the great escape.The Circle has quite a lot on their plate, this time around. Multiple players are fighting for the control of Akvos, and many difficult choices to make. No matter what path you choose, though, one thing is for certain: it is a bitter fight to the death to ensure that Akvos remains standing, one way or another. There are three main areas for the characters to explore in the final log of Akvos: (1) The Kingdom of Akvos, where the King is fighting to seize control; (2) The Rift, where the characters will encounter the Dreamscapes; and (3) The Kingdom of Polankos, which is where King Ka'pouli has reigned since his arrival in the pocket dimension. Decisions made in all there areas will affect the outcome of Akvos, so get to exploring.  THE ASSAULT ON WAHINE.The King’s forces will attack in three different fronts. There will be mermen attacking from above, riding saddled giant seahorses and manta rays, launching spears at the mermaid-warriors below with terrifying precision. They seem to be indiscriminate, in their aim -- the weaponry, charged with the same dark energy that the shadow creatures seem to be made out of, find their target in civilians and warriors alike, raining down a sea of terror upon the central stronghold of the Kingdom of Akvos.
The mermen will also be attacking at the ground-level, attempting to burst their way through the Palace Gates to flood the city with numbers. While the mermaids outnumber the mermen, the mermen are certainly more brutal than the mermaids. Some of them, though, in finding the city, are more concerned with looting it than with senselessly murdering everyone inside. Indeed, this is the most food they have seen in a long time -- and markets are destroyed in grabbing as much food and riches as they can, pressing closer to the Palace, and toward the Queen's stronghold.
And, finally, they will be attacking from below, navigating their way through a network of tunnels meant to transport goods and bursting their way into people’s homes, to sneak their way closer to their ultimate goal, which seems to be the Palace itself.
The Circle's main goal, here, is to protect civilians, usher theminto the underground strongholds beneath the Palace, and fight for their own lives should they attack the mermen first. Man the wall, if you so choose, to attempt to block the air attacks from the mantas. Fight on the ground, to protect Akvos from destruction. Or make your way to the underground strongholds and tunnels, to block access to the Palace. All of these will certainly assist in keeping Akvos safe.
In addition, please remember that shadow creatures (which can only be killed by magical means) are still making their way through the entirety of Akvos. While King Ka'pouli's forces are targeting the Palace of Wahine, the shadow creatures are still present everywhere. Get to killing!  INTO THE RIFT.Some of you, however, have elected to traverse into the mysterious rift that appeared in the midst of the Fields of Akvosia. It looks like a black hole into nothingness, crackling with odd energy . . . and passing through it feels as though you have stepped through an icy waterfall. For a moment, you cannot breathe -- and then, you are treated to beauty.
The gaps between time and space are full of sparkling lights, bolts of rainbow starlight winding around you as you move through the uncertainty that is the void. It seems endless, but something inside you is tugging you forward . . . and, suddenly, there is a soft voice in your ear. A familiar one, to those who reside within the Circle . . . the confused voice of Astoria.
 "Hello? My Travelers? How are you within the Void?" The Void? That word hadn't been used to describe whatever this magical place is before, but . . . well, a witch with the ability to send you all across the universe probably knows what she's talking about, right? "That should not be possible . . . who opened this doorway?"
You can tell her, or you can not. It seems to matter not, because: "Is this not getting through? Why can I not hear you . . . but I can feel you, I can -- please, if you can hear this, be careful. The Void is not something for mortals to interact with, and it can show you terrible things -- terrible things, so please--"
And, right before you have the opportunity to respond to our benevolent witch (or captor, depending on your point of view), you see a bizarre glass-like surface in front of you. It looks like a mirror, and you see a perfect reflection of yourself. It is absolutely captivating, and it beckons you . . . almost urging you to touch it. And Astoria's whisper grows a bit louder, more urgent:
"My dear Traveler, be careful what you encounter here -- can you hear me? Can you see me? I am trying to get you out of there, to bring you back home--Akvos is--"
But it is too late.
Your fingers graze the edge of the mirror, and you are pulled -- a sensation that is familiar to you, the same pull in your stomach that you feel whenever Astoria thrusts you across the universe, into new realities. And, when you blink your eyes again, and look around . . . you are no longer in Akvos, or the Void. You are somewhere entirely new.
