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

[ Just then, reality lurches.

It's not a physical disturbance, nor a magical one, nor psychic. It feels totally different from any of those, yet similar to all of them, somehow registering to all senses and none simultaneously. The effect is intensely disorienting.

It passes in a second, leaving Qubit with both a wave of nausea and a much less physical Bad Feeling About This. He freezes in place, except for his eyes, which dart back and forth. ]

What was that?

[Unfortunately, with most of his senses as dulled as they are (the consequences of being a walking corpse), Carlisle hardly feels a thing when reality starts shifting around them -- no disorientation, no nausea, nothing save for a minute feeling that something is off in a way he cannot fully describe. He can, however, hear well the alarm in Qubit's voice, his eyes flicking to the other man.]

What? What was what?

[Qubit's eyes dart around, while Carlisle's go past him to the far wall; he tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. Wasn't it covered in clutter just a moment ago? With shelves and gadgets of indeterminate make? And wasn't the wall itself of different construction? Or was he just imagining that? Given how his mind has been since the incident, he wouldn't be terribly surprised if he was seeing things, but still...]

[ What's Carlisle looking at? Qubit turns to see for himself, realizes with considerable alarm that what he's looking at isn't part of his lab - and then the Shift proper hits.

It's difficult to describe what it's like, watching space and time cease to mean much of anything. The walls stretch and compress simultaneously. Up is down, left is right, parallel lines converge, c is not constant in a vacuum, and the visible spectrum shrinks to only its longest wavelengths, such that the only color the human eye perceives is red...

Qubit's never been caught in this phenomenon before, but the color tips him off. ]

A Redshift? Here?!

[ He turns back to Carlisle, but doesn't see his friend. The man standing in his place is a stranger. Startled, Qubit recoils, but loses his balance and staggers into a wall - but the wall is the ground, and always was, just as the man who surprised him is Carlisle again, and always was. His eyes narrow with determination, and on impulse he sticks out his hand. ]

Carlisle! Grab on! We must not get separated!

[While he might not have been disoriented before, Carlisle certainly is now. Just as he's about to ask exactly what a Redshift is, as all of the explanations he's found have been anything but thorough, he learns through pure experience as the walls around them seem to move and bend -- not breaking, but flexing like molten steel, then flowing like water. That shouldn't be possible, should it? For a moment, he believes the world is melting all around them; he closes his eyes in unadulterated, instinctive fear, so sure this is the end.

But the end doesn't come, and when he cracks his eyes open once more, the entire room feels different -- and as a man who can feel very little in the traditional sense these days, he absolutely cannot explain it. Qubit's voice grounds him, the audacity of his command bolstering him momentarily against his terror.]

Wh- grab on?! You really think you ought to touch me after what I just told you about Mister Kieran and Deputy Pratt and—

[The room shifts again. Carlisle's legs threaten to buckle, and for a split second, he is utterly, terribly alone: the lab is gone, the walls are gone, and there is nothing. And then he's back, and Qubit's hand is there again, extended for him. He does not need to be told twice.]

Right right right, grabbing now!

[He hopes his gloves are enough to keep any and all necrotic energy he may be emanating at bay.]

[ It probably is a bad idea, but in the moment Qubit would rather lose a hand than his friend. Indeed, for a terrifying split second he does lose track of him - but then he's back, and Qubit grasps his gloved hand tightly. Fortunately, there's no pain, but there's a lot more give to Carlisle's grip than he expected, as if the gloves are mostly fluff, and the hand underneath is skeletally thin...

There isn't time to give that observation too much thought. Qubit pulls himself up, but finds he doesn't have to put much weight onto Carlisle; gravity doesn't quite mean the same thing it did a minute ago.

What do you do in this situation? Redshifts are the subject of warning signs all over Anchor, but they lack detail, meant to remind rather than instruct, never thinking that the instructions themselves could become lost. One common sign comes to mind, though -

"If you're caught in an active Redshift:
1. Stay calm!
2. Stay put!
3. Stay together!
Remember: Be ready for anything!"

