redmarsshit | redshift: tdm #5

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.

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?

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.

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?

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.

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.

Navigation.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The moment Reynir suggests Carlisle might have changed his mind and may want to return to the garden, the frightened clergyman shakes his head, his eyes squeezing shut as he immediately murmurs a series of don't leave me heres and I can't go backs, interjected by the occasional forgive me and I will lose myself. He doesn't clarify what any of those statements mean, curling in on himself further.

The next offer fares much better: Reynir will lead him away, cross the water and beneath the sky that he insists has never harmed him. He once described Reynir as guileless, didn't he? The lad surely wouldn't lie to him, not even to assuage his panic. His breathing slows in tandem with his abating tremors as he convinces himself he must leave, lest he be abandoned by the one aspect of this world that is real. That, as it turns out, is the most terrifying prospect of all, one that reminds him too much of the Land Beyond Living, of his many dreams that trapped him there when he was still alive.

Peeling himself away from the tree, Carlisle gives Reynir one last, desperate look before closing his eyes again. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks, low as though the vastness of the horizon would hear them if he were any louder. For as much as he tries to close himself off in the waking world, he is painfully vulnerable in dreams.]

I- I know it is still there, still looming all around us, but- but it is better if I don't see. Please don't leave me here, Reynir. I cannot stay here.

[ Some people might call Carlisle a coward for his reaction to the whole situation, but Reynir only sees bravery. He watches as Carlisle forces himself to move from the (imagined) safety of the tree, approaching him and then shutting his eyes. It's brave, and an act of extreme trust. For just a moment, Reynir doubts himself, if he has earned that. But he's the one who is here. Carlisle needs help and Reynir is the only one around, and so he'll just have to be good enough.

So when Carlisle pleads with him not to go, Reynir answers swiftly and with conviction: ]

I won't. I'm not going to leave you, I promise.

[ He glances up and out in the direction they will be going, and then back at Carlisle, still trembling slightly but with his eyes shut tight. ]

I am gonna touch your shoulder and hold your hand, though.

[ That warning given, Reynir lays one hand on Carlisle's shoulder and reaches over to take Carlisle's hand with the other so he can guide him. Once he's done that, he presses gently to get Carlisle moving. He figures that silence will only make the lack of vision all the worse and he doesn't want to give Carlisle's imagination time to cook up any terror or imagine it hears the sound of anything threatening. So he keeps up a steady stream of words even as the two of them start walking like that - tentative for the first few steps but quickly becoming quite brisk - the quicker they get there, the sooner it's all over. ]

There's actually a silly game like this that we used to play in my village where you would start in a particular spot and one person would shut their eyes and someone else would lead them and if you were being led you had to try to keep track of where you were and if you were doing the leading you had to try to get them turned around and at some point you stopped and the person with their eyes closed had to guess like, oh I'm at the top of the hill near that broken down old stone wall or oh I'm right outside Reynir's house...

[ Reynir keeps going even as they step off the land and onto the flat surface of the water. He knows just where he is going, and that the journey shouldn't take all that long at all. Already up ahead he can see that shimmer, and beyond it, the rich green hills that look just like Iceland.

It's a little bit sad, that he won't get to show Carlisle more of this place, explore, but Reynir is adaptable. He would much rather get Carlisle somewhere he feels safe and happy than anything else. ]

...and it might sound like that's boring but we all lived there all our lives and we know the village back to front so it took an awful lot of work to get us confused, but it did happen now and then, there was this one girl in particular who was so good at it, I've got no idea what her secret was, honestly I would expect magic but she was always a terrible liar so there's no way she was a mage all that time and just hiding it from everyone...

[Carlisle remains silent as Reynir prattles on, listening intently. He's so sure he can hear water splashing beneath their feet with every step, their breaths in the likely nonexistent air. It's not an easy task, but he wills himself to ignore the thought of the abyssal depths below them, threatening to pull him under; he stifles his fear of the vast sky above them, one which would swallow him whole if allowed; he gnaws on his lip, doing his damnedest to not consider the endless horizon on their every side, its featureless expanse simultaneously foreign and familiar.