Welcome to the Dreamscape.  THE KINGDOM OF POLANKOS.Once the Circle emerges from the Rift and the Dreamscape, they will stumble into another world . . . but this one's wateris shallow, in comparison to the massive depths of the crystal-clear kingdom of Akvos. You can quite clearly see the surface, here, and there are shallows that allow you to come up onto islands, tropical in nature with fruit, odd creatures that appear to be multiple-headed monkeys and parrots, and sandy shores. It's a bit jarring to see, after spending so long underwater. Indeed, you emerge to trudge onto land, and look around, somewhat mystified that the deep-dwelling mermen would be from a place like this.
However, exploring the islands (which is not very difficult to do, as they are all small and will not take very much time) will yield the discovery that on the islands themselves are tunnels -- underwater caverns that thread through the islands to much deeper water. It's almost as if the islands themselves are barriers to the underwater caverns below -- shallow water, a layer of land, and then a (mer)man-made bubble of water below the barrier of land. And that whoever lived on these islands tunneled through them to find deeper water. Princess Kea, (who will attend on these journeys, while remaining in the water), will tell the Circle members that King Ka'pouli told her that when the mermen were cast out, they landed on solid land, and had to slowly dig deeper to their salvation.
Navigating through these tunnels will be somewhat perilous -- and the Circle members will need to carry Princess Kea to the nearest tunnel to get her into some water, because while she can breathe on the surface for a certain period of time, she cannot navigate the land as quickly as you people with legs. Additionally, underwater caving isn't exactly a blast, but the deeper you go, the more clues of civilization you can find. And, eventually, once you go deep enough, you emerge into a massive underwater cavern to find the small Kingdom of Polankos.
In comparison to the Kingdom of Akvos, Polankos is witheringly depressing. It is not brightly colored, nor open -- indeed, it is tiny, with mermen huddled together waiting patiently for the forces that went through the rift to return. There is not a lot to find here, save for some interesting weapons that possess a dark energy, versus a lightning energy -- and those weapons will be given to the Circle members who ask for them, because those who wield them are in no condition to fight. There is little food, little room to sleep, and these are a people clearly in need of assistance.
In order to get them out of Polankos, you will need to usher them through the tunnels back up to the Rift above -- it seems that King Ka'pouli opened the Rift on the surface, rather than risk the city below in case it did not work. The mermen there (who seem to be elderly and weak) will be eager for the assistance to get out Polankos, and at the promise of being brought into Akvos, they will happily go. There will be no resistance from them.
You may also see Princess Kea, who has filtered in and out of the Rift to assist on the journey -- teary-eyed, heartbroken at the sight of these individuals who require rescue, organizing the mermen with the promise of keeping them safe in Akvos.
"Hurry," she tells you, as she rouses another merman into getting to the nearest tunnel. "We do not have a lot of time to pull this off, and we must work quickly." Additionally, please feel free to write up and work with your own prompts! These areas of the world are presented as jumping off points for your characters, not limitations. The idea of this world- as with all the others- is to explore -- you may use as much leeway as you want in order to come up with what your character will do, especially in the Dreamscapes. If you have any other questions, please feel free to ask them back on the various threads back in the OOC post from before! |
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
acatamods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
acatalepsy_logs2019-01-04 10:22 am
For Hank
It's a while before he can muster up the strength to open his eyes, and when he does there's a brief flash of concern that he's somehow managed to completely knock out his optics. Everything is white, empty, but as he groans and tries to stand he's able to make out his hands through the howling torrent of snow that encompasses him.
Confusion sparks through every circuit, everything about this isn't right, but it isn't until he looks around that he's struck, suddenly, by a desire so powerful that it overrides any and all of his concerns.
He takes a step forward, suddenly surefooted.
And another.
~L̢͏̛o͏͏n̷̶̵ģ S͘͡l̷͟o͏w͞ ̶W̴h̶i͏s̢p͞e̢͘͠ŕ́͘
The biting cold doesn't even register, he's numb, a thing driven by one purpose and only one purpose alone: find.
With each step he sheds part of the carefully crafted identity he's made for himself, bits and pieces falling away until there's only the machine left, obsessive and uncaring. Hands clench, feeling the familiar weight of his rifle against bare palms, and that's it, that's the rawest and most true he's ever been.