He takes hold of Carlisle's upper arm with his other hand to steady him - both of them, really. The shift keeps accelerating, reality twisting around them in ways normal perception isn't equipped to handle, warping straight lines into impossible geometries, opening invisible holes filled with static and noise. It's nauseating, overwhelming, maddening -

- and fascinating. He kicks himself for leaving his tablet on the lab bench - the data he could be collecting! But maybe that's for the best this time around. Focus on surviving this one, and next time you can study it to your heart's content. ]

"Stay calm. Stay put. Stay together."

[ Carlisle will have seen the signs, too, he assumes. He can't quite keep the anxiety out of his voice - not for lack of trying, but his heart's pounding too hard to allow it, and his speech has to move fast to keep up with his breathing. ]

The spatial distortions should resolve in time, we just need to wait this out, staying calm is paramount, Carlisle. Don't look. Focus on me, focus on your eksth'alva.

[Qubit tells Carlisle to stay calm, and he finds that to be the most difficult task in the world at that moment. With the way the room is shifting all around them, defying everything possibility by becoming an impossibility, he starts to question what is real and what isn't. As a cowardly man who spent most of his years both dead and alive, his soul separating more and more with every passing day between the realm of the living and that of the dead, seeing one world in his waking hours and another in his dreams, he has never had a very good grasp on what is real and what is only a figment of his paranoia. This isn't real, he tells himself; it cannot be.

His grip loosens as he goes to bury his face in his hands, desperate to shut out the calamity, but he finds that Qubit is still holding onto him; he can detect minute tremors in his energies as they fluctuate around his arm, bending where Qubit's fingers press against him. Carlisle can feel his hand, albeit in the roundabout way he senses things now as an undead -- Qubit is real. Focusing on the other man's voice, he runs those words back through his head: Stay calm. Stay put. Stay together. That is what the warnings said, isn't it?

His fingers tightening on Qubit as though to reaffirm that they are in this impossibility together, his brings his other hand to rest atop the first, closing his eyes as he focuses on his energy. He must not rot everything around him in terror, especially not the only other person with him. He does not want to be alone -- he cannot be alone. Old habits rise as he tries to keep himself measured, but there's no machinery around him to memorize, no details to fixate on to maintain his composure.

So he talks about what he does know, focusing on the pressure against his arm as he listens to his own voice as it takes off a mile a minute.]

When once faced with the possibility he could not find a particular component in our world famed alchemist Pendlebrook Brimstone devised an altered f-f-f-form of a planar rift a dangerous form of glyphcrafting that allows one to travel between the planes of existence and while it is never recommended anyone attempt such a tremendously daunting and potentially fatal endeavor Pendlebrook Brimstone was no regular man having already proven himself by that point to be one of the most capable magicians of his time on top of his renown in alchemy and so he s-s-settled down in his house to work on his glyph it took him years reportedly to complete it but on the fourth year under the The King of Watchers the Buried and the Massive he finally accomplished his goal bringing his brother-in-law to his house to act as witness as he stepped through the planar rift into another realm of existence and in order to find his way back he left behind an ench-ch-chanted watch that would tick louder the closer he was to it as he was certain he might not be able to trust his eyes in other realms but the ticking of the clock was a grounding factor for him just a little like now with you holding my arm this is fine this is fine this is fine this is fine—

Edited 2019-12-07 22:55 (UTC)

[ Qubit, on the other hand, keeps his eyes open. He may not be able to take readings, but he still wants to witness this. The jumbled detritus of other realities, twisting, turning, tumbling around and past and through them, like the untamed chaos of otherspace but raw, unfiltered, trackless. Fragmentary images, intense blasts of color and idea and sound, the taste of subatomic spin, familiar voices -

"Qubit? You're alive!"