And so he focuses on Reynir's words, letting them fill the void that would otherwise be filled with his overwhelming fears. He's calmer with every step; he almost feels like opening his eyes. Opening one just a crack, he finds that no, maybe he's not quite ready for that, his hand tightening on Reynir's. He's not much for hand-holding, figurative or literal -- he's not used to being touched in general, as it's not recommended for someone whose primary work is channeling through his hands -- but he stifles his discomfort, far more unnerved by the thought of being left behind.

Putting his free hand over his eyes to avoid further temptation, he forces himself to try to picture what it is his companion is describing. Unfortunately, Carlisle is not terribly imaginative, despite his best efforts.]

Wh- why would someone hide they were a m- mage? It doesn't sound taboo, from how- from how you've spoken of it.

[ Reynir sees Carlisle covering his eyes further and, doesn't question it. He can do whatever he needs to do in order to feel a little safer. Reynir is focused on getting them across as quick as he can, while staying alert for anything that might delay them. There are no signs of any other mages or spirits or anything, though. Just the broad sky and calm water. ]

No, not at all! The exact opposite. Mages exist because we've been chosen by the gods. It's a blessing to have a mage in your community. I guess the only reason someone would is if they didn't want to help out? It's sort of considered your responsibility if you're a mage to serve people. Make runes for farmers to help keep their sheep from wandering off or help cure a toothache or whatever people need.

[ He knows that is what his mother had expected of him as soon as she found out he was a mage. And perhaps he should feel more guilty from leaving that responsibility behind. But... things are good in his village. There are other places that need him more. And he wants more than that life. ]

Honestly, she was probably just cheating somehow. Everybody else probably knew how, too. I've always been sort of bad at being able to tell when people are tricking me or hiding stuff Gullible, I guess, is the word I'm looking for.

[ ~~DEFINITELY NOT SOMETHING THAT APPLIES BETWEEN THESE TWO~~.

Reynir lets out a happy sigh as they move through the invisible barrier, stepping off the water and into a completely different landscape. It is still open country, but there are big hills and the sky is filled with huge puffy white clouds making quick progress. There are some shaggy sheep a few feet away, and a landscape full of hills and rocks and grass and moss, the whole thing so very familiar.

Without letting go, Reynir squeezes Carlisle's hand gently and says: ]

Aaaaand we're through. You can open your eyes now.

Edited 2019-11-21 00:28 (UTC)

[It's their responsibility as a mage to help, he says. That sounds a lot like being a healer, or even a Longinmouth. Carlisle was always told it was his duty to protect the people of Bear Den, as their bloodline had for generations; that expectation guided him in so much of his decision-making, from the way he willed the town all his possessions to the fact he stayed close even when he was the only one left. If he'd had siblings and were not cursed, would he have been free to explore the world beyond the mountains? Would he have even wanted to, had he the option?

Given the way he's still covering his eyes, lest he be petrified by the open space all around them, the answer is a resounding no. Even when Reynir says they're in the clear, he hesitates; however, when he finally does manage to peek at the promised land around them, Carlisle finds himself pleasantly surprised, stunned into outright awe. Clouds fill the open sky above them, blocking out portions of it and casting shadows on the grassy knolls below. Hills rise up in all directions, their vivid, green pastures dotted with rocky crags and woolly sheep. It's not a terrifying flatland devoid of life like the Land Beyond Living, but a welcoming expanse of color and warmth like Bear Den itself -- well, like Bear Den once was.

He's so taken aback he just stares, his eyes watering, though if those are tears or from how bright it is, he does not say. He's even forgotten to release Reynir's hand.]

[ Reynir is worried, by how long it takes Carlisle to uncover his eyes. But he waits, patient and anxious, until he looks out on the (hopefully) more welcoming landscape. Since Carlisle seems in no hurry to release Reynir's hand, he keeps hold of it. It's not the open space of that flat ocean, after all, but it is not as enclosed as those trees or that walled-in garden.

