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crescentview2023-02-07 08:20 pm
hearthwarming) wrote in crescentview2023-02-07 08:20 pm
🏝️ dulces sueños group excursion! 🏝️
🏝️ who: intrepid adventurers (vacationers?) and more!
🏝️ what: ori organized (origanized?) a group trip to the resort! mass memshare ensues.
🏝️ when: fall 9-10
🏝️ where: dulces sueños resort
🏝️ warnings: threads will be marked as needed for memshares.
( This is the ill-fated massextinction memshare event. Please refer to the event for details on the resort and the plotting post for any specific details for characters' memshares! There are toplevels for each area of the resort (and for the memshare). Enjoy! )
🏝️ what: ori organized (origanized?) a group trip to the resort! mass memshare ensues.
🏝️ when: fall 9-10
🏝️ where: dulces sueños resort
🏝️ warnings: threads will be marked as needed for memshares.
[ Hopefully everyone had fun on the Arco Lunar! The morning after the boat departs from the docks, a letter arrives to your mailbox: ]
Hello, intrepid adventurer!
I am excited to have you along for a group excursion to the mysterious new island! In two days' time, let us gather in the town square and set off from there! Please be prepared to stay the night. It will be so fulfilling and memorable for everyone to spend a night on an adventure together!
If you have any questions or concerns, please come find me at my flower shop in town or at the forest farm where I live!
Sincerely,
Oriphi
[ If she accidentally delivered it to a few wrong mailboxes, then... Oops!
On the promised day, once everyone (and likely a few surprise tag-alongs) has gathered or been gathered, Ori distributes little paper bags of snacks to everyone. Inside are cookies, oat snacks, and a freshly-picked apple from her and M-21's orchard. Do with them as you please... Just don't let her catch you throwing it into the sea or something. 🥺 ]
Alright. I think we should head out, then! Thanks for coming along, everyone! I hope it'll be a great time. Oh, and please don't forget to drink plenty of water and use this incredible ointment I discovered on this island! It's called "sunscreen!" Tieflings don't really get sunburnt, but you should use it!
[ And with that our intrepid adventurers set off to the mysterious, dangerous, unknowable... resort island! ]
( This is the ill-fated mass
no subject
Your voice cracks as you wail, but there is something that has shifted. Their fear, your despair, it burns in you and then it's spilling over in a boiling a mess, and the chains that have kept you in place crumble into dust. You cannot see them, but you can feel them. Something watching you, listening to you, interested in watching what you will do and answering to the agony you feel.
You push yourself to you feet, your body hardly able to support yourself, but you are - different. The same but not the same, a startling clarity that you are more then what you had once been. Your breaths are shallow and rapid, and you do not notice how the world around you is being poisoned by the dreams you had once had of being safe, and happy, and living the sort of ideal life that only a child could imagine, but all it takes is one more breath, one more command--
Your prison cracks, and you can see the sky for the first time in more then you can comprehend, and you can drag yourself into the light. The fear of the villagers is palpable - more then just the men that had found you, there are so many people who have gone through their lives with no thought to you locked away underneath them, and you are losing sight of who you could have once been. There's another moment, the eyes that no one can feel but yourself waiting...
You do not know what you say, but it's only a whisper that destroys that village. You stand there all alone as the snow falls, looking blankly at the wrecked of the buildings and the unrecognizable remains of the villagers. The land is truly tainted now, magic settling over everything like a fog only you and the spirits can see. You sway in one place, surrounded by despair and destruction and a freedom you have been waiting for.
You fall to your knees, and then your side, and then the world goes dark again.]
no subject
He hates this. He HATES this feeling, one that claws and thrashes in his now-empty chest like a wild animal, gripping the throat and tearing out as nothing but noise. What does he do? What CAN he do?
To realize the shackles have completely vanished takes a long, long moment. To recognize the presence that now lurks... that takes another. He can feel himself operating on the bare minimum, on desperation and spite and the throes of agony, a forcing of the body to freedom with words he can feel on his lips but can't understand.
The sky hurts the eyes. But when it all comes into focus and he sees more - sees people, TONS of people, going about their lives only to recoil in fear at where he pulls himself free...
Did they not know where he was? Why?? Why had no one come for him, or even bothered to look? Why were they scared of him?
Why were they--
...
How quickly a single whisper turns into destruction. This is far from the first time Otegine has seen the wreckage of war, the piling of corpses. But for everything, absolutely everything, to be flattened because of a simple opening of his mouth...
He tastes bile in his throat, distress vibrant in the back of his mind. There's no satisfaction, no relief... only numbness and the bitter, bitter cold. Why? Why?? Did they deserve this any more than he did??