He glimpses a purple jacket, bright white hair in the static. He hasn't seen her in over a year, but he'd know her anywhere. ]

Kaidan?

[ God. He didn't realize how much he'd missed her. For a second he's struck with the urge to go to her, find her in the shift and let her pull him back home. But-

Carlisle's tightening fingers and babbling draw him back. No - that's right. People hallucinate during Redshifts. Qubit knows this. He has no proof she's real, as much as he wishes she was. He closes his eyes just for a second, and when he opens them again, she's gone.

His head's spinning, but he focuses on the stream of words, only vaguely keeping track of the story. Pendlebrook Brimstone, his planar rift, his watch - whether truth or legend, it grounds him the same way his presence grounds Carlisle. This man is real, and for now, Qubit has a duty to him. ]

It is fine, Carlisle. You're doing well. Keep it up. Not much longer.

[ He's surprised by the solidness of his own voice. It's certainly more than he feels. ]

[ But he's right, it seems; the Redshift is beginning to resolve. The walls and floor resume their proper orientation. Time returns to a rate of one second per second, space occupies one meter per meter. And finally, with one last horrid lurch, things go back to normal.

Sort of.

He's aware of the heat first, so intense that the air almost hurts to breathe. Qubit staggers at first, but soon finds his land legs, though he's still breathing heavily and it's clear at a glance that he's immediately broken a sweat. ]

There. Hah! ... That wasn't so bad, was it?

[ It was! He kind of wants to puke. Anyway, where are they?

The room's brightly lit and brightly decorated, with fanciful crayon drawings and bold block letters and numbers hanging on the walls. There's a playhouse, a bookcase stocked with easy readers, toys strewn around the room... like a kindergarten, only all the children are dead.

The skeletons turn his stomach even more than the Redshift itself. Not because Carlisle's probably going to end up raising them - that only enters his mind as a formality - but because Qubit knows exactly where they are. He's been here before. His hand unconsciously tightens on Carlisle's arm. ]

Oh. Oh, no.

[Beneath Carlisle's panicked murmuring -- a dozen more this is fines and a few I'm heres escape him as the world around them begins settling down -- he's fairly certain he hears Qubit say a name he doesn't recognize. Or was that his name? No, no that was definitely a different name. Is there someone else there? Or was he talking to one of his machines? Was it another term for the phenomenon they were experiencing?

He doesn't know the answer, but what he does know is Qubit sounds more uncertain than usual. It's to be expected of anyone going through the nightmarish experience they are, he assumes, but it's odd to hear the usually logical and composed Qubit in particular so... rattled.

But it's fine. It's going to be fine. Unrecognizable sensations are slowly replaced with more familiar ones, and though temperature changes are harder to detect now that he's an undead, Carlisle is aware enough of his own energies (uneven as they currently are) to feel how they shift based on external influences. Is that heat? That's heat. That's a lot of heat. But why is it suddenly so hot? They aren't out in the wastes, are they?

Or maybe the lab is on fire. It's probably on fire. This is not fine.

Qubit attempts to be reassuring, and Carlisle almost opens his eyes -- almost, as he stops when Qubit's hand tightens on his arm, sending a sharp ripple through his aural channels. Carlisle's brow tightens as the other man mutters to himself, his hand doing the same.]

'Oh no'? [His nerves are far more evident than Qubit's, as always; his tone is that of restrained denial.] What's 'oh no'? What are we oh-noing about? It's not very comforting when you're the one saying that. You know that, right?

Edited 2019-12-11 22:50 (UTC)

[ At the end of that, Qubit interrupts with - ] Shut up and let me think!

[ It comes out more snappish than he meant it, but that's what he's got. He squeezes his eyes shut, too, trying to rein in whatever the hell his emotions are doing right now.