When he sees that Carlisle seems to be taking in the view without another breakdown that might make it necessary to try another area entirely (Reynir had already half-planned to try Onni's, next, if this was no better than the last), Reynir tugs gently, pulling Carlisle towards a little hollow between two steeper hills, where the ground is shadowed and there are almost walls of mossy earth enclosing a slightly cooler, darker place.

How many times had Reynir stretched out in little hollows like this, to nap for a few minutes while the sheep grazed, as he was growing up. As they move, the dog stays at their heels, seeming content to shadow them but not utter any more ominous pronouncements for the moment. ]

Carlisle...?

[ Reynir's voice is careful, concerned, tentative. He gestures to a soft place on the earth, where Carlisle can sit, if he wants to. He still hasn't released his hand. ]

Will this... be alright? If you want... we can stay here, until you wake up. I won't leave your side. I promise.

[Reynir gives Carlisle's hand a tug, and the clergyman follows along, in awe the whole way. The way the ground shifts beneath them, wind he's so sure he can feel as it rolls along the hills, the sounds of the sheep bleating in the far distance -- it may not be real, but if he closes his eyes, it certainly feels that way. He's lost in it all until Reynir addresses him, bringing Carlisle to his senses.]

Wha- oh. Oh yes, it's- sorry. Sorry sorry sorry, I- I don't know what came over me.

[He smiles a bit sheepishly as he continues to stare, finally releasing Reynir's hand and pulling off his glasses, pawing at his eyes with his palm. When he does sit, it's less because he was offered a spot, and more because his legs just seem to give out. He finds his voice again after a moment, his earnestness showing more than he'd like, but given Reynir is the one who brought him to this place -- and put up with him on the journey over -- he feels it necessary to be truthful.]

I'm not... used to this. In dreams. To see things so bright, and so much like home.

[ It's true that this level of vulnerability is something new for Reynir to see in Carlisle, but he doesn't remark on it, or mind it. He does his best to politely pretend he doesn't notice Carlisle wiping away those tears. Reynir doesn't ask why Carlisle had that sudden attack of terror - not yet anyway - and just sits near to him, close but not touching, making himself comfortable. ]

These are the only kind of dreams I know.

[ Reynir sprawls out, comfortable, hoping if he telegraphs his feeling of safety enough, it will calm Carlisle down, too. He looks over at his friend, still surprised to be seeing this younger version of him, unveiled, healthier...

What had happened, between when he picked up this inner vision of who he is, and the Carlisle that Reynir now knows in the Anchor? Was it only (only!) the destruction of his home by necromancers? Had there been more, tragedies befalling him, personally?

But how could he possibly ask that? ]

Well, I guess that's not entirely true. I've had some omens of the future that were... pretty terrifying, actually.

[ A mild way of putting it, considering they usually involved warnings of imminent horrific death if he didn't do something right away. The first one in particular, back when he'd just found out he was a mage and didn't understand what was happening, had been... a very bad time.

Tentatively, he turns to Carlisle, asks: ]

Is that the kind of thing you're talking about?

[Carlisle shakes his head, sliding his glasses back onto his face as he continues to watch the sheep. Though nearly hidden in the daylight, their glow is reflected in his lenses, and ever-present reminder of what he truly is that lingers even in his dreams.]

So often, I see what must be the Land Beyond Living. It is barren, colorless. A vast, empty expanse devoid of life. It is a plane where remorse and guilt are one's only company. It is where the twice-cursed go when we die, isn't it?

[He asks that as if he doesn't know, but doesn't seem to be asking Reynir so much as just talking to himself. He shakes his head again. No, what happens to the twice-cursed when they die is far worse than that.]

I imagine your omens must be just as frightening. Not like this place. It's peaceful. Better than I thought it would be, frankly.

[Though everything is an improvement over the terrifying ocean.]