He can't dwell for long. Though he tries to fight it, he can feel the creeping in his vision. He doesn't want to see this anymore. He can't. So he lets it take him freely.]
memory Complete ✨
For the first time in your life, in the time that was taken from you, you are free.
Years pass. You fall into oblivion time and time again, but never in the same way you had before. Sometimes it's a welcome release from the pain that overtakes your body, but it's never from that wasting feeling. Never again do you get locked away.
The years turn to centuries. You get more and more powerful and you meet nothingness time and time again, but every time you wake up. You get a mark on your tongue that you question, that you try to tear off of yourself, that brands you as someone chosen to be a protector. One of your comrades is a man who has already killed you countless times, but you can't find it in yourself to take it personally. More centuries passed, but you hardly notice, already used to losing time. To forgetting. Things seem like a distant memory, locked away tight.
One day, you stand in a vibrant forest. The air is hazy and everything looks like it came from a dream, picturesque, fantastical colors all around you. Rainbows are cast on the ground from crystals in the air, and snow falls gently from the sky. You know, deep in the forest, there are countless corpses of people who wanted to escape into dreams, life far too painful to keep living.
You're not alone, this time. The person across from you is - young, human. Not from the world you call home. They look around the forest in amazement, unable to hold back their nervous question:
I wonder what turned the trees here poisonous...?
You've heard the stories, and you have an answer.]
Rumor has it that a powerful wizard laid waste to the whole area a long, long time ago, and that's why this place is the way it is now. Supposedly, he was so powerful that he turned everything here into a pulpy-squishy mess.
[The Sage goes pale, but you continue on, cheerful at the sight of their discomfort and they way they mumble about how that sounds awful.]
I wish I could have seen it. How do you think it feels? ...Do you you mind if you try it out on you?
[You laugh at Akira, at how they go even paler even as you say you'll hold back. You feel light, unbothered, looking around at the trees. For a moment, you feel... something that you cannot place. Maybe it's more that it's something you don't want to place.]
This was still a small, fledgling forest of poison when I first saw it...
I feel a little nostalgic when I remember how it used to be.
[Which doesn't say much, when you do not know much about yourself.]
1/2
Centuries pass, swaths of time that group together and muddle. This he knows well, takes in stride even as it stacks and stacks. Even history couldn't help but muddle the details as time moved forward. Not even the oldest spirits in the citadel could escape their own erosion someday, either by the wear of time or by the constant twist of narrative. To be missing time...
He knows, very deeply, how little can be done when the time has fallen from the mind.
To keep dying, over and over, to return to the grip of that void only to never quite rest in it fully, to ricochet back as though it were nothing more than a dream... it's nauseating, but only at first. Just like the room, a familiarity and rhythm picks up. He comes to expect it more often than not. He knows its not permanent. Not for him.
And the thought of it is both powerful and agonizing. To never be able to rest. To find himself no longer caring about his own recklessness, his own bodily worth, because he knows there is no end. There is no moment to rest from the suffering of the world that won't leave them behind.
There's no choice but to keep being free. There's no worth in anything but the power that creeps into his veins, a temporary purpose, a badge that he belongs, even though his constant death seems to scream otherwise. Is it power? Or is it luck? And what does he do if it runs out?
...
Muddled in mind as he is, it takes a moment to right himself through the conversation, to the words drawing from his lips out of his own accord. He remembers, and yet... he doesn't. Owen doesn't. He's speaking about this as fiction, and yet... it doesn't feel like he's lying.
...
Had he shoved that suffering to the side on purpose? Or... had time simply moved on so long that he couldn't bear to look? To have no sense of identity, to feel nostalgia but have only emptiness when he looked back...
...
It's not fair. None of this.
None of this is fair.]
2/2 whenever we are ready for followup
...
The resort... the island...
...
All he can do is shake at first, trying to breath and reorient himself. But the sting of centuries of cruelty in a single memory sits heavy in his limbs, in the pit of his stomach where he'd felt nothing.
Only when he's had time to try and make sure he won't wake up anyone else around him does he quietly adjust himself to get to his feet and find where Owen's tucked himself away.
The Touken doesn't bother to wake him. With weak limbs, he drops himself right back down to the bare floor at the feet of the wizard, ignorant of the lack of bedding, pressing his forehead to one of his legs in some feeble form of contact.
He can't fall asleep. But he doesn't want to be alone... and he doesn't want Owen to wake up alone, either.]
no subject
It actually takes him a moment to notice Otegine, not registering until he shuffles underneath the blanket he's swaddled himself in and feels something that wasn't there before. He squints through the darkness, pushing himself upright slowly.
The memory of melting into useless slag plays through his mind as he stares.]