Why now? Why here? Couldn't the shift have pulled in something more pleasant, like the center of the Sun? He's confused by the intensity of his aversion to it, though. He knew he didn't want to come back here, on some level - but he didn't realize he wasn't ready. And on top of that, this is probably the worst possible timing. Carlisle needs him, and needs him calm. He can't let himself fall apart at the seams, not now. Not over this.

Finally, Qubit swallows hard against the lump in his throat, forcing his reaction back into his gut where it belongs, almost like a physical thing. When he opens his eyes again, all that's left are logic and determination - but it's hollow, somehow. Detached. Following an algorithm.

Goals. First, calm Carlisle down. He releases Carlisle's arm, relaxes his grip on his hand. ]

It's nothing. No immediate danger. Are you all right?

[Fine. Great. Qubit sounds calm -- detached even. Carlisle recognizes that tone, having taken it himself loads of times when faced with criticisms like why would a twice-cursed be allowed to serve in the clergy and it's a shame your uncles aren't here, and you would know why, wouldn't you? He didn't always keep a level head, especially in private, but in front of his congregation, he manged to hold himself together. He got worse with age, the closer he got to death -- and to becoming a Revenant, he has realized in hindsight.

Unfortunately, he's never been very good at hiding his general anxiety, and while Qubit makes such reassuring statements as 'it's nothing' and 'no immediate danger,' the fact said statements were prefaced with him snapping says otherwise. He thinks to ask if Qubit is okay, but figures he'll open his eyes and take a look for himself, first.

He can't figure out why it's hot, but apparently it is, as Qubit is visibly sweating -- or maybe he's sweating because there are skeletons everywhere. And not just skeletons! There are colorful pictures and scrawlings, akin to the kind children would make. And toys, like those children would play with. And books that are clearly not for adult readers, but more like something—

Those are child skeletons. Carlisle would be more appalled if he weren't so utterly dumbfounded at the fact that he, a man who uncontrollably animates skeletons and came here to complain to Qubit about how he animated some skeletons, has been spirited away to a room with skeletons.]

You have got to be joking.

[Nope, not a joke. He seems equal parts horrified and angry.]

Desth, why?! Why here, why now, why skeletons?!

[He whirls to face Qubit, furious, gesturing to the skeletons strewn about the room.]

Does this look like nothing to you, Mister Qubit?

[Obviously not, or he wouldn't have snapped, but Carlisle needs a second to mitigate his own disgust before he can focus on Qubit's initial reaction.]

Edited 2019-12-12 02:30 (UTC)

[ He just had to go and open his eyes, didn't he. The fact that he's furious is a problem. Bad things have been known to happen when Carlisle is angry and surrounded by dead bodies. Logically, the correct thing to do here is talk him down, focus his attention on what they actually need to do -

But his own temper flares, and that's the one place logic brain does not have veto authority. Qubit lowers his chin, glaring at Carlisle with darkening eyes. ]

Fine. Let me rephrase. There's no immediate danger to you. The danger to me right now is considerable.

[That assessment, combined with the glare he receives, only stokes the fire in Carlisle as he takes both in the worst way.]

Oh, I see. Wonderful. Fantastic. The danger to you is considerable, what with all these nothing skeletons lying about, now isn't it?

[He waves toward said skeletons again, just in case Qubit has forgotten they are there. His voice trembles as he imitates Qubit's cadence.]

Just stay calm, Carlisle. It's fine. You're doing well. And I suppose I'd've kept doing well if I hadn't seen all this, now wouldn't I? Say whatever it is you need to say to keep me from getting riled up. Lie to me so I don't make a bigger mess of things. Is that it?

[He's angry all right, but beneath his ire is undeniable injury, hurt. None of the skeletons come to life yet, but one on the far wall certainly does twitch.]

Edited 2019-12-12 06:16 (UTC)

[ No, damn it! He was just trying to point out that it is dangerous to get riled up right now! He knows Carlisle doesn't want to hurt him - but rather than taking the hint, Carlisle's taken offense.

