extensive weight of it can’t be adequately put into words.
biology and time are immutable forces.
and then you open your eyes, and you are surrounded by shallow waters, they're cool waters, refreshing waters. they lap gently at your shoulders, your weary body. you breathe in deeply, and the air is pure, perfect, not a singular rancid stench to be found and you can fill your lungs without worry. you find that these waters soothe your aches and pain. (it... massages... the meat of your brain. it is pliant and soft, it is tender.) there's a warmth around you. and then, you feel it. something careful, a pair of fingertips moving a bit of hair out of your eyes. a familiar laugh. so familiar, you can forget the fall, you can forget the beast... the beast? what beast... no beastly thing...
overhead, mizuki gives you her usual cocky smile.
doubt? for now... is washed away, pulled out by the lapping tide of the water. you are... calm... you are dizzily happy. with your 2... nothing is wrong. nothing at all. and you are at peace. the sun is delightful on your face, real sun, earth's sun. even being wet from the water doesn't really bother you. life suddenly feels so simple, so easy, without the weight of your worries. ]
Shoma? Hey... wakey wakey, hellllooooooo. [ mizuki needles a little bit. in the background, you can hear a couple of your friends... throné's voice having a soft conversation with amame, funny how that works - when worlds collide. they seem to be having a conversation about music... mizuki's voice chimes in from over you. the whole time, she's teasing you warmly. ] Why're you such a kluzt? Here I am trying to make you look like you fell in on purpose. I shouldn't have to bail you out like this.
[ the water feels so nice. why leave it at all?
at the end of your tag, please roll a d20 and tell me what you get. ]
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--but then there's the water. he's not sure how he got here because he was sure he'd have made a splash, at least, but nothing. he doesn't sit up, reveling in the water for a moment and simply letting himself be. the water's always been something that's calmed him anyway, even if it might not seem that way. even last week, floating around and around on a little floaty asleep in the lazy river, had put him at ease.
nothing hurts, which is the other incredible thing, and his eyes are shut for the time being as he absorbs the comfort of his surroundings. there's fingers in his hair and he figures he has to swat someone away, but...
...funny. he knows this isn't normal, but there had been that entire week. he knows what she can be like when she really feels like being affectionate (and really, isn't that what he's been struggling with lately? wanting that, still, and knowing he doesn't stand a chance of getting it back.) even if this doesn't make a lot of sense, it's hard to convince himself that because everything feels calm and bright and easy. it doesn't matter that he should remind himself that it isn't real, remember that he'd just fallen a very far distance, remember he was here with four people (io included), remember that places like this like to play games. hadn't they just warned keith about this? that this place can (and will) use people they know against them. hell, he and mizuki even talked about this upon her return last week. sometimes it makes zero sense for certain people to be where you are.
but so what? it's been...weeks? no, months. no years of struggling, of trying to tread water just to stay ahead and not drown under the waves of circumstances. even if logically it should make no sense for her to be here, for amame to be here, for throné to be with her (and god, isn't that just another thing he wants? his older sister and his older sister proxy meeting and trying to remind them both they're so good and deserve the world), it doesn't matter. he's tired. he's so tired of everything all the damn time.
so why not accept it for what it is? this is relaxing. nothing's wrong here, and even though he might normally be far more aware of how unlikely this situation is, right now everything is so easy as life's worries melt away. for once, he can feel complete peace and stop struggling under the weight of the world. he opens his eyes, and he looks at mizuki, giving her an equally cocky grin. ]
Like they wouldn't believe you didn't just push me in the first place. [ he says, and even though he knows her and knows this could be just a trick, he does lean into her hand just a touch. he hasn't even thought about the fact he's not wearing his helmet anymore given she's able to touch his hair, but...maybe he doesn't need it for this part. the water makes it easier to breathe. she makes it easier to breathe. she usually does, even with the grief she gives him by nature of being a force to be reckoned with. she's always been the one person who's treated him like a normal person, a bright spot in an abysmal existence. ] Anyway you choose to associate with me, so it's your problem now.
[ he says, with my roll of 11. ]
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the water laps at you gently, peaceful, soothing. it's everything perfect about this moment. even mizuki doesn't seem to mind kneeling in it, your head resting on the grass, her sitting right here with you. you lean into her touch, and her palm is warm, even through her glove, her thumb stroking your cheek. ]
Maybe I should have pushed you in.
[ her grin is sharp.
the air is cool, crisp, filling your lungs again. in and out. fresh air. better than the musk and dirt and blood and offal scent that had stained your skull not long ago (how long ago? how long?) you are a human here, you are yourself, you are nothing more than you - no one's to toy with or to tinker with, you're in control, master of your own ship, sailor of your own sea.
it jostles. barely enough for you to notice.
roll me a d20. ]
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with no walls to jam his knife into, in attempt to stop this, he looks around at the others. temenos with his eyes closed, clutching his staff. charles reaching out. and shoma curling into a ball. kosmo looking towards him (father why), and then whatever io is doing.
it all happens to fast to do more than just let this happen. so he closes his eyes and does what he's done so many times before.
falls.
because he always gets back up. one way or another.]