Forms waver before him as he slowly, unendingly trudges forward, but their voices are filtered and far away. Easily silenced with a sharp crack of his gun as spent casings fall and litter the ground behind him, a sharp gold in contrast to a growing red spray. Part of him, some small, insignificant thing, doesn't understand; doesn't understand why.
The rifle's clip is empty. He tosses it aside. Pulls a standard issue knife from its holster.
Still the phantoms come and come, and still he stays his course. The face of a man, pale blue skin a dull grey against the snow. A woman, splayed and broken, her robes stained scarlet. More and more appear, and more and more fall. The crumpled form of another of his kind, tangled in an oil-stained yellow cloak. A ghost, a face from far beyond wearing leathers and decorated with spades (you won the bet) torn and quiet once again. Another, civilian, familiar scruff and grey hair.
Still he continues, slow, steady, eyes set on a twisting mass of steel and iron on the horizon.]
no subject
Hank looks around, shoulders hunching, tucking his hands between his arms and his chest. He sees a whole lot of nothing and, after a second, starts walking into it. It's the last thing he'd be supposed to do, if this was real, wander off before someone could come get him. But all rules are off in dreamland. So.
Maybe he should feel worse about the fact that the ugly shock of finding all those bodies laying there makes him feel better.
Well, not better, exactly, but - steadier. He doesn't know what the hell to do with blizzards and fake computer voices out of nowhere talking about shit he doesn't recognize and freaky patches of literal actual nothing humming there in the middle of the snow, but he knows what to do with a body.
Shell casings. Ammo clip. Hank makes sure there aren't any more little details sitting in the snow and then moves closer, walking between the bodies - and stopping at one.]
Well.
[Well. What the fuck does he say to this? He doesn't need to say anything, there's no one here to hear it, but-]
Shit.
[He squats close to- to the body, knowing he shouldn't, doing it anyway. He swallows, watching his hand reaching out. He grasps his- the shoulder. He pushes just enough to see the face. He's breathing faster now, grabbing the chin - it feels so real. That's the thing about this whole place. The thing that gets him. That's really his beard under his fingers, really his chin there right in his hand. His face turns under his grip and it's whole, there's no marks on his temples or anywhere on his head at all, and that's the weirdest part. That's the little evidence that tells him, no, it can't be what happened to him out in the real world, what must of happened before he got to this... this whole fucked up magic place, it can't be his brain telling him what he must just not consciously remember about Detroit, cause his head's in one piece. All the shots are to the body, exit wounds on the back, and not in the places they'd be if he'd been crouching, trying to hide or get away. Whoever did it - or didn't do it, or, or whatever - they must of taken him by surprise.
There are footsteps ahead of him, Hank notices. In the snow. Almost covered over by the blizzard, but coming close to this last body brought him close enough to see that they're there. They're not his. He stares at them for a minute.]
Come on. [Who is he talking to? He doesn't know. There's no one here to hear. The universe, maybe? Calling all deities, someone, anyone?] Don't fuck with me like this. If you're gonna do it get it fucking over with!
[He waits. He takes a breath that burns cold in his throat, shivers, tucks his hands under his arms again, and stares at those footprints.
After another minute he follows them, and as he starts off he mutters to himself.]
What the hell. Everyone's gotta go some time. Snowstorms are boring as hell, anyway.
no subject
[Each step that he takes brings him closer, and there's the thrum of something unknowable and unspeakable that rushes through his neural pathways. It's a calling, the siren pull of needing to know, but not to know what. Something primal. Something sapient.
The specters come less frequently now(a woman with cornsilk hair, her skin darkened with ink), but each falls as the one before it. He will not be deterred. Cannot be. There's no stopping, to fail would rend him open and dissolve away the shell of his mechanical form. To fail would remove his entire purpose and existence.
Closer now, the howling winds attempt to obscure his vision but he doesn't even notice the stinging frost. Not now. Not here. The storm is simply what is, nothing more and nothing less. A backdrop to his journey that's easily forgotten.
A bark of noise, however, breaks the fervor that's ensorcelled him. Voice. Alive. Some ghost of the past that he knows must be eliminated.
why
The thought is brushed away without a care, replaced by the urge, the need, to locate whatever whomever stands in his way. He stops, optics scanning the blank horizon for any sort of movement, a predator seeking its prey.]