The accusation cuts deep, because it's essentially true. Qubit has been emotionally manipulating him. Not without good reason - it was clear early on that Carlisle's powers are tied to his emotional state, and also that he has very little control over his emotions. If he'd freaked out during the Shift, Qubit could have died. He had no choice.

But what gets him more is the hurt in his friend's voice. The hurt of being tiptoed around, handled with caution, like -

- a ticking time bomb. ]

I did not! lie! to you!

[ No no no this is all wrong don't escalate you're making it worse ]

You came to me for help! I don't know the first thing about magic, what else did you expect me to do?!

[ Can't you keep your head for half a god damned minute ]

You've already done something you regret! I'm trying to keep you from doing something that can't be fixed!

[ The Jackson Plague. Sky City. Respectively. No. Stay in the present -

Oh. No, it's too late. He's not sure when it happened, and the change in his expression was gradual, too - but the anger's gone, turned inward, leaving Qubit's face contorted with anguish. ]

Right, because everything else I've ever done can be fixed! Problems I could have solved if I had half a mind to!

[His eyes are ablaze as he turns from Qubit, vapors of energy rising from his sockets like searing steam. The bones in the room twitch and tremble, a similar light building in their eyes. He buries his face in his hands, internally fighting himself despite his outward rage. His ire continues to manifest as words as they pour out of him, his tone somewhere between melancholy and vehemence.]

I was born into a line I could not possibly live up to. And I didn't! I absolutely didn't. I can fix that. I was cursed, and I was told that I would be the downfall of everyone around me. And I was! I suppose I can fix that too, can't I? I did everything I possibly could to make amends for just- for just existing, and it didn't matter! Nothing I did mattered! Everyone in Bear Den is gone! Can I fix that, Mister Qubit? Can I just fix what happened there? Or here? Can I fix anything? Anything at all? Maybe I should just be the monster everyone always expected me to be!

[The children around them animate the longer Carlisle talks, his energy pouring into them; directly below him is a patch of rot, one relatively contained despite his diatribe. The colorful blocks at his feet crack as the wood decays, the paint peeling off the letters. He turns to face Qubit once more, his eyes still full of fire and fury—]

[—And that's when he finally sees it: the despair written across Qubit's face, the torment he's kept so well buried, and it strikes Carlisle in that moment that, perhaps, Qubit hasn't been talking about him exclusively.

For someone he genuinely considers as his friend -- someone he thought he could trust, someone he believed wouldn't lie to him, someone who has offered to help him despite everything -- Carlisle knows so, so little about the technomancer himself. He, too, shuts out his emotions as best he can when necessary, masks himself with cold, detached logic rather than inane ramblings -- he keeps the details of his life private in a way Carlisle never could, certainly not with a lineage like his, and not now that he is at constant odds with his Revenant nature. It's a different kind of emotional isolation than Carlisle faced, but one that can be just as damaging. Carlisle knows his reason, but what is Qubit's?

It may be too late to ask. Carlisle's expression softens immediately, his wrath replaced with apologetic regret, but his attempt to reach out to Qubit is halted by a sharp, stabbing pain across his abdomen. Carlisle stiffens as his breath catches in his throat; he presses a hand against his middle, atop the scars that lay beneath his many layers. Just as he stops, so too do the skeletons, frozen in their animation.]

[ It was the wrong thing to say. Of course, now that he puts two brain cells together about it, of course it was. He was thinking too narrowly, restricting himself to the context of Anchor. You regret hurting them; you won't be able to undo killing everyone. But he knew about Bear Den. Carlisle's already killed the very people he was supposed to protect, and he's right, he can't fix that. But that wasn't here, Qubit thinks, no one knows about Bear Den, you have a clean slate, you can start fresh -

But that's not what Carlisle wants.

What does he want?