[ The Land Beyond Living? Reynir assumes this is the shared afterlife for all souls in Carlisle's faith, and so he waits patiently for more details. But it... sounds kind of horrible? Super horrible, actually. Especially for someone like Carlisle who seems to be terrified of open spaces. Or perhaps that place is the origin of that terror?

Then, Carlisle says something really interesting.

Reynir hears it. That crucial, unmistakable 'we'. Whatever being twice-cursed is, if it ends a person up in a realm of remorse and guilt and nothing else, it can't be good. And Carlisle hadn't said 'they'. He'd said we. So preoccupied, almost muttering not for Reynir's ears. An unintentional slip, probably.

After a few moments of thought, Reynir doesn't ask what it means. Not yet, anyway. Carlisle has just had a bad fright, and he is new to the dreamspace, powerless and afraid here. Reynir isn't going to ambush him, like that. He will wait, and ask the next time he sees Carlisle awake. Then, he will get his answers.

His answer about omens is somewhat distracted at first, because he's still preoccupied with this new mystery. ]

They're - awful, yeah. But useful, too. I would much rather die in an omen, wake up, and haul ass out of danger than have a pleasant dream and be unaware of what's coming for me.

[ Reynir realizes a moment too soon that maybe his answer was a bit too honest and possibly frightening, so he hastens to add, full attention snapping back to the conversation at hand: ]

I don't see any omens here, now, though. We're safe.

[ Gotta really reinforce that point.

When Carlisle says this plce is better than he thought it would be, a little smile curls one corner of Reynir's mouth. ]

Did I make it sound that terrible?

[Yeah, good thing Reynir clarified about those omens, because Carlisle's eyes certainly did flick his way, his face wrinkling with apprehension. He returns his attention to the fields before them on Reynir's assurance, hoping it can be trusted. He has no reason to believe Reynir is lying to him, after all, though Carlisle's anxieties rarely rest, even in his sleep.]

Not at all. I simply was not optimistic it would live up to expectations, is all.

[He does wonder what it is Reynir means when he says he'd prefer to die in an omen, though. Is it like dying in a nightmare? Does that happen often to mages like him?]

Are you a seer, then? Or are these omens and foresight common among mages of your world, much like walking into one another's dreams?

[ Reynir is learning, bit by bit, that Carlisle is a rather pessimistic sort of person. Perhaps he always has been, or perhaps his life experiences had left him that way. Either way... looking on the bright side or hoping for the best are clearly not things that come to him naturally any more. It reminds him of Onni, a little. That sort of attitude doesn't make much sense to Reynir, but it doesn't necessarily bother him. It's just how Carlisle is. ]

Oh, no, nothing special like that - it's completely common. Just like the dreams, and hearing trolls, and seeing spirits. It doesn't matter where you're from. I guess... there is a little variation between people. I see more omens than Lalli, I think. But not by that much.

[ It's also just possible that Lalli simply doesn't mention them to Reynir, but he doesn't think so. As he becomes more comfortable with the fact that he's a mage, Reynir is starting to recognize his own strengths, and weaknesses. He is receptive to lots of visions, and can navigate the dreamspace easily and efficiently. Lalli and Onni can't cross that open water without him nearby, are more closed off to omens - but then, that means they are more protected from malevolent spirits, and in combat both of them far outstrip Reynir. ]

It's not always that easy to know what they mean. Sometimes it's really clear, like, hey there are ghosts here, stupid, better leave before they try to eat you. But sometimes it's really abstract. Just - images. Places I don't recognize. Feelings. It can be hard, figuring out how they connect.

[ A sheep meanders over towards them and bends its head, beginning to chew idly at the hem of Carlisle's coat. Reynir reaches over to untangle a little snarl of grass that's gotten stuck to its little horn. He wants to ask more about the Land Beyond the Living, but he doesn't want to approach it directly. So he asks: ]

Have you... always not liked big open spaces like that?