͘-we ąr҉e ͠at͠ t͏hȩ ̕cu͞sp̡ ̧of́ ͘a̶ m̡a͏jor ͏brea̧kt͞hr̶oug̵h ̧in͜ m̡ak̸in̢g ͞th̷ís͢ ͜a ҉rea͏litỳ-
no subject
No.
[It's all he has time for before the freezing wind tries to burn out his eyeballs and he ducks his head again, squinting downward as he starts walking again. But he keeps bitching. He doesn't need to look at what he's talking about to bitch.]
No! What the fuck is it with humans and fucked up techno bullshit. No! Oughta take all the genius engineer inventors who do this shit and lock em the [He shivers.] -the fuck up.
[He risks a squinting look around. There's one guy in a fucked up robot body that he knows about, and he's already seen Simon's whole... his memories, and all that shit. This might be more of that, but- those bodies. It's not the same. This whole thing feels different, off, and the fucking big foreboding voice in the sky isn't making that any less creepier.
He keeps walking anyway. Keep going toward the big scary dream murderer, it's fine. Hank's supposed to follow dead bodies anyway, right? He's homicide, that's like. His whole thing. He tries to hunch his shoulders up a little more, muttering to himself.]
If getting myself dream murdered makes this fucking snow go away... fuck.
[Fuck, it's cold. It's that goddamn wind. If the wind would just let up, maybe he'd be able to actually see something.]
no subject
The drifting snow impedes his vision, but that doesn't do anything to turn his path. Closer, he has to be getting closer. Fingers close around the hilt of his knife; there's a little resistance as he tugs it free, the blade already tacky from fluids slowly coagulating and freezing in the cold.
-e̸xpe͘ri̧meņt̛s͝ ͡i̷n E͘xos҉cįe҉n͠cè m͠a̶n̸aģe͠d-̴
He doesn't need to hide his approach, there's no need for subtlety, he knows how this will all end.
Closer still, he can make out a shape amongst the squall and he surges forward, boots crunching in the snow and knife drawn back, swooping in a killing arch, ready to dispatch this newest obstacle.
wait
There's no room for thought, he chases it away.]
no subject
[Hank’s already hunched over against the wind, and he’s about as on alert as it’s possible to be while dealing with the slow, boring, creepy process of maybe freezing to death. That, knowing someone’s out there, and hearing the too fast footsteps in the snow, it all gives him just enough time to react without getting sliced open. Hank drops, rolls, and tries to get a wjde-eyed look at whoever - whatever? - it is that’s been doing all this.]
Cayde?
[He probably doesn’t have time to stare; he puts up his hands, palms out, arms wide. Is he wearing a stab vest in this hallucination? He doesn’t know, tries to think real hard about wearing one, and gets himself ready to dodge whatever he needs to.]
Cayde, what the fuck? It’s me! Hank! What the fuck are you doing?
no subject
Yelling. His name.
It's always the same, it will be the same with the next encounter, again and again until he finally reaches the crypt. Until then, he has to fight. Has to.
Another name. It should stir something. But a machine has no need of association and a machine cannot show weakness.
There's no recognition in his expression as he takes another swipe, coming in low and quick to try to end things so he can return to his pilgrimage.]
no subject
All that's just an impression, a spark in Hank's brain. He doesn't exactly have time to sit down and have a good long think about it. All he has time to do is try to slam the back of his forearm against Cayde's, wanting to give himself a second to step in, to turn to his side, to stay low and try to bend one arm around Cayde's armpit and the other around his elbow. If he can slip a leg behind one of Cayde's and unbalance him that'll be cool too but all he wants is enough leverage to keep Cayde still for a second, keep his arm stuck and still, keep him from trying to rip Hank's guts open for at least a few seconds, that would give Hank at least a chance to get through to him.]
Cayde! This isn't you! Whatever's going on you've got to snap out of it!
[So he doesn't have the time to dig deep for anything real original. Sue him. What he's counting on to really make it through is the urgency in his voice, the familiarity of it, and honestly? Hank's not really thinking about his power. His power's just natural, it's instinct, and every time he's had to fight those fucking shadow things with just that stupid power to help him's only encouraged it, only got him leaning into the fear every time he might not come out of something like this alive, leaning into the desperation without even thinking about it - into the worry too, this time, not just for himself but for his friend, it's got him leaning in to what he feels when he thinks of the guy, of warmth and ease, of a world that's steady, that actually might be honest to god happy, sometimes. That's who Cayde is, to Hank. That's who he wants to see again and he pushes all that into Cayde just by wanting it, just by being worried and keyed up and wanting the guy who might be his best friend in this crazy, terrible place to just talk to him, even if he's still trying to stab the shit out of Hank while he's doing it. Hank pushes all that through every part of Cayde he might of gotten lucky enough to touch, through every split second he's lucky enough to get a hold of it. Through his forearm, his elbows, his side, anywhere. He wants it. He wants Cayde to wake up.]
how did this not post last night ack!