Maybe it doesn't matter anymore. His last declaration hits like a knife in Qubit's heart. But then Carlisle meets his eyes again, and - his face softens. Regret? Whatever it is, it makes it all the worse when he suddenly starts reeling in pain.

No. No no no, this isn't what was supposed to happen, he's reverting -

But Qubit promised him! He promised he'd find another way! He swore he'd never let this happen again! Yet here it is, happening right before his eyes, if he doesn't act now he'll be nothing more than the Blight Heir's latest victim, and yet - he can't move, can't speak, can't think.

Six-fingered hands scrabble feebly in the dust.

I've failed you.

I've failed them all. ]

[Carlisle remains affixed to the ground for several seconds, his entire body trembling, the glow of his eyes blinding as he cries out in agony; he swallows down the ink he feels bubbling in his throat, letting out a ragged, guttural groan as his legs buckle beneath him. With his energies still so out of alignment, his Revenant nature becomes too much to bear, threatening to consume what scraps of humanity he has left. Behind his mask, his teeth grind so hard he's afraid they'll crack, his back arching as his fingers dig into the fabric of his coat, his hand clutching at his middle as though his insides would fall out if given the chance. It's a feeling with which he is unfortunately familiar -- it's what happened when he was cursed. But he was damned from the start, wasn't he? He hadn't done anything wrong! He was—

He folds over, the one hand still at his middle, the other clawing at his hairline as his head throbs. He chided himself internally: Stop.

He manages to look Qubit's way, his expression imploring, but he can see from the look on his companion's face that he's made a mistake, tell from Qubit's obvious alarm that losing his temper was absolutely the wrong thing to do here, no matter what he just said about how he should just be a monster. He doesn't want to be a monster, doesn't want to hurt people, no matter how embittered he may be about his undeath. He's done so much of that already, hasn't he? What would his uncles think? Or his goddess? What would he think of himself if he turned on someone he considers a friend, possibly the only one he has now?

What if, without him, Qubit ends up stranded or perishes in this horrible place? None of his efforts in the past to prove himself worthy of existing may have meant anything, but what if this is the one thing that does?

That last question gives Carlisle purpose enough to will himself through his fit: he needs to be the calm one here, as Qubit seems to be dealing with an internal crisis of his own. He'll never find out what that crisis is if they find their ends here. So long as he can focus on that -- on helping Qubit -- rather than himself, he can keep moving, saving his self-turned disgust for later. The illumination in Carlisle's eyes dims as the pain subsides; the skeletons start jittering once more, not entirely lifeless, but no longer animating as quickly.]

M- Mister Qubit...

[His head hangs as he pushes himself to his feet, his voice grating at the back of his throat. A drop of ink hits the ground before him, escaping from his eye before he finally manages to right himself. Qubit's petrified silence is not giving him confidence: he seems to be looking beyond Carlisle, through him rather than at him. Is he under a compulsion? Dying? Are his insides withering? A thousand awful possibilities hit the clergyman's mind all at once. He forces himself to cut through the overwhelming anxiety, closing the gap between them step by step.]

Mister Qubit, I- I didn't mean it. I mean, I did mean it a little, but I was angry and ghk!

[He takes a step back reflexively as another pang runs through him, terrified his proximity will cause Qubit to crumble into dust. He bumps instead into a skeleton that has animated behind him, its small hands grabbing at his coat, begging for his attention. Another one comes to Qubit's side, pleading as it reaches for his arm.]

Edited 2019-12-13 09:55 (UTC)

[ For the first moments, Qubit can only stand immobile, helplessly watching as his friend collapses to the floor and writhes in agony. His mind goes on without him, coldly weighing his options. There are still weapons here that could subdue Carlisle, but he's said that being destroyed would turn him into a wraith, make things even worse. Containment, then - trap him here until the Shift clears, and hope it takes him with it -

But then, abruptly, Carlisle stills - and speaks. The bottom of Qubit's stomach drops out. No. He's not lost, it's not too late, Carlisle's still fighting-!