[There's a second where Carlisle puts a hand on the sheep's head to try to push it away from his coat, only to remember that this is a dream: that is not his actual tabard, nor is that a real sheep. It's a good thing too, as the sheep is completely uninterested in his efforts, and continues to chew, unperturbed. He sighs, trying to piece together the bits and pieces he's learned about Reynir's strange world. Ghosts apparently eat people, mages are commonly seers, trolls are apparently heard and are possibly undead spirits... and yet, for all the differences, there's this place that reminds Carlisle so much of home that it hurts.]

I was born surrounded by mountains and forests. My affliction meant it best that I not stray far from home. I was already afraid of what lay beyond our estate's walls well before I had reason to be. And being haunted by a place so vast and so cold when I slept, night after night, year after year -- I was done no favors.

[He shakes his head, doing a poor job of hiding his discomfort.]

Did you know that beyond Anchor's walls is a wasteland? So massive, so empty. So much like it.

[ Reynir had thought to wait and ask more later, but as soon as Carlisle mentions an affliction, he wonders if it is related to what he'd said earlier, about being cursed twice. He sees no reason not to ask - Carlisle is already dwelling on unpleasant subjects, possibly working himself into a fright again. If there's any chance of interrupting that momentum, Reynir is going to take it. ]

Affliction? You... were ill? Are ill?

[ He is playing dumb just slightly, but for good reason. He is giving Carlisle a potential out, if he wants to merely wave it off as something like that. The young mage's green eyes are intent, however, wide and credulous and unafraid. He wants to know more. He wants to understand. ]

[Carlisle blinks, his eyes widening, brow furrowing as he realizes he might have been more forthcoming than he meant to be. He glances Reynir's way, the corner of his mouth twisting into the beginnings of a lopsided, nervous smile, but upon seeing the earnestness in his companion's eyes, he finds it harder to be anything but truthful, his facade failing. He looks back toward the sheep, using it as an excuse to avert his eyes.]

I was. Still am, I suppose.

[He used to hide his affliction, lest people judge him before even knowing his name; now he uses his affliction to hide what he is. It's so much easier to talk about his condition now that he has worse troubles to deal with, and he'd rather claim to be ill than undead, affected rather than an abomination in a human skin.]

It is a curse, a rare condition that has defined my existence, and despite everything, continues to do so. I did not always wear a veil, you see.

[ Reynir can see that Carlisle isn't exactly very comfortable, speaking about this. He waits while Carlisle looks away, answers him in that quiet, serious way. ]

I don't really know much about curses. Does that mean... someone did this to you? Or is it a thing you're born with, that goes in families?

[ Neither possibility is exactly great. Reynir doesn't even consider that it might be the side effect of something else entirely. It doesn't occur to him that Carlisle might be using this to conceal some worse secret. Reynir is honest enough that it can be hard for him to imagine a lack of it in other people. Even this, something Carlisle failed to mention... well it's so personal. Of course, he didn't bring it up at first to new people around him. ]

I - I thought... I assumed it was some kind of religious garb. Do all the priests in your world not wear them?

[ Defined his existence. So this is something huge, something that had shaped Carlisle as a person. He'd said it was the reason he never strayed far from home, that it has something to do with his dreams and possibly what afterlife he will go to? ]

Ah, no, on all counts. Some orders wear veils, but they are not a part of the traditional vestments of those serving the Clarity, like myself.

[He gestures to his current outfit, having gone for the easiest answer first. The other is more complicated.]

As for my condition, it was not passed through my bloodline, nor was it placed upon me by an individual -- or I don't believe it to have been. No one knows just why it is the twice-cursed are afflicted the way they are. Some say we are damned for having wasted a god's time, while others believe we drew so near to our end that our bodies themselves are trapped somewhere on the precipice of life and death.

[ As they are talking, Reynir's fylgja has trotted back and settles itself down beside Reynir, resting his chin on Reynir's knee. Reynir reaches down and absently scritches the dog between its ears, not taking his eyes off Carlisle. All the answers he's providing only raise more questions than they answer. Part of that is because the situation is clearly complex, and personal, and painful. But part of it is because Carlisle is being very indirect, is leaving out vital information. Reynir can feel that.