...Otegine.
[His voice is soft, quiet, well aware of the people sleeping around him even if Owen set himself up as far from the group as he could. He... doesn't know what to say, with the knowledge he now has.
One more chance. That's what he gave him.]
...Good morning.
no subject
...Hey. Good morning.
[His hair's a mess as usual, eyes a little heavy with exhaustion. But they soften up towards Owen, a hundred questions on his lips but no energy to ask or desire to darken the space.]
Sorry. I didn't wake you, did I?
no subject
[He pauses, feeling like everything he wants to - or could - say isn't something he wants an audience for. He can't trust that someone won't wake up, or that someone already is awake.]
...Do you want to go to the beach? With me.
no subject
[Practically whispered, because wow there's so many people in here...
It's still dark, and it's probably cold out... but the night air has always been a welcome friend after a rough dream, the stars a distraction, the feel of the earth under bare feet a grounding point.
He carefully lifts onto his elbows, nodding slowly, tiredly.]
Yeah. I, uh... I'd like that.
Give me a second to find my shoes, okay?
no subject
[He nods, letting Otegine go. He pulls back the covers completely, drawing his own shoes towards him with magic.]
Try not to wake anyone up.
[He slides his shoes on, the laces doing themselves up as he gets to his feet.]
no subject
I'll meet you outside.
[He'll need a minute to stumble his way back and figure out where his items are without tripping over five other people in the process. But eventually, he'll make his way out the door, a jacket shrugged over his shoulders as he squints against the lights of the resort halls, hair and clothes askew from sleep.
He hums his acknowledgment of Owen wherever he waits, a low energy mumble that betrays his annoyance at the punch to the senses of being awake at ass-o-clock A.M.... It's an old friend, but never one that felt great. But despite his tired muttering, he still cocks his head towards the front doors, seeing if Owen will follow alongside or simply lead the way.]
Any reason you asked for the beach?
no subject
Owen’s exit is a bit more graceful, and he doesn’t bother to bundle up. It’s not nearly as cold on this island as he’s used to, so he doesn’t mind the slight chill.
Plus after the memory of burning away the cool air is appreciated.]
Who else in their right mind is going to be on the beach right now? [“right mind” ruling out some rogues who shall not be named in this good christian thread] So no prying eyes and ears on us.
no subject
[Privacy is kind of a necessity all its own out on expedition, so he thinks he gets it. Sort of.
Just gonna open the door for him real quick. After you!]
Are you that worried of people hearing us? You don't seem all that shy talking about yourself most of the time.
no subject
He doesn't answer Otegine for a long, uncomfortable moment, and he keeps his eyes forward when he speaks.]
What did you see?
no subject
...
...
Otegine's hands slip into his pockets, eyes travelling to trace the ground as he tries to place his feelings. It hurts so vibrantly, even still, the centuries of nothing but cruelty, of being purposely left to decay.]
...I saw you.
It was dark. Cold. I... was trapped, for a long time. Left to die. [Over and over and over.]
All I wanted was for someone to save me, but no one ever did. Humans called me a monster.
When something out there finally let me free, I felt how afraid they all were of me. And I... I think I killed all of them. With a single word.
no subject
Things he had heard, and dismissed, not wanting to press at the empty spaces where his memories were. Facings things that had been long forgotten had no purpose, not when it made him feel so frail... Is it too bold to assume they were memories? It's the only thing that makes sense, and Owen only wants to deny them because it's easier then accepting that Otegine knows more about himself then he does.]
...
[He stops, turning to look up at the spear.]
So? What do you think of me now that you've seen what I'm capable of? I'm the monster those humans were afraid of, and I killed all of them. I snuffed out their life and destroyed their homes and I - enjoyed it.
[Did he enjoy it? He doesn't remember, and his stomach churns as he tries.]
no subject
...You killed them, yeah. But I... don't really know if you remember it all. I saw you talk to your sage, centuries later. You didn't feel like you were lying to them.
...
I saw monstrous things, maybe. But... I also saw someone desperate. Overwhelmed and cornered and with nothing else left.
What happened because of that... it's history now. But history is cruel sometimes... and not just to one side.
[His smile is slight - tired, shaking, but not ingenuine, given how his eyes still soften.]
You're still Owen. Not a monster.
no subject
His brows knit together.
How much of his own history does Otegine remember? How clear is it for him? Owen knows what he’s been through, which must make them equal. It doesn’t feel equal, he feels like he knows too much about the man.]
You…
[He could lash out. He has ammunition. He could destroy whatever it is that’s between them - it would be easy. It would be easy…]
What will it take for you to hate me?