A leg around his, off balance,, and though it forces him to reorient and take a moment to find his footing again he doesn’t worry. Doesn’t care. There’s nothing within him beyond the sure need, the driving obsession, and even now when he hears his name barked out over the howling winds there’s nothing. It sparks nothing in him.
Twisting in Hank’s grip, seemingly numb to the sharp crack of pain up his arm as it’s wrenched at such an unnatural angle, he lashes out with his free hand; fingers grope towards unprotected eyes in an attempt to rend, to free himself. His hand doesn’t make it, however, because as he moves there’s suddenly something that pierces through the emotionless veil and it’s overwhelming, all-consuming. Too much, it’s too much and all his sensors are alight with sensation that he can’t logically parse through, can’t banish away.
His optics flicker, dimming as hundreds of recursion errors loop through his mind and it staggers his assault for a moment. But he can’t fail, mustn’t fail, has to persevere and trudge on and find- for a brief moment there’s another flicker of something deep within him, wait, no, but it’s washed aside in a new wave of unyielding focus. This is an assault, an attack, different from the previous specters, and he needs to overcome.
The knife drops to the ground and sinks into the snow, but it’s only a temporary setback as he lets himself go limp to try and wrench himself out of the grip so that he can strike again.]
It’s all good
no subject
It isn’t right, there’s something wrong, this isn’t how things are supposed to be. It’s enough time for a single thought, why the resistance, to arc through his processors before he hits another recursion hard. It doesn’t make sense, it shouldn’t be like this, he has to go and to do that he has to kill.
All the while, the storm rages around the both of them but for a moment reality seems to shift, seems to bend and twist and things aren’t right. He has to keep going, that’s the only way to stop this, whatever this is, but he’s staggered now when he throws himself at Hank, his movement significantly less controlled than before.]
-m͏ult̵ip̵l̵e ̀i͜t͘e͏r͢ati͡o͝n͢s-͡
no subject
[Hank, already staggered by the punch, goes down, reaching for Cayde's wrists and trying to curl one leg up as he falls, wanting to block all his squishy parts in case Cayde has another knife, or can turn into a knife, or - fuck, whatever crazy shit's in the cards here.
He has a second - no, that'd take too long right now, an instant - of doubt when he says the name, thinking multiple iterations, Cayde's total silence jittering through Hank, and for an instant he thinks maybe, what if-
What if what? If it's not Cayde Hank's got no chance. As if he's gonna magically figure out how to talk some random murderbot down. He's got to keep assuming this is Cayde, so he does.]
Listen. Cayde, listen to me. If you kill me you're going to regret it for the rest of your life. And I don't want that for you! So can we talk?
[The words are strained and quick and as calm and confident as all Hank's time professionally trying to talk-or-fight people out of stupid shit can make them. He thinks of Cayde when he says it, shoves all his warmth and jittering fear for him into the words. But Cayde's eerie silence here's such a contrast from the guy he knows that Hank's shaken, too, and the siren's shaking him, that wail that's louder now from the ambulance that's coming closer on a road that wasn't here a minute ago, that's got a shiver of dread running through him.
Hank tries to either keep a grip on Cayde or get one, swallows, and his voice comes out more desperate than before.]
Just talk to me, Cayde! Please!
no subject
[He shouldn't feel anything when his fist meets flesh, but there's another twinge of something deep within his core processes that triggers another error that leaves Cayde reeling for more than a moment. This is the goal, to put down any obstacles, but there's something that screams wrong that manages to unbury itself just enough to stay his hand for the time. Fingers are around his wrist, and the overwhelming sensations flood through his processors in waves now.]
re̢boo͞t ͏the͟ mi̛nd ơnce̕
[Why are there sirens? That- that shouldn't be anything, there's too much data now, too many variables and the world goes hazy again, the storm pausing for a moment, snow hanging in the air before the squall starts back up with renewed fury.