Still, sometimes these things need to be coaxed into the light slowly, and he has time to spare. ]

So, then why did your curse mean you had to wear a veil?

[ He isn't going to assume it's a thing all twice-cursed wear, now, but is just going to ask directly what the connection is. Maybe it's a social norm, but maybe it's only Carlisle, for reasons he doesn't yet know. ]

Drew near your end? So... the affliction comes from nearly dying, and getting stuck between the two?

[ He can't imagine how that would work for a body but for a soul, he can imagine it. It's a bit like what had happened to the ghosts of those people who had been given the false cure, during the initial outbreak. They had died before they could be transformed to trolls, but their souls had still been trapped outside of their afterlife, too present, but not able to pass on. Of course, they hadn't been living the way that Carlisle is...

...or at least, Reynir had assumed he is. But perhaps that was wrong? Perhaps he is some kind of ghost, even back at the Anchor? ]

I know it's rude to ask so many questions I just - I want to understand, because you're my friend.

[As Carlisle tries to figure out how to answer such questions -- but not in a way that is too telling, as the thought of being discovered for what he truly is still fills him with trepidation -- Reynir catches him so completely off-guard that he can't focus on anything but one statement in particular. The slightest hint of red blossoms under his glasses; his body is still capable of expressing bashfulness in such a way in his dreams.]

Are we? Friends, I mean?

[He asks that not like someone who would rather not be friends, but as a man who is honestly uncertain. He spent most of his life in relative isolation, his emotions guarded when not in the privacy of his estate, everyone kept at arm's length due to the superstitions behind the twice-cursed. People knew who he was because of his position at the church, knew of him because of his family name, but they didn't know Carlisle himself; those in Bear Den knew him his entire life, but didn't know his favorite dish, his hobbies outside of his work, his favorite kind of tea. It suited Carlisle well enough in life, as everyone -- himself included -- thought the twice-cursed were better off in seclusion, as anyone close to them was likely to suffer from the malady and misfortune that surrounded them.

But... he has always liked the idea, been envious of those who could make those kinds of connections without worrying what ruin they might bring to others. He believed the rumors: it was hard not to when his father died so soon after his affliction manifested, his uncles vanishing but a few years later. After that, he was the only Longinmouth left, and with no one to say otherwise, it was easy to assume the old tales and rhymes about the twice-cursed were entirely and utterly true.

And so he gives Reynir an earnest look, his question genuine.]

Edited 2019-12-13 22:32 (UTC)

[ Reynir is, fortunately or unfortunately, blithely unaware of just how much this means to Carlisle. He's gotten a sense that he's a lonely guy, sure. It would be hard to miss that. He recoils from anybody touching him, he asks a lot more questions about other people than he wants to answer about himself. He talks about being cursed and that meaning he had to stay close to home. He's devout, but Reynir hasn't heard him talk about any individuals from his own world with fondness.

So he gets that Carlisle isn't really the life of the party. But he doesn't understand how overdue it is or how few friends Carlisle has ever had. He just gives a little shrug, smiling in a lopsided way. ]

Yeah. We are.

[ Like it's simple to say the words, natural to want to have that kind of relationship with Carlisle. And as far as Reynir's concerned, it really is.

But he realizes now it's not something they'd talked about, so he gives Carlisle an out, just in case: ]

I mean, as long as that's okay with you. I know sometimes I get on people's nerves. But I would really like to be friends.

[Reynir makes it sound so easy, like their being friends isn't an arduous task. Carlisle is aware that, his curse aside, he can be an acquired taste in the very best conditions: his personality doesn't exactly lend to making friends easily, and even he gets annoyed with himself and his anxieties. There's a reason he drank so heavily in life to escape his own, overburdening thoughts. He matches Reynir's lopsided smile with one of his own as he brings his hands together in his lap, wringing his fingers.]

Yes, yes that's fine. I mean, it's okay with me. I would like that. I know that I am often not easy to get along with, what with... me being me. I think I need not remind you of the journey here.