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the only thing you know for certain about this fall... is that it’s long, and that it has begun to hurt. the extensive weight of it can’t be adequately put into words.
biology and time are immutable forces.
and then you open your eyes, and you are surrounded by shallow waters, they're cool waters, refreshing waters. they lap gently at your shoulders, your weary body. these waters soothe your aches and pain. (it... massages... the meat of your brain. it is pliant and soft, it is tender.) there's a warmth around you. and then, you feel it. something careful, a pair of fingertips moving a bit of hair out of your eyes. a familiar laugh. so familiar, you can forget the fall, you can forget the beast... the beast? what beast... no beastly thing...
doubt? for now... is washed away, pulled out by the lapping tide of the water. you are... calm... you are... content. with your 14... something... well. something is strange, but it flutters and flickers, it twitches away, melts. is kneaded away. you... are at peace. for now. not a doubt in your mind anymore. wondering if you're ever doing the right thing, if you're fit to be half the leader you want to be, every single doubt is slowly melting away and your heart feels light.
you can even hear familiar voices chattering quietly in the background. you can hear your mother's voice as she shoots the shit with baiken, old hands in combat and trading superficial stories because they've always played it close to their chests, but you feel like maybe they deserve to be friends - worlds colliding. and over your head, a familiar face peers down at you. ]
Keith? Earth to Keith - [ shiro says with a kind smile. did he always look like this? his hair is a sharp shock of white, and the tired look in his eyes has so much kindness held towards you. when he smiles, it's like the clouds are breaking. he puts a hand against your head, strokes your hair back, but then taps gently with a flesh and blood finger in the center of your forehead. ] I told you to be careful at the edge of the water. You're always so stubborn.
[ the water feels so nice. why leave it at all?
at the end of your tag, please roll a d20 and tell me what you get. ]
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he could have given up back then. almost did.
but he didn't.
and he won't give up here. not after how far they've all come.
patience yields focus.
water. water washing away all his doubts and anxieties. huh. being this calm is new. he can't remember the last time he felt this content. even if something feels... off. wasn't he just full of adrenaline and fear? maybe it was a nightmare. maybe it was the fear that comes with falling into a large body of water.
the voices sound close, but also far away. he can hear his mom. wait how is she here? last he remembers they had parted ways. after saving kolivan, the two of them went to seek out all remaining blades who hadn't been slaughtered. and the other voice... baiken? huh. strange, but also not. they are two sides of the same coin, keith has always thought so, since he first got to know baiken. so similar... ]
Ugh... my head.
[ his eyes blink open. the light hurts, especially when you're staring directly into the sun- wait. ]
Shiro?
[ the touch is so gentle, so soft... just like shiro himself. the one person who's never given up on keith. not home, not here... wait. where is here again? and why does shiro look like that. his brain strains, tries to glom onto that uneasy feeling. but he can't quite reach out and grab it.
he's calm. he's content. everything is fine... right?
the water does feel very nice. (17)]
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(does it?) ]
How hard did you hit your head, exactly?
[ he laughs. and it hits you, shiro is finally here, finally with you as his whole self, your shiro, the one you fought tooth, nail, and claw for. (you saved me, keith.) the sentiment echoes inside of your skull keith as you ponder this shiro's existence, it does... it does seem odd, doesn't it?
especially with the top of shiro's head glitches, the line of his jaw. your brain blips. ganymede?
it blips back, a glitch that's as fast as the blink of an eye but it's there.
(it stays with you, it remains imprinted in your brain, even if it begins to sink underneath the waters, sink to the lapping of the cool waters also surrounding you.) shiro goes back to smiling, his flesh and blood jaw, the familiar wrinkle of the scar over his nose, the warmth of your camaraderie and your lives steeped in struggle and responsibility. held in his eyes just for you. only for you.
roll me a d20 please. ]
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STAGE DIRECTION: STOP THE METASTASIS
cw: threat of suffocation, and vore. i'm sorry.
you were having a pleasant dream, weren't you? everyone you loved was there, everyone you loved, or have loved before, holding you in their hands as precious as a treasure. your friends, granted peace at last. but is it really a peace that you can enjoy at ease? as each of you try and continue your conversations - some of you walking alongside your companions, others questioning with a niggling uncertainty about where you are... all of you will watch it swept away.
because that's over. the bliss
of becoming one with this monstrosityis over.as your eyes open (snapping, fluttering, widening) you realize to some spectrum of horror (a screaming in your brain or out of your mouth, fear slicking cool on your body, anxiety) that you are in a tight, confined space, arms pinioned to one side, though maybe you can wiggle them up a bit. your weapons? still there, but it's so bruisingly tight in here you can hardly move your hands to grasp for them. it’s hard to breathe in here, the air fetid like rotten meat, long since devoured and left to cling to the surfaces and ridges that are attempting to crush you tightly. something has wrapped itself around you, and you can feel it - a slow burn, a steady burn, a pulsing sensation.
there’s no air in here. what little you have? well. it’s not enough to remain in here for very much longer.