For a moment his eyes blaze a bight brighter, a bit clearer, and there's a very weak hint of amber along his throat though no words come.
The drive doesn't abate though, and even through the growing uncertainty he's forced to action. Though admittedly less coordinated than before, he yanks the arm that Hank has a grip on, trying to unsettle and upend him so he can-
what
so he can finish the job, continue on, go home.]
įt ̢haş beęn͝ ̷t͡r҉a͟ns̴f͞eŕŕed
no subject
[That's so fucked, a human mind in a machine's body, that whole idea is so, so fucked but none of Hank's horror or righteous rage makes it into his voice because, in some of the ways that matter, Hank is still a goddamn professional, and the desperation that was in there's been wrapped right up again. Hank sounds calm and sympathetic, and he is at least one of those things, in a horrified kind of way that kicked into gear once hearing that reboot shit reminded him. It was hard not to hear, hard not to notice, with everything around him freezing like someone hit pause and then that really faint light in Cayde's throat. It's connected, something about this is getting through, and he has to keep trying.
That siren keeps coming, like a promise. Hank tries to focus on Cayde instead of listening to it.
Cayde's trying to pull away from him and Hank's trying not to let him, not so much out of fear now - although adrenaline's still spiking through him, and he knows he's got a hell of a way to go before he's in the clear - but out of a drive to grab whatever connection he's managing to make with the guy and hold on tight, grab whatever he can lay his hands on. Cayde's shoulders, maybe, if not his wrists, unless he starts to attack Hank again. He thinks about Cayde, about who Cayde is, and about the driving need to get through to that.]
I think you're still in there. I think you wanna talk this out, you want to talk to me. You just got to wake up.
[A drop of something wet that has nothing to do with Cayde drips down the side of Hank's face, dripping into his short hair and starting to congeal there. Hank swallows, that desperation shaking him again and, for a moment, slipping out.]
Please. Cayde- Cayde, you gotta wake up so we can get out of here.
no subject
[It's weak, almost lost to the wail of the siren, but it's the first thing that's he's managed to force past the hard block that's been encircling his every thought.]
I gotta go-
[Something sparks behind his eyes, a fierce opposition that renders him dumb for a moment as it tries to wrestle back control. The call is still there, the absolute overwhelming need, but there are cracks in everything now and an instant of reason manages to filter through despite everything.]
back.
[Back to the Crypt, back to the beginning, back to heeding a primal call of wires and machines. Of ice and snow. To before anything and anyone. Fingers wind in Hank's jacket, but that's the most that he can manage. This should be easy, it shouldn't take much to snap a neck, to take a life, but now that the veil has been pierced there's something in him that's fighting against the inevitable. He's had this dream before, after all.
But never have things been this different, never has there been doubt, emotion, and that itself has thrown everything to the wilds.
For a fraction of an instant there's a flash of recognition in his eyes, a moment of clarity.]
You're not supposed to be here.
no subject
He thinks over what Cayde said as quick as he can. He still doesn’t know much so he’s got to he careful to he vague, and he’s got to make sure he doesn’t seem like a threat so his voice comes out conciliatory, even friendly.]
Well, I’m working on fixing that. [If he’s able to get out of this creepy hellhole, neither of them will have to worry about where he’s supposed to be.] If you need to get going go right ahead, last thing I wanna do’s get in your way.
[It’s bizarre, hearing that tone come out of his mouth while his fingers are still so tight on Cayde, tight with a grip that gets harder to loosen as he feels a couple more tiny drops of blood come from nowhere, feels them sliding down his face and into his hair. But he’s going to fucking control himself. Cayde talking to him at all was a breakthrough, Hank can lose his shit later when it’s not going to fucking kill him.]
no subject
Reality seems to shiver with a ripple and a silent sigh, and the world tessellates down across his skin to reveal familiar, faded leathers in place of the non-descript uniform of before. A return to normalcy, or at least as normal as things can get.]
's a dream. Always the same. 'cept everyone's gotta die.
[He's looking at Hank now, finally seeing what's before him and it's a shocking sight. It's Hank, alive, actually alive, but rivulets of red streak across his face and that's jarring enough to give him something to focus on.]
You're bleedin'.