[Which, frankly, went better than expected.]

[ Reynir is smiling as soon as Carlisle says that being friends is fine with him. He notices Carlisle is blushing a little bit, but he's also smiling and that is such a wonderful thing to see. He's not sure how often he might ever get to see that, so Reynir really takes it in and enjoys it.

However Reynir's delighted expression grows faintly puzzled when Carlisle says he's difficult to get along with. He says it's because himself, in a way that seems to imply some fundamental flaw about himself. Without hesitation, Reynir replies: ]

Really? I've found getting along with you completely easy. Including the journey here.

[ It's possible there is some ugly side to Carlisle that hasn't yet reared it's head, sure. But the choice of example he uses... as if his fear were something difficult to deal with. An imposition. But Reynir doesn't mind that Carlisle was afraid. He hadn't minded that Carlisle was afraid when they first met at the spa, either. He didn't even mind that Carlisle was a little snippy at the start of the dream, before he remembered Reynir. Honestly, Reynir has plenty of sunshine to go around; he doesn't mind befriending a few cloudier people who are in need of some brightening up. ]

And even if it ever isn't, friendship isn't about everything being 100% easy all of the time. So don't you worry about being you. You being you is cool with me!

[Disagree as he may internally about how easy he is to get along with, Carlisle is grateful for Reynir's words, that soft grin of his remaining plastered across his face as he turns his eyes back to the fields before them. He may have a lot to learn in regards to how to manage a friendship, but he is, if nothing else, a quick study. The hardest part is not worrying about being himself, as himself is often something he doesn't like, especially these days.

The thought then crosses his mind of what Reynir will think once he discovers what he is beneath that veil. Should he tell him? Maybe he'll never find out, which somehow doesn't sound like a much better option. The very thought makes Carlisle's stomach churn either way, or maybe that's just his personal distaste for aberrations like himself. It's impossible to tell at this point.

He pulls in a deep breath as he closes his eyes, trying to settle his paranoia for at least two minutes. Let him bask for a moment in the peace around him with the friend beside him.]

Thank you, Reynir. I suppose I should wake up at some point. Go back to facing the world of the living, as pale and cold as it is by comparison.

[Yeah, that's his distaste for the undead and his current state of being talking.]

[ Reynir can see that something is going on inside Carlisle, but he can’t begin to accurately guess what it is. The theory he comes up with has much more to do with his own life than it does what’s actually bothering Carlisle. It occurs to him that Carlisle had seen his home again, the way it was before everything went wrong. And now, what with them talking about friendship… maybe he is thinking about friends of his who he had had at home, who he had lost when necromancers laid waste to the place. Did all of his friends die? Had Reynir reopened those wounds without meaning to?

There’s a softness of empathy in his face, because Reynir knows how awful it is to lose a friend. When Carlisle talks about needing to face the world after he wakes up, Reynir quietly offers: ]

Well… now that we’ve established we’re friends, can’t I – isn’t there anything I can do to help make the waking world less pale and cold, for you?

[ Some things are beyond his control. He can’t bring back Carlisle’s home or his old life, or do anything to make him not-cursed. But surely there is something, however small? ]

[Carlisle runs a hand through his hair, thinking. Describing the world as pale and cold had been relatively literal, as the undead simply aren't capable of experiencing sensation the same way as the living. Ever since he regained his awareness, Carlisle's entire existence has been dulled by comparison, his human senses limited, nearly replaced by feeling through disturbances in the energies that keep him animated; despite traversing the world of the living, he no longer feels as though he's part of it, constantly reminded he is more creature than man at this point.

But surely Reynir is right, and something can be done. Carlisle may just have a harder time thinking of such things, given his general disposition. It's hard to be optimistic when most things in his life have gone horribly, horribly wrong.]

I... don't know, frankly. I suppose that an occasional distraction from [what he is, what he's done, what things he has yet to do] my thoughts would do me good, whether it is because we are sharing tea, or talking about magic, or just meeting in a serene place like this.

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