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redmarsshit2019-10-24 11:41 pm
modblob) wrote in redmarsshit2019-10-24 11:41 pm
redshift: tdm #5
Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.
▶ Click here to read what characters will experience when arriving in Anchor.
▶ All TDM threads can be considered game canon, and current players are welcome to either top-level on the TDM so prospective players can tag them, or use the prompts for logs or network posts on the communities. All threads on the TDM can be used for Activity Check.
▶ All TDM threads can be considered game canon, and current players are welcome to either top-level on the TDM so prospective players can tag them, or use the prompts for logs or network posts on the communities. All threads on the TDM can be used for Activity Check.
a. don't be a sap.
Good morning, October 25th! Whether you're a confused new arrival or a current resident, you probably had some plans for today, right? Grab breakfast, visit a friend, pick some fruit, explore a new part of the massive city.
Well. Too bad. Because, as every single bot in the city will be telling you the moment you show your face, it's GOOP FESTIVAL DAY! What? You've never heard of it? Preposterous, everyone knows about the Goop Festival, it's one of the most anticipated holidays in Anchor! Haven't you been preparing for this for a week now?
The Goop Festival is a harvest celebration, in particular, a celebration of the sap-producing trees that grow wild in the Park, thick around the edges of the south side of the lake. The bots have been hard at work setting up the festival grounds in the shade of the trees in the balmy fall temperatures. There are spiles tapped into trees with buckets placed underneath that are already half-full of a thick, viscous, amber-colored sap. The bots have also set up troughs of shaved ice with long sticks nearby, with which they will demonstrate for excited residents (you are excited, right?) how to cool the sap in the ice and wrap it around the stick to make it a sort of taffy candy. That's not the only sweet surprise waiting, either.
A long table set up in the grass is loaded down with all sorts of delicious sap-related goodies, ranging from cupcakes with thick globs of sap-flavored frosting to sap-flavored jerky to sap sugar candies, and just about anything else you can imagine. There are a wide variety of offerings that would taste good coated, flavored, or glazed with the sap, which tastes sort of like a caramelized toffee. Another table is laid out that has row upon row of cups, each half-full of the sap, heated lightly to a thinner consistency and served similarly to hot chocolate - at least, if hot chocolate gave you a floaty, happy, hazy sort of feeling. Everything made with this sap does, actually, with the cups of pure sap having a stronger effect and items with less sap content having barely any effect at all.
Does this not sound like your cup of weird tree sap? Too bad. This is the GOOP FESTIVAL, and everything is shut down for this lovely paid vacation day. Spa? Locked down. Kitchens? Locked. Bar? Nope, totally shut down and the server bots are all down at the park. VR Gaming? Too bad, the computers are all shut down. Even roaming the halls and trying to stay out of the way won't help much...be prepared to be dragged down to the park to participate in this mandatory festival! Isn't it exciting?
Well. Too bad. Because, as every single bot in the city will be telling you the moment you show your face, it's GOOP FESTIVAL DAY! What? You've never heard of it? Preposterous, everyone knows about the Goop Festival, it's one of the most anticipated holidays in Anchor! Haven't you been preparing for this for a week now?
The Goop Festival is a harvest celebration, in particular, a celebration of the sap-producing trees that grow wild in the Park, thick around the edges of the south side of the lake. The bots have been hard at work setting up the festival grounds in the shade of the trees in the balmy fall temperatures. There are spiles tapped into trees with buckets placed underneath that are already half-full of a thick, viscous, amber-colored sap. The bots have also set up troughs of shaved ice with long sticks nearby, with which they will demonstrate for excited residents (you are excited, right?) how to cool the sap in the ice and wrap it around the stick to make it a sort of taffy candy. That's not the only sweet surprise waiting, either.
A long table set up in the grass is loaded down with all sorts of delicious sap-related goodies, ranging from cupcakes with thick globs of sap-flavored frosting to sap-flavored jerky to sap sugar candies, and just about anything else you can imagine. There are a wide variety of offerings that would taste good coated, flavored, or glazed with the sap, which tastes sort of like a caramelized toffee. Another table is laid out that has row upon row of cups, each half-full of the sap, heated lightly to a thinner consistency and served similarly to hot chocolate - at least, if hot chocolate gave you a floaty, happy, hazy sort of feeling. Everything made with this sap does, actually, with the cups of pure sap having a stronger effect and items with less sap content having barely any effect at all.
Does this not sound like your cup of weird tree sap? Too bad. This is the GOOP FESTIVAL, and everything is shut down for this lovely paid vacation day. Spa? Locked down. Kitchens? Locked. Bar? Nope, totally shut down and the server bots are all down at the park. VR Gaming? Too bad, the computers are all shut down. Even roaming the halls and trying to stay out of the way won't help much...be prepared to be dragged down to the park to participate in this mandatory festival! Isn't it exciting?
b. familiar ground.