[An obvious observation, but he clings to it like it's the only thing in the world.]
no subject
[He sounds distracted when he says it, focused on Cayde, and one hand slides itself up to brush over the side of Cayde's face. The feeling of metal under his palm, of the edges of the struts in his cheeks that he'd shown Hank oh, maybe a couple hundred years ago, for a second it makes Hank wonder with a vague and horrible curiosity what Cayde's face was like, his real face. His human face. But this is the face Hank knows and this is the one he was looking for, what Cayde looks like when he knows him, and the relief of that's stronger than any curiosity, it's like some kind of electrical shock shooting its energy through every part of him.]
God, it's good to hear your voice. See, I told you you could wake up. Good thing you did, too, I'd hate for you to dream-kill me twice.
[He tries to twist his lips up a little, the almost-smile born more out of that relief than because anything Hank just said was actually funny. Creeping up on that relief, though, is warmth, concern, the way Cayde'd curled over just now still floating through Hank's brain, so his other hand moves down to rest on Cayde's ribs, feeling the leather, just sits itself there.]
You doin okay in there?
no subject
'm not awake. Not here.
[With that he offers a quiet, rueful laugh as he lets his eyes slip shut.]
Does 'kinda embarrassed' count, though? Superspecial superhero bullshit, all that.
[There's still the hum of the Crypt in the back of his mind, but words are coming easier now. Enough so that's it may not be the best time, but he can at least try to crack a joke.]
More importantly, though, I'd hate to see the other guy if you're lookin' like that.
no subject
For a split second he looks surprised and then his expression pulls tight with something- something that locks down when Hank closes his eyes, something that churns underneath the rest of his emotions like a dark and heavy cloud, like thunder rolling in the distance.
Cars roll, distant, down the road he can't see. The sound of traffic joins the sirens. Someone honks their horn somewhere, far away. Hank pushes his eyes open to frown at Cayde, mouth tight with enough anger to hold that cloud of something else in check.]
You're awake.
[His voice is tense and hard - and steady. So. His breathing might not be there yet, but at least there's that.]
This isn't a dream, cause we're here, we're both here and you're talkin to me. That's as real as it gets around here. And now that you are, I need you to use that superhero bullshit to get me out.
[Hank's hand slides from Cayde's head to the back of his neck. He makes an effort to mix in some of that conciliatory voice from before, his tone going a shade or two lighter.]
Get us out. What do you think? You awake enough to help me do that?
no subject
It sparks something in him, an anger mixed with feelings so complicated that he can’t even begin to sort them out, and he has to take a moment to compose himself before he’s able to even begin to try to respond. Why anger, though? Beyond the frustration of Hank not getting it, there’s no reason-
There’s a hand sliding to the back of his neck and were he able to he’d be gritting his teeth. There’s a flare of bright yellow lights, but no words accompany it because how in the hell is he supposed to do that?
Something snaps.
The world about them dissolves away, going dark and far too quiet as he tries to keep ahold of that single thought. He can’t decide if it’s for an instant or for a lifetime, but there’s the scent of ozone and char that suddenly overwhelms his senses, heavy boots on ground, but he yanks the both of them away from that, sends them spiraling into the deep. Rotting vegetation now, the smell of green and the sharp crack of a rifle. No, not that, that’s not right either.
The next thing he knows it’s cool air and a hint of incense, there’s shallow water beneath them, and the background hum of dozens of people going about their night. That. He clings tight to that reality, lets it bleed in around them until the world bows and flexes and finally comes into being.
The first thing he’s aware of is that there’s water seeping into his pants and there’s an uncomfortable bite of metal into his shin. While he has his suspicions, it takes finally opening his eyes and looking around to confirm that yes, he’s dropped the both of them right into one of the decorative pools right above the war room and that fact in itself draws a humorless bark of laughter from him.
Of course, nowhere cool, just right back to work. There’s a level of irony there that touches on so many levels, but he leaves it alone for the time. Instead he pulls back and gets himself standing, out of the damp, then looks over and reaches out a hand to Hank to help him up.
What do you even say to a guy at a time like this? Definitely no more jokes, that’s at least something he’s entirely certain of. With a breathless sigh he scrubs at his brow with his free hand, trying to think.]
No one should be able to get back here right now, anyways.
[It's mumbled half to himself, half to the man before him.]
no subject
Then he takes Cayde’s hand, pulls himself up and, not letting himself think anything at all about what he sees there, looks in the little pool. It soaked his ass a little but it didn’t wash off his face. He moves a hand toward the water, about to wash it off, then stops. He closes his eyes, breathing hard.