It's only a faint hope, but Qubit latches onto it like it's his only lifeline. He did mess up, he did let his emotions get the best of him, again - (and that's something else they have in common, isn't it, that when they lose their heads it's everyone else who suffers) - but all is not lost. Not yet. ]

I know. I know. So was I. [ He's still very visibly distressed, but it's given him some focus, too. ] I shouldn't have snapped, I - I wasn't thinking -

[ - and thinking is his entire thing, he's supposed to be the smart one, the one who finds solutions, failing to think is unthinkable -

But even now, he's got no ideas! What can he do? What can he possibly say that won't just make things worse? He wants to calm him down, reassure him it's not his fault, but he can't make Carlisle believe that, and anyway, it just makes his situation feel all the more awful and unfair -

Carlisle staggers back, and Qubit goes to step forward, only to find something tugging on his sleeve - one of the children's skeletons, looking up at him almost plaintively. He starts to jerk his arm away, but - these are only extensions of Carlisle's will, after all, and he can't quite bring himself to do it. He meets Carlisle's eyes, imploring, torn. ]

How do I help you, Carlisle? Tell me how to help you!

[In an odd turn of events, it's Qubit asking Carlisle for answers rather than the other way around. He looks from his companion to the skeleton at his side and back, feeling as though all eyes are upon him. It makes him nervous, agitated. Everyone looked to him as a Longinmouth, as someone who could help. Can he possibly be that anymore? Was he ever the right person to look to?

He can't doubt that -- not now, not when his aforementioned agitation is dangerous to a man that, despite the argument, Carlisle considers his friend. Even if he didn't, he wouldn't want to see Qubit in harm's way, but the fact he actually cares puts even more pressure on him to perform.]

I...

[One thing at a time, he tells himself through the throbbing in his head. Compartmentalize, take it step by step. Qubit is talking, so his insides are probably not withering, nor is he under a compulsion. One less thing to worry about. It's still hot -- not his fault. Legitimately not his fault. Carlisle makes eye contact with Qubit and starts talking again, though he's clearly speaking to himself, as well.]

Right. Okay.

[Skeletons: his fault, not hostile. An improvement over the last time he animated something on accident -- last two times. Several times, frankly. He brushes off the hand tugging at his coat, placing a palm against the once-child's skull, and with a murmured apology, he draws the energy from it. The bones clatter to the ground, more continuing to move behind them. He can deal with whatever else animates. He needs to be in control of his energies, or as much in control as possible.]

I'm okay. I need, um.

[He steps out of the decaying spot beneath him, rot appearing under his feet the moment they touch the ground again. He'll work on that.]

Right. Don't touch me. Do not touch me. I need a way to contain this. Have to calm down. We're fine now. We both misspoke, but we're fine.

[Another skeleton comes up behind him; he steps out of the current discolored patch and away from the child at the same time. His new location decays slower.]

I need you to be somewhere else, Mister Qubit. Safer. I don't think they'll attack you, but- but I need you to be safe. I need to be alone. [As usual.] Just- just for a moment. Don't go far, but it's comfortable, really. Familiar.

[It's only the latter of those things, but it's what Carlisle thinks he needs at the moment: the assured safety of those around him. That's what matters.]

Edited 2019-12-15 22:27 (UTC)

[ He's still himself. Oh, his magic isn't under control yet, given the way the carpet fades and frays and disintegrates beneath his feet, the way the children's bones keep twitching and rattling all around them. And he's still agitated, clearly, but - he's calmer. Thinking rationally. He has the awareness to take stock of the situation, and the wherewithal to take charge, and enough control to withdraw his energy from the little skeleton clinging to his robes.

He's himself.

It takes some of the weight off Qubit's shoulders - a weight he hadn't even realized he was trying to carry alone. How foolish. Ultimately, the one who bears the most responsibility for Carlisle's actions can be no one but Carlisle.