(if you have any desired injuries, here is where you can prime them, make flesh more vulnerable, start to lose sight in a chosen eye. you aren't going to be incapacitated, but the areas can be vulnerable to attack - think of it like a video game, where you've had certain areas weakened. digestion is, after all, a slow and grueling process.)
however, all is not lost. you aren't beaten yet. you've been bruised from the crushing somewhat, and the acid sure isn't pleasant against what wounds have not healed, but you can persist. you must persist.
there’s a cutting sound, a noise like effort, pained. cutting, slicing. it’s trying to get through whatever the hell is holding you fast and tight as something outside rumbles, rattles. whoever is outside is gasping as they try and stab with as much care as they can into a seam of muscle, pulling it apart. acid-burned hands are digging inside, trying to widen the gap. you’re all like peas in a fleshy, weird little pod it turns out, your chambers are connected all but by a thin little membrane. a voice, familiar: ]
Take my hand! I won’t have you dying on me now! We're getting back one damn way or another.
[ a distant roar, a distant rumble. ]
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in the end, it's as it should be. reality is cruel and cold - dreams are just that, dreams. go figure it's the sensation that something was nice is what snaps temenos out of it, right? because that life is an impossible one. it all fades away in an instant, and whatever emotional brainspace he could have possibly had to devote to it is immediately taken away by being eaten, which, like, frankly, is preferable!
the crushing pain, he thinks, is maybe navigable. he's not very strong, but he doesn't have to move far - if he can just get his staff. if he can just get his staff, it's just like the heartseed. all he has to do is get to it, cast a divine effulgence, blow the rest of his magic and destroy this thing from the inside. teeth gritted, he tries, tries - and then the muscle is ripped apart by doctor io, baring the light with surgical precision, and the pathway is open.
it's enough. temenos is near the front, he thinks, maybe? it's enough to start to widen, it's enough for movement, and he manages to shove a hand backwards towards whoever's the closest nearby, because he's not leaving without the others, and then starts to go for io like asked. daisy chain of gross... ]
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charles struggles against the confined space, trying to ignore the burn, or the way his vision flickers. lightning begins to spark from his hands—ah, there's io. letting the electricity fade now, before he accidentally electrocutes someone. he lets out a little laugh of relief, despite the grimness of the situation.]
You're a voice for sore ears, Io!
[as the gap widens, he tries harder to go for his dagger in hopes of cutting away any membrane that might impede them, to make it easier for everyone else to grab on.]
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the bad thing is being ripped out of the dream and brought here is bad. it's bad! it's so bad, and even if he's not exactly claustrophobic himself this is definitely making a good case for it. as the smallest and without much strength backing him, shoma finds himself trying to struggle ahead but with little avail. he doesn't have enough to wretch himself away from the confines, burning licking its way all around his body and his own vision in his left eye starts to give out, watery and blurred and burning on its own. he doesn't have a weapon he can reach, nor does he have magic, but he can at least hear the others. he can hear io and charles, he can vaguely see the outline of temenos's hand trying to reach for the others, and it's with that that he begins to pull harder against what has him bound to try and rip away and get closer to the opening.
granted he's still bruised as shit and this is really just a bad situation all around, but we're trying. ]
The hole really was a bad idea! [ UGGGGGGH. ]
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his eyes snap open or well... one does, the left squeezes shut, full of blood and viscera. acid leaking onto the right side of his face and running down to his shoulder. every slash and bruise has reappeared, but did they ever really go away. no.
was that dream ever really real. no. just a far off fantasy, one where his life isn't a mess and the world isn't on fire. and they aren't trapped on some damn ship for eight weeks, worrying about who will die next. and even if it was real... he wouldn't want it. nothing is perfect and he prefers it that way.
there's light and there's io. they have a way out of the belly of this beast. if only he could reach his blade, fuck the plasma sword. he needs what he's familiar with. ]
Ugh-! Stay together... !
[ grabbing onto shoma, as they all daisy chain their way out of this monster. IT SUCKS IN HERE. ]
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EXEUNT: FROM THE BOWELS OF THE EARTH
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— MISSION COMPLETE (bidding farewell to a terminal patient)