When he opens them, the stains are fading away. They’re not gone but the color’s different, dry and flaking. Fuck it. That’s fine.
He turns back to Cayde, a corner of his lips twitching up in the best sort-of smile he can manage.]
Good. I’m sick of hallucinating people, anyway. Wanna show me around? Maybe we’ll find, I don’t know, some kind of door with a big old exit sign.
no subject
Gotta hope it’s that easy. At least it’s a little warmer?
[Alright, maybe he’ll risk another joke, hopefully this one’s a bit safer.]
Quicker the better, huh?
[With one last look over to the mountainscape behind them, a slight pang of loss that he’s not entirely comfortable admitting to himself, he starts off in the opposite direction, towards giant shuttered door locked tight. There’s a datapad in his hand, he doesn’t even question it, and he types in his override code; there’s a shudder of metal upon metal, and the thing raises.
No portal.]
Damn.
[But access to the Tower’s main courtyard. There are no people, but slight shifts in the light reveal semi-corporeal specters going about their night. There’s a trio of ghostly Guardians playing with a ball over to their right, two individuals dancing at each other down the stairs, and even a robed and helmeted man rapidly doing squats right in front of the poor bounty holding bot, but thankfully nothing seems to notice the presence of two new individuals.]
Okay, so if I were a mysterious portal to Traveler knows where-
[He flicks his eyes up to the giant form in the sky off to the distance. It’s strange seeing the thing dormant again.]
-I’m obviously not, but really, but…I’d think I’d put myself in the most pretentious place possible. Just to be flashy. You think?
no subject
[Hank sounds distracted - but what he's distracted by is Cayde himself. He bites at the inside of his cheek, watching him. As the- the other place, the blizzard, gets further and further away the easier is to remember how out of it Cayde'd been, how worried Hank'd been about him, easier to remember Cayde curling up and the way he sounded when he'd said, 'cept everyone's got to die and easier to think, now that he's got time, about how worrying that is, too, on more than one level.
But asking anything about it, asking 'Are you okay,' maybe, or 'So, do you normally have the urge to murder everyone you see,' or 'What the fuck happened to you, jesus' - not that he'd actually ask that last one, but a part of him wants to, even when he knows for a certified fact he doesn't really want to hear the detailed answer - well, asking after Cayde in any way just feels weird now, hypocritical, and Hank's spent the little walk here mostly just starting to feel like an asshole.]
So, uh-
[Hank leans in, wanting to bump Cayde's shoulder with a repentant, shameful little feeling, with hope, with concern carefully nudging its way through all the other emotions as Hank takes another look at Cayde's face.]
Is this where you live? It's got some, uh- [He glances at the probably-not-an-actual-ghost over there doing those squats.] -interesting characters in it, huh.
no subject
“The great defenders of the last bastion of humanity. The wall against which the Darkness breaks.”
[He’s absolutely making air quotes,, and it’s hard to keep the laughter out of the statement. Miraculously, he manages to until the very end, but there’s another soft flickering of a grin as he lets himself list to the side so he can nudge Hank.]
Okay, I can’t even continue that. Way too formal.
[There’s something a little wistful in his tone though, and when he realizes it he immediately coughs to cover it. Then notices, out of the corner of his eye, a ghostly ball sailing over the safety railing at the edge of the plaza and the Titan who’s now racing towards it with no apparently no intention of stopping.]
Ittttttt-
[He throws an arm around Hank’s shoulders under the premise of leading him down the stairs to the main courtyard, making damn sure they’re facing away before the inevitable ‘guardian down’ filters through the air.]
Used to be, yeah. Remember those space rhinos I talked about?
[A cursory glance verifies that no, there’s no magic door down near the vaults- that would be too easy.]
They’re not too big on playing nice and they have big guns. Like, really big guns. But!
[He claps Hank’s shoulder, finally withdrawing his arm when they’re down the stairs.]
That doesn’t help find the door outta here. Which we definitely will, don’t get me wrong. I gotta say though…
[It’s been a hell of a time.]
I mean, all of this is only as real as we make it, right? ‘cause if that’s the case, I know a place where you can get a double that doesn’t taste like licking a tuna.
'guardian down' XD
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
holy tl;dr batman
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)