Every year in Anchor near the end of October, there's a very strange interaction between the protective dome over the city and seasonal radiation surges that happen in the wastelands. Some complicated combination of refraction and reflection means that for the last few days of the month, residents will experience some of the more benign effects of the red shift inside the city.
Did we say benign? Because while there may not be any dangerous radiation to melt your skin off, there are some mind-bending dangers. Characters experiencing the shift will find the world becomes distorted, warped, impossible to navigate; they are enveloped in auditory and visual hallucinations, and can become so disoriented that they can't even recognize people they've known for years. And characters will find that the citywide shift brings in slivers of other universes, little slices of places characters have never seen before...or places so familiar they make the heart beat hard with joy or fear.
And just like in the wastelands, the things that show up in these shifts are all too real. Characters may find themselves walking through a door into a scene straight from home, or from someone else's home. Whether it's a favorite place to share with a new friend, or the nightmare landscape you almost died in, complete with the monster that almost killed you, be careful. Everything you experience here is real, and if you die in the shift, you die for real.
Of course, the city has its own safety measures in place - residents experiencing the hallucinations and appearances of items and places from other worlds may find themselves locked down in the room they're in, trapped with the otherworldly effects of the shift.
Did we say benign? Because while there may not be any dangerous radiation to melt your skin off, there are some mind-bending dangers. Characters experiencing the shift will find the world becomes distorted, warped, impossible to navigate; they are enveloped in auditory and visual hallucinations, and can become so disoriented that they can't even recognize people they've known for years. And characters will find that the citywide shift brings in slivers of other universes, little slices of places characters have never seen before...or places so familiar they make the heart beat hard with joy or fear.
And just like in the wastelands, the things that show up in these shifts are all too real. Characters may find themselves walking through a door into a scene straight from home, or from someone else's home. Whether it's a favorite place to share with a new friend, or the nightmare landscape you almost died in, complete with the monster that almost killed you, be careful. Everything you experience here is real, and if you die in the shift, you die for real.
Of course, the city has its own safety measures in place - residents experiencing the hallucinations and appearances of items and places from other worlds may find themselves locked down in the room they're in, trapped with the otherworldly effects of the shift.
c. the virus.
A few weeks ago, people in Anchor started getting a case of the sniffles. While some of the earliest cases might be clearing up, there are still a few people suffering, or people freshly infected by those who were sick earlier, including some of the new arrivals who may not even be feeling it yet.
Which may make the cause of some unexpected 'glitches' around the city a little unclear. Residents who are feeling the effects of the illness, or who are infected but not showing symptoms yet (or anymore) will find that their access to certain parts of the city are restricted. Suddenly, automatic doors aren't opening for them, as if they were ghosts, particularly when they try to access anything that may facilitate transmission of the virus. Suddenly, only some of the residents of the city will find they can't get into half of the MedBay, or the spa, the kitchens, the VR or games rooms, the bar...anywhere people gather or eat or sit close together.
Residents may put together that it's related to the illness some of them have been experiencing over the past few weeks, but it might take a while, since these safety and security measures are affecting people who are showing no symptoms yet. Be prepared for a few days of paranoia while seemingly perfectly healthy people are locked out of common areas. What does the computer know that residents don't? Are these people security risks? Is it a system glitch? What could be going on?
Which may make the cause of some unexpected 'glitches' around the city a little unclear. Residents who are feeling the effects of the illness, or who are infected but not showing symptoms yet (or anymore) will find that their access to certain parts of the city are restricted. Suddenly, automatic doors aren't opening for them, as if they were ghosts, particularly when they try to access anything that may facilitate transmission of the virus. Suddenly, only some of the residents of the city will find they can't get into half of the MedBay, or the spa, the kitchens, the VR or games rooms, the bar...anywhere people gather or eat or sit close together.
Residents may put together that it's related to the illness some of them have been experiencing over the past few weeks, but it might take a while, since these safety and security measures are affecting people who are showing no symptoms yet. Be prepared for a few days of paranoia while seemingly perfectly healthy people are locked out of common areas. What does the computer know that residents don't? Are these people security risks? Is it a system glitch? What could be going on?
c. the network.
Need to get hold of someone, call for help, ask the city at large a question? Need to warn a friend not to leave their apartment unless they want to be forcibly press-ganged into the Goop Festival? Maybe you need to hold your sat phone up to whatever crazy thing you're seeing and send out a recording to double-check if your eyes are deceiving you and what you're looking at is real?
Whatever the reason, the network is going strong, so feel free to include a post to it in your top-levels.
Whatever the reason, the network is going strong, so feel free to include a post to it in your top-levels.
Mod Note: The "familiar ground" prompt will be active between October 29th and October 31st; "the virus" prompt will be active until the next introductory mingle, which will be kicking off the second part of the illness plot.
no subject
But Carlisle can't heal anyone. Not anymore.