Don't touch me is fairly obvious, and Qubit nods - but when Carlisle tells him to vacate the premises, his first instinct is to protest. Leave? Now? He doesn't want to. He almost gave up on Carlisle not thirty seconds ago, almost thought he'd lost him, he can't abandon him now, he won't -

But the rational part of his mind sometimes gets things right. This isn't abandonment. Qubit asked how he can help, and Carlisle is telling him. It's like he said - the danger to him right now is considerable. Removing himself from harm's way will give Carlisle one less thing to worry about, and widen the acceptable margin of error as he reins his power in.

So it comes down to: Can Carlisle do this on his own? Can he be left unattended?

Qubit's still for a moment - tense, reluctant, conflicted. But finally, he forces a deep breath into and out of his lungs, the heat of the air making his chest ache - not that it didn't already, but now in a more tangible sense - and nods once, sharply, deeply worried but resolute. ]

... Right. I'll be just outside.

[ He frees his sleeve with a gentle tug, finding the little skeleton's grasp no stronger than a living child's, and heads to the doorway. At the threshold, he stops briefly and looks back as if to add something else, but then closes his mouth and exits before he can change his mind.

Good luck, Carlisle. Apparently, he... trusts you.

Weird. ]

[Afraid as he is to be alone, Carlisle reminds himself that this is only temporary, a brief parting in this strange and terrifying situation so that he can get his energies under control without bringing further potential harm to someone whose safety is, for him, a genuine concern. He's the one who insisted on this; he just needs a minute to collect himself. Qubit isn't far, but he's safer, surely. That's one less weight on Carlisle's shoulders -- he only has so many more to deal with, burdens that keep him mired in his own doubts and fears.

Why Qubit actually trusted him to handle this on his own is a mystery. After all, Carlisle doesn't even trust himself fully. How can he when he's so volatile, when his energies are a blight upon the living? He came to Qubit for help, so why would he possibly believe sending Qubit away was the right call?

The skeleton that had been by Qubit's side follows the other man for a step or two before coming to a halt, turning back to look at its master as though he has all the answers -- any answers, any reason for its existence. The glow of its eyes is dim compared to Carlisle's own, but there's still a sense of sadness there, of melancholy it cannot possibly understand. The animated undead are indeed an extension of his own will, and so it is his duty to deal with them, just as it always has been. That is what's familiar.

Carlisle takes a deep breath in. He doesn't need to breathe anymore, but the act alone makes him feel human, still alive as he centers himself in his old way. He murmurs another okay to himself as he steps out of his current patch of corroded floor and withered carpet, pulling the energy from the skeleton once he's close enough. He does the same for the other bones around the room, stiffly making a path to each of them, one by one, all the while wondering just why they are there. Who collects a bunch of children's skeletons and puts them in a playroom? Is this real, or is it just an elaborate, shared delusion caused by the Redshift?

And why was it Qubit reacted so poorly to them? He brushed off the grasp of the skeleton with ease, its grip no stronger than it had been when the child was alive, certainly not without the muscles and ligaments attached. He'd been more collected when dealing with the adult skeletons in the Whole Foods, even when they'd been charging at him, enraged by Carlisle's own fury. Is it because these were once children? What is it about these particular skeletons that has him so rattled?

... Okay, rattled is not the most appropriate way to think about this when considering skeletons, but his point still stands.

Carlisle draws in another breath, returning to the middle of the room. It's still now, quiet: the bones have stopped trembling with the beginnings of animation, the pounding in his head has slowed to a low, mild thrum. He's fine. He's here... and so is Qubit. Qubit is real, and he should let him know things are fine now -- as fine as they can be, in any case. Carlisle makes his way to the door to step into the corridor beyond, wanting to distance himself from this room as quickly as possible. Maybe elsewhere, his temperament will be easier to manage. Surely there aren't other surprises that await them.

... Surely.]