[The words come out in a whisper, but the desperation is still clear. He doesn’t know if he’s asking so he can leverage it or because he’s afraid of finding the limits of what Otegine can forgive.]
no subject
Why do you want me to?
[He thinks he might have an answer. But it's not his to give.]
1/2 surprise
Nothing makes sense. It's all out of sorts inside of him, tangled up like a ball of yarn, catching on the thorns choking the life out of him. If Otegine doesn't hate him, what does that mean for him? For them, for as much as there could possibly be a them? He doesn't think he loves Otegine. He's not sure he ever could.
But he...
He doesn't hate him. It's something else entirely, caught on all of his sharp edges and softening them. He wants to burn it all down. He wants things to stay as they are. He wants things he cannot explain and it frustrates him. Is this because of the Goddess? Has her influence changed him from who he is supposed to be?
All of this just because of some stupid party at the resort, but he supposes the past two months have been leading up to this. Everything keeps leading him back to Otegine and every time they meet things are different again and again and again. He remembers their date and how things had been, and he wants that again. He wants it but he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't need it. He's not someone who wants to be given things on a silver platter and to be treated like he's made of glass - he's too strong, too proud - but it wasn't terrible.
Owen stands there, past Otegine, and he cannot find the words he should say.]
2/2
[Should he say it? No. He shouldn't, but he finds himself speaking anyways. He feels frenzied, like a man possessed, fury and agony and this godforsaken yearning making him sound hysterical. Lost.
Confused.]
If you don't hate me, what am I? Everyone hates me, everyone fears me, and that's always been what I've wanted. That's how things have always been, and they can't just - change. Not like this. You've torn me open and seen something so ugly, so vile, the parts of me that have been festering away and rotting in the dark, so what makes you so different from everyone else? What are you seeing?
[Even other wizards regard Owen with the same trepidation humans do - if not more so. What is it about the spear that sets him apart? Can anyone truly be that understanding?]
If you don't hate me, what am I to you? I don't... I don't understand.
no subject
He wants to reach out. Wants to put a hand to him, to try and comfort this hysteria. But... what would he even say? Would he insist that plenty changes? No, because he can't really believe it entirely himself. He knows the stubbornness of a life with a singular set of purposes that can't be budged. He doesn't know what's different about him. He's just Otegine. And Otegine being different... it always made him stand out, but it wasn't exactly helpful. It never really had been.
This, too... this... isn't where he's useful. Not when he doesn't even understand his own heart, or how it aches trying to pull for an answer to Owen's questions and not finding an answer he knows well enough to voice.
The hand that lifts towards Owen pauses, hesitates, falls just as fast.]
...
You're just Owen. That's... all I've ever expected.
[His attentions turns off Owen, directs towards the surf, in the lazy patterns it stretches into the sand under the moonlight.]
...I don't know what else. You're... confusing. You can get annoying. You're stubborn and crass, and I don't like when you treat me like I'm a fool.
But that doesn't happen a lot. Even if you make fun of me, you still at least humor me. You're frank with me. You don't try to convince me that I have to be human. You don't let me get away with things that hold me back. You don't try to convince me I'm a person. You don't expect me to be anything different than exactly what I am... even if you don't always understand what I am.
...
Um. Except... for now, I guess.
[He wants hate. Is that something Otegine can even give him? He supposes it could be easy. Owen pushes his buttons all the time. So...
Why doesn't he, then?
Just tension upon tension, enough to draw a frustrated exhale from him, a hand gripping at the fabric of his own shirt over the pit of his chest, an idle wringing as though it might stop the ache that he doesn't know how to fight, to accept, or to label.]
...I'm sorry. I don't understand, either.
no subject
Owen sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. It’s frustrating - he’s not frustrated at Otegine, but rather at himself. Wizards are independent - their relationships are fleeting, like stars passing each other in the sky. Brilliant in the moment, then it ends… but the stars can cross paths time and again, so maybe…
He drops his hands, lips pressing together.]
…I don’t know why I expected answers.
[Hah. He doesn’t sound as harsh as he would want, the venom that protects him watered down by how weak and useless he feels.
At least he’s not the only one that’s confused. For once he’s not alone in his feelings.]
What are we supposed to do now?
no subject
...
A comment like that would normally earn a flinch from him. But it sounds far less like a reprimand this time, vulnerable and lost.
His arms cross tightly in front of him, holding the silence as his answer. He doesn't know, either. But... he knows he doesn't want to leave this space so tense and unspoken. He doesn't want to hesitate.
...
With an exhale, he trudges through the sand, a hesitant touch placed to the back of one of Owen's shoulders.]
...Can I ask you something?
When we walked out here... you asked me what I saw.
Do... you not remember any of it?