Correction: he can, but he shouldn't. Despite everything, he's somehow still capable of channeling restorative energies, a feat that should be impossible for the undead -- and yet, he wielded them in the Whole Foods when dispatching the undead there to protect Qubit. If he has the capacity for that, he can certainly heal. However, his channeling of that particular energy had taken a toll on him: it sent a shock through his body so sharp that he felt it cut through his dulled senses, white hot and agonizing unlike anything he'd felt since his death. His arm had been useless for several seconds, seizing violently as the energy coursing through him struggled to normalize.
He's done a few experiments since then, minor channels in the privacy of his room just to see if it was possible. It is, but there is an undeniable risk to him now. In life, his healing aggravated his condition, forcing the expulsion of the black bile through his mouth, his fingernails, and eventually his eyes -- yet there was no lasting damage to himself, no consequence so severe that he'd ever hesitate to heal someone when called upon. He cannot say the same now.
However dead he may be, Carlisle cannot forget his duty is to the living, to his goddess; he has nothing left but what existence he is eking out for himself in Anchor, including the friends he's made here and those he met in another world entirely. Poison and Pratt -- they believe him to be more than he has become. Qubit has offered to help him mitigate what harm he can cause to others -- Genji, too, in teaching him proper meditation. He isn't alone with his sins, and he can be more than the sum of them.
But he cannot help but think of that dog in his dream, its words echoing in his ears, still clinging to his conscience: Know yourself, Blight Heir.
He can heal, but he shouldn't... and yet, he finds himself replying to Pratt's message regardless. He refuses to be the Blight Heir; he is Carlisle Longinmouth, and he is a healer in the name of the Clarity, first and foremost.
I will be there shortly. Stanch whatever bleeding there may be until I arrive, and try not to panic.
Decisive words for a man who is usually panicking himself, but he knows he has to keep his nerves in check. There will be plenty of time to worry about what he's getting into after he's seen to the wounded.
no subject
Shakily, Ben says:
"Kieran, Kieran, it's Ben - I'm gonna move you a little, okay? Please don't be afraid, it's just me. They're all gone, they're dead, I'm just-"
And Ben shifts so that he is sitting on the ground, legs on either side of Kieran, drawing the wounded man up so that he can lean back against his chest. Ben wraps an arm firmly around Kieran's chest, holding Kieran to him and tucking Kieran's hand into his again. Letting out a shaky breath, he tugs at Kieran's bandana, which had come loose while he was being tortured. Just thinking that, Ben's stomach does an awful sort of twist, but he shoves that feeling away, bunching up the bandana in his free hand. It's already a little bloody, but it's the best he has.
"I've gotta- I've gotta try to stop the bleeding, so I- I'm gonna press this cloth against your eyes. It's - probably gonna hurt a whole lot, so you can squeeze my hand as tight as you want to and yell and swear at me and kick me if you need to, okay? Just do whatever you gotta do, and- and I'm sorry."
Then Ben presses the bunched-up bandana against Kieran's wounded eyes, trying to slow the bleeding without doing more damage or causing too much pain. He hasn't even noticed that there are tears running down his own face, leaving streaks in the blood on his cheeks.
He hopes that healer gets here soon...
no subject
The promise of a healer’s arrival sparks a renewed hope inside of Kieran, and pushes him to keep fighting. Sure, he has no idea what makes a healer any different from a doctor (he imagines Pratt would’ve just said ‘doctor’ if there wasn’t some sort of difference), but the ultimate beggar can’t start choosing now.
What doesn’t sit right with him, however, is what’s about to come next. Distantly, he realizes that he must be bleeding still, given the gruesome nature of his untreated injury, the fact that he can taste iron mixed with salt, and the way his head has never stopped swimming and only seems to be getting worse. However, with the adrenaline running through his veins and the overwhelming dread over the fact that he can’t see, what should’ve been obvious eluded him. He knows it needs to be addressed first, but when Ben announces that he’s going to try to mitigate the flow, Kieran can’t help but tense up even as he attempts to nod in understanding.
The initial press of cloth against his open wounds—no matter how soft the fabric—is like lightning lancing through his body, burning hot and hitting every nerve down to his fingers and toes. His back arches against Ben’s hold and the heels of his boots dig into the ground, leaving marks as his body instinctively thrashes against this fresh new wave of unfettered bullshit.
Kieran doesn’t scream at first, his throat closing up from sheer shock, but as he wrestles his body under control, all of that pent up panic and anger and absolute misery needs to make itself known somehow. He sucks in a few deep breaths from between his clenched teeth and, digging his fingernails into the palm of Ben’s hand, lets loose.
“MOTHERFUCKER.”
no subject
He doesn't want to hold him down, having been tortured himself he knows the thrashing is cathartic, it'll give him something to focus on that isn't the pain. For once he wished the canteen at his side was full of whiskey like it always had been. Drinking for the pain didn't really work, but Pratt would have at least let Kieran try. If it helped even a little it would be worth it.
"Carlisle is on his way. He'll know what to do, he's a healer." Well he had been anyway, Pratt isn't sure if he still can, but at least he'll know better than the two of them what to do in this situation.
He looks up at Ben, ready to pull Kieran's hand away and transfer those digging fingernails onto him instead. They can tag team this until Carlisle arrives.
no subject
He can question his memory later; he can see he has work to do as he comes closer. Though not acquainted with Kieran, he picks out which of the two men he doesn't recognize is him easily enough. The gouged eyes, gruesome as they are, give him only little pause: for a man who tends to buckle beneath the weight of his own fears and nervousness so easily, he's remarkably calm when he has a task to focus on. Someone has to be when lives are on the line.
One life in particular, in this case. Though Carlisle gives Pratt a cursory glance as he runs up -- despite the blood on him, he doesn't seem injured -- he turns his attention to the obvious victim as he kneels beside him.
"Mister... Kieran?" He glances to both Pratt and the other fellow nearby, as though asking for confirmation that he go the name right. And now that he gets a better look at him, he's sure he recognizes the other fellow from somewhere, but forces himself to mull over it when someone isn't bleeding out before them. He picks up the pace, making sure to go through his standard warning. "My name is Carlisle, you've been terribly injured, I will help you, and this is going to burn quite a bit. Try to remain calm."
This is usually the time when he would remove his gloves, but that's not an option currently, not with the fact his fingers haven't any skin left on them -- he'll have to channel through the fabric. His eyes cut back to the other men as he lowers his voice, his tone hardening.
"Brace him. I need to get this done as quickly as possible, and he may interrupt my channel if he flails. It would be a shame for him to end up with half-formed eyes."
no subject
As Carlisle arrives, Ben gingerly moves that neckerchief - now soaked with blood - so that the healer can see the wounded area. He doesn't pick up on even a flinch. It is easier to be calm with Carlisle acting so calm and straightforward and professional about all this. Which is good, because Ben needs all the calm he can get when he hears what he'll need to do next. He is sure it is necessary and he knows he can do it, but the thought of holding Kieran still, not even letting him scream or move, while he is hurt even more, makes Ben feel a bit sick.
But they don't have time to waste on that. He tightens his grip around Kieran's chest ever so slightly, looking up at Pratt, expression sad and frantic as he asks:
"Can you hold his head still?"
Ben is in a good position to keep the rest of Kieran immobilized, but keeping his head steady will probably be the most important part. He can't do both at once and he can see it in Pratt's body language that he is as desperate to help as Ben is.
Then, to Kieran, he whispers fiercely:
"You can still squeeze my hand but try to stay still. We've got you. You can do this. You're gonna be okay. Everything's gonna be okay."
He tenses up, ready to hold Kieran as still as he can when the healing starts.
no subject
If Carlisle can help him, then he's willing to allow both Ben and Pratt to do whatever is necessary, even if it means an already awful situation is about to get worse. He wants to believe that it's going to be okay, and the way his friends are talking to him seem to make that prospect all the more real.
He grunts to show his understanding and doesn't offer resistance against anything that's done to keep him still. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse and breathy.
"O-Okay."
no subject
There's no real great position for Kieran to be in, on the ground flat will mean they have to practically lay on him to keep him still, but leaned against Ben like this puts both Ben and Pratt in prime position to get elbows to the face.
A small price to pay to help their friend. He holds onto the side of Kieran's head, hands on either side of his skull, thumbs in front of his ears. He'll be able to hold him fairly steady, but it's not going to be pleasant for Kieran at all. Not that any of this is.
Looking over at Carlisle he lowers his voice, "Do you need anything to do this? Can you draw on my energy instead of yours?"
The glyph crafted rock that Carlisle had given Pratt back in Hadriel had worked like that, it channeled his energy and needed to be recharged every so often. He wasn't fully sure how Carlisle's powers worked, and even less so now that he was technically dead, but between Pratt and Ben, who he's pretty sure would volunteer as well, there should be more than enough right?
no subject
"Had we more time, I could construct a compound glyph to draw upon us both, but..." He wrings his fingers. "Healing with a glyph is temperamental. It would be akin to baking bread according to precise directions rather than being able to adapt and improvise as necessary. It may work, but there are so many variables, so much that could go wrong—"
He stops himself there, knowing it's better he not remind Pratt of all this -- certainly not now, when Kieran is in enough trouble as it is. He shakes his head.
"The offer is kind, but we can contemplate it as an option for the future at a later date. Let me work for now, and... be prepared for anything." If that sounded ominous, it just might be: given the shift in his powers and how uncontrolled they've been since he awakened as an undead, he cannot be certain this will even work. If nothing else, he likely can't make things worse -- or at least he hopes he can't.
Swallowing the knot in his throat, Carlisle places his hands along Kieran's neck, his palms against the curve of his jawline, his fingers and thumb coming to rest around his ears. One more deep breath to steel himself, and he begins. What Kieran may feel, if he's not gone completely into shock, is an intense burning at the point of contact, trailing into his muscles and through his veins. It's usually more of an uncomfortable, unrelenting stinging than outright painful -- a sharp, searing ache, at most.
What Carlisle feels, on the other hand, is quite different both from Kieran and what he's used to. Though he was expecting the sudden turmoil from the energy he's utilizing clashing with that which keeps him animated, that doesn't make it any less excruciating as he channels into his ward. His arms burn, threatening to give out on him; Carlisle focuses his mind, regaining control over them before he forces himself to continue. He squeezes his eyes shut so he can better concentrate on what he is able to feel through his energy as it cascades into Kieran, spreading into his torso and through the rest of his skull.
A major component of healing the way Carlisle does is exploring the patient internally through his channel, allowing the energy to flow into and through the body. Like water in a vessel (if said water were scalding), it ripples as it bumps against abnormalities in Kieran's structure, alerting Carlisle to their presence. A bruise here, a tear in his skin there -- minor injuries, ones healed without actual effort put toward them. Far worse are his eyes, being that they are completely missing. It's much easier to repair damaged tissue than it is to reconstruct it entirely, though the latter is possible for a properly trained healer. In good news, Carlisle is one of those, and gifted in the craft to boot.
Unfortunately, he's also starting to buckle under the strain of maintaining his channel, even if he's only done an inspection and minor healing so far. His hands tremble, a shudder running through his entire body. From behind him, a line of sudden, violent rot cuts through the grass, its path jagged and sharp like blackened lightning. It races one way before turning wildly, leading directly to one of the trees. Within seconds, the bark begins to crumble, drying and flaking as the branches wither.
That seems to stabilize him, and back to work Carlisle goes, unaware of the dying tree a short distance away. He focuses on the sockets, healing the damaged skin, reforming the eyes bit by bit. Visually, it's a strange sight to behold as the tissues seemingly stitch themselves back together layer by layer, all while blood and magic come together in Kieran's ruined sockets to form the various components of the eye. Nerves, fluid, vessels—
He grits his teeth, stiffening as another tremor runs through him. The blackened line cut into the ground grows a branch, reaching for another tree, then another. It can only do so much for him as he starts to lose feeling in his hands. As he works on the base of the second eye, he can feel ink trailing out of one of his own; it bleeds from the edges of his fingernails, stains his mask from the inside out as it drips through his teeth. He tries to keep going, to fully finish the job so Kieran won't have to suffer and he can prove to himself that he can still do this and that he's not worthless now that he's an abomination of his former self, but—
Carlisle's eyes open, the light behind them bright, agitated, unfocused; he tears himself from Kieran's side, but only manages two steps before he stumbles, landing hard on his elbows. His body refuses to do much more than shake uncontrollably, his limbs jerking and twitching as his joints seize; his fingers curl against the dirt, raking lines in it. It's then he realizes the ground beneath him, around him, is decaying.
Terrified of what that means for those around him, he tries to speak; however, instead of a warning not to touch him, all that emerges from his throat is a garbled rasp, one accompanied by a fit of hacking, coughing, choking on the ink welling there.
no subject
Which is why he's a little annoyed that Carlisle, it seems to him, is stalling. He brushes off those words, warning him to be prepared for anything. What could he possibly need to be prepared for? Carlisle is going to heal Kieran, and it will hurt him, but then he will be fine, it will all be fine, and then Ben won't have to hate himself quite so much for showing up too late to stop this from happening in the first place.
Except that dismissive attitude vanishes as soon as that black line of decay shoots out across the grass, spiking up into the trees. Ben is focused mostly on holding Kieran still, but he watches with horror as the plants wither, like something out of a movie. He has never seen anything like it. It's wrong and the sudden smell of rot makes itself known over the tang of blood in the air.
When he sees - is that ink? black blood? - dripping from Carlisle's eye, Ben grasps something. This is hurting him - healing Kieran is hurting him. And he keeps doing it anyway. Ben is impressed and grateful and worried all at once. Maybe it's just a temporary effect. He knows all about those. It could be there's no danger of real injury to Carlisle at all...
But then he's putting distance between himself and Kieran, and Ben catches just a flash of his horrified expression, the way he throws himself far from them as he can manage. And there's no mistaking the way that the earth all around the mage is rotting, like it's spilling from his body, in the air all around him.
Ben doesn't stop to think. He doesn't rush forward to Carlisle's aid. He's grateful for the man's help, but no way in hell is he going to let anything else hurt Kieran. Not today. So he scrambles to his feet and starts hauling his friend away from where Carlisle is writhing on the ground. Away from that spreading pool of decay. In this case, he can't see a way to help both men, and so he chooses Kieran. Pratt can help his friend, if he wants to - he certainly knows more about magic and how he might do that than Ben does.
Belatedly Ben thinks to reassure, voice hushed and urgent: "I got you. I got you we're just - we're just backing up a bit, everything's fine. Everything's good."
Definitely that gargling and choking and coughing and the rustle of plants melting and withering away, the sound of thrashing as Carlisle moves on the ground, isn't really helping Ben to maintain this illusion.
no subject
Then, there are the sounds. They're almost as bad as that physical sensation of expedited healing, and Kieran can't help but cringe as they (sometimes literally) pop up. But they don't stop with the stitching and rebuilding of flesh. Somewhere outside of his body comes the occasional groan, then stomping, then falling, then the atmosphere changes entirely and it feels like the chaos is back.
"W-What's happening?!"
Reassurances aside, Kieran can feel himself moving again and pieces together that Ben is dragging him somewhere different--somewhere away from a new sense of danger. He wriggles weakly in his friend's grasp, adrenaline fueling is every movement now that his strength is all but completely sapped away. There's nothing there to filter out his actions or his thoughts, and they make themselves known in every possible way now that there's no inhibition.
"Is he alright? D-Did somethin' happen to him? H-He didn't finish... I-I can't see. I still can't see!"
no subject
Ben goes to drag Kieran away and Pratt is torn, Kieran's wounds are far more grave but Carlisle has been his friend for years. And furthermore, he's the one who called him up here and the healer wouldn't be writhing on the ground now if it wasn't for Pratt.
The wolf moves to Kieran's side as he's pulled away, licking his hand and trying to shove her whole fluffy face into his. It's not entirely pleasant as she's trying to sniff the area where his eyes are, sensing the wrongness of the rot and death that had just happened. But she's there should Kieran need something to hold onto.
Pratt on the other hand goes to Carlisle, completely unsure what to do. Considering what's happening to the ground beneath his feet he definitely doesn't want to touch him, but he also can't just leave him like this, "Carlisle? Carlisle! What's happening? What do you need?"
Carlisle's eyes are glowing, the ground is literally rotting away and Pratt has to keep moving to keep his footing, but he gets as close as he can without his shoes melting, fretting about what he can do to help.
no subject
Beyond Carlisle, the flesh rots from one of the mangled corpses, his broken body twitching. A hand only half-covered in flesh animates, pulling itself along the ground toward its former owner.
Carlisle manages to get one finger over the top of his mask and pull it down just as he hacks up a viscous glob of ink; it is thick, gelatinous rather than the liquid trailing from his eyes. Feeling marginally better, he tries to get to his feet, but finds his legs won't yet cooperate. He thought himself incapable of being sick, yet here he is, nauseated from the mere effort of trying to move.
The shredded body of another corpse pull themselves together with the decayed remains of an animal half-buried in the dirt. The first corpse joins them, their form melding together.
Carlisle's back arches in pain, and he feels his internal frustration rising, manifesting as self-loathing. Why did he not take it slower? If he hadn't let his pride get the better of him instead of pushing himself beyond his limits, he wouldn't be in this mess. None of them would be. Instead, he made himself look like an amateur by not finishing the job, and he's losing his grasp over his abilities, rotting the world around him. There will be no hiding what he is from any of them after this. He is a vile creature, through and through.
He feels himself slipping into his Revenant nature, bitterness hot in his veins. It works against him, and he instinctively reaches out again to the corpses around him. Two ribcages come together to form a body, one spine becoming a neck while the other extends past the forming aberration's twisted frame. It has too many hands, fingers made up of broken ribs and shattered fibulas; the animal skull becomes its head, the human skulls (or what's left of them) acting as feet instead. The sinews still clinging to the skeletons twist and knot together, helping keep the monstrous creature upright as it rises, its eyes glowing with a furious, blue light.
It stands no less than nine feet tall, bone fragments and rotten flesh from around the site still joining the greater mass as it starts to move toward them all. Despite Carlisle being the closest, it pays him no heed whatsoever, passing him by on its multiple, malformed limbs.
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"Aww, you gotta be fucking kidding me with this -"
He helps Kieran to sit on the ground; he needs to put a little distance between them if he's going to take out this final-form monster bullshit, but he doesn't trust Kieran's legs to hold him. Princess Thug is there, at least, sticking by the injured man's side. As Ben gets him settled he says:
"He's - doing some weird shit. Just stay here, okay, Kieran? Please. I need you to stay here, and don't move, and don't panic, and I'll fix this."
Apparently he has to fix it because this healer that Pratt called? KIND OF BUSTED. Sure, Kieran's eyes are back and the bleeding has stopped, and that's great. But Ben's ears are ringing with Kieran's agonized cries about still not being able to see, and clearly whatever magic Carlisle had used to get him this far is some bad fucking business. Ben's not really sure if Carlisle's extended hand is him trying to stop this huge Frankenzombie from forming - in which case he's doing a bad job of it - or whether he's gone completely dark side and he is summoning it intentionally. That's a bridge he'll have to cross in a few minutes.
Either way, this is a mess and he's going to have to clean it up by himself, before he gets Kieran to the med bay, where maybe he ought to have just taken him in the first place.
"Pratt, stand back-!"
It's all the warning he has time to give. Ben is still aching from using his powers earlier, but it's so easy to open the portal when he is this full of adrenaline, this angry. He runs a few paces to the side, so that he can draw the monster away from the cluster of people - Kieran and Pratt and Carlisle alike. Ben bellows as he opens the portal, and this time, the shrieks of the creatures on the other side are particularly loud and wrenching and monstrous.
The tentacles are less frenzied in their attack, this time. This beast is bigger than those men were, and it requires more concentration from Ben to grapple with it. But those tentacles are sinewy and almost impossibly strong. After some struggling, one of them whips down low, unbalancing the huge bone creature, and once it is on the ground, the tentacles begin to pulverize at it.
But evidently, things aren't going to go that easily. Because no sooner has Ben beaten the everloving shit out of it than the thing is re-forming in an entirely different shape, this one much more lopsided, lower to the ground. Harder to knock over. It's a clever move, but Ben fights through the pain and this time, the tentacles are twisting, looping around the middle of the creature and wringing it like a wet rag.
It goes on like this - Ben attacking, the creature reforming. But at least there is some progress - many of the bones are pulverized enough that they are not useful in the reconstructions, and so it is getting smaller and smaller with each reformation. Which is good, because Ben can feel himself tiring, a trickle of sweat running down the back of his neck. The pain in his core has been building and building, and he doesn't know how much longer he can keep this up. He feels woozy, nauseous. But Kieran is back there, and Pratt, and even that mage guy doesn't deserve to die probably. He has to keep this up. Has to protect them.
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He takes solace in the feeling of fur underneath his palm and mindlessly starts petting at Princess Thug. He's not useful for much else like this. Eventually, he takes it upon himself to close his eyes and keep them that way to protect his eyes, such as they are. It's tempting to fall asleep, but his basic instincts are telling him that would be the worst idea, so he fights the urge.
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Meanwhile Pratt is rooted to the spot, everything in him yelling that he should run away from all of this. He's a traitor and a coward and..
No.
No.
Things are different here. Just like they were in Hadriel. He has people he cares about and who care about him (he hopes), and he's not going to just abandon them.
He doesn't know what's going on, maybe this is a sideeffect of Carlisle's healing magic, too much healing and something necrotic rises from the grave? In a way that seems to fit with what he knows, nothing comes without a price. The ink, the rot, this horrible monster zombie thing, maybe that was just the price of using too much healing too fast. He'd ask later, he didn't have time now.
Tentacles shoot out and rip and tear and the monster continues to reform despite Ben's best efforts. He doesn't want to get in there and start attacking it because he'd hit the tentacles and he's not sure if they're connected to Ben in some way where that would injure him as well.
"Carlisle! Carlisle listen, you gotta make this thing stop." He darts in, grabbing the back of Carlisle's cowl and dragging him further away. He only gets a few feet before he has to drop him, his hand cracked and bleeding from being that close to him. He holds it against his chest, not wanting to look and see muscles exposed or worse, bone. He kneels down trying to meet Carlisle's eyes, "You gotta calm down. Everything is okay, Kieran is stabilized and we can get him to the Medbay. Ben is... taking care of this. But you gotta stop whatever's going on. Okay? You still with me?"
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Oh, oh that's him. That's him screaming, or rather attempting to. What rattles through his throat is not much more than a guttural howl, one mostly lost between the calamity around them and the ink bubbling in his airway. The largest of the now numerous abominations, sensing its master is in danger, is drawn to him -- and to Pratt, the man it assumes is a threat. It barrels toward them both, its misshapen head lowered as it charges like a furious bull, its tattered flesh and malformed musculature doing little to hinder its speed.
He can't do this, Carlisle tells himself, feeling the ground shake. He can't do this right now. He's not the Blight Heir -- he has to stop. It's too much. It's too much it's too much it's too much why won't it stop he doesn't want this stop stop stop stop STOP—
And everything does. The charging aberration comes to a sudden halt mid-stride, its entire frame crashing to the ground, skidding to a point mere steps away from Carlisle and Pratt; the smaller ones, mostly made of stretched skin and shattered bones at this point, freeze in their assault of the tentacles and the man wielding them. Though wildly unfocused, Carlisle's compulsion gives him dominance over the undead -- and it is likely to be felt by the living around him, too.
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But just as he's watching in horror, waiting for the aberration to plow into Pratt and the healer, it stops and then crashes and burns. That isn't all - the other monsters stop, too. And, most importantly, Ben stops. He doesn't choose to. It's like something has clamped down on him. Something external.
It's a familiar feeling, but he can't place it. Not yet.
He is frozen for just a moment or two, but then the realization hits him that this might be the opportunity he needs. With enormous effort, he wrenches free from that compulsion to stay still and slams the last of those smaller monsters into the ground, smashes them to bits with the tentacles and then, with a hitched breath that's almost a sob of relief, closes the portal and sinks to his knees. And finally, finally, this time they do not re-form.
Hoarse and breathing hard, Ben calls out:
"Everybody still alive?"
Ben hasn't even noticed yet that Pratt is hurt, too, that he'd gotten hurt just getting near to Carlisle. He is just trying to wrench some semblance of control in this situation. In a moment, he'll stand up and start helping everyone to the medbay. In just a moment. He just needs to rest a few seconds.
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Kieran isn't sure how to respond to Ben's call. Is he alive? In the most basic sense of the word, yes. Does he want to be alive right now? No comment. It's tough to articulate even an iota of what he's feeling, especially since he's far too tired to try and discern those emotions for himself, let alone for anybody else.
So he settles for a defeated grunt, still gently petting at Princess Thug, counting on the texture of soft fur to keep him from completely shutting down.
But hey, it can only get better from here, right?
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And Pratt isn't eager to injure his other hand as well.
While he's frozen with indecision for how to fix this mess of a situation, everything else freezes too. The creature stops moving, the tentacles aren't bashing anything and there's an eerie quiet where all Pratt can hear is Kieran's breathing and...
Breathing.
That's a thing that Pratt had been doing just fine without any conscious effort but suddenly he realizes he isn't anymore. There's the brief bubbling up of panic before it passes and Pratt falls to the side gasping for air.
"What the fuck?" Which is as close to an answer as Ben is going to get right now.
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With a deep breath -- one of many -- he attempts to pick himself off the ground, his limbs shaking. One of his arms trembles, jerking violently as he gets to his feet; he cradles it with a hiss, his gaze going from Ben to Kieran, then to the abomination, and then to Pratt gasping on the ground. One man may be the person he was called to heal, and the other may be the one who dealt with the calamity he caused, but Pratt is his friend, and therefore, he's the one Carlisle beelines for first, trying to ensure his health above everyone else's.
"D- Deputy?" his voice rattles in the stillness, his legs unsteady as he takes a step to close the gap between them.
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He isn't the only one, either. Carlisle is moving towards him, too, looking just as unsteady as Ben feels. When he's close enough to see the way Pratt's skin is cracked, he feels a surge of nausea, but he manages to swallow back that feeling. He's definitely going to throw up, and soon, but hopefully he can keep it together until he gets a chance to do so somewhere in private once everyone is safe.
"What happened?"
Ben looks, too, at that healer, who at least seems to be freaking out less, now. There's still all that dark stuff - ink? - staining him like blood but he doesn't seem like he's immediately going to keel over from any injuries. Ben doesn't even want to know how he must look - there's definitely a certain amount of inevitable blood spatter, but at least he's not completely covered in the stuff for once.
"We need to get you both to the medbay. And Kieran. Can you walk?"
He doesn't quite realize how much he looks like a stiff breeze might knock him over, too; right now, Ben's all about ignoring his own needs and keeping everyone else safe.
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Still, he doesn't really want to look at it.
"I think everyone's okay. Or well.. we will be." He looks up at Carlisle, there's so much ink streaming from him and that seems bad. What if that goop is what keeps him alive? Is that his blood? Pratt doesn't really know.
"But Kieran's stabilized, we can get him down to the medbay." He glances over at Kieran who's still laying on the ground next to the wolf. "Might need to carry him, but.."
By which he means Ben and him might need to, and with one working arm... He finally looks down at his hand, flexing his fingers and wincing. Everything seems to be working, but it looks horrible and he can feel bile rising in his throat.
He keeps it down but he is very much going to be puking later.
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No, he cannot risk it. He can't risk anything right now. Look what he did. Look what he's done. And worst of all, he did it to someone who trusted him, who should be his friend.
But he wasn't like this in that other world. He was alive. He wasn't yet a monster, a creature, the Blight Heir.
Carlisle tries to force his guilt aside, his entire frame shaking as he struggles to convince himself to do something, anything; he remains petrified, much like a child surrounded by delicate trinkets, warned to be careful so as not to break them. He has to help take them somewhere, to get help -- he can't stay here. He can't—
"Wh- what should I do?" he asks quietly, his voice grating as it escapes him, his eyes locked on Pratt, on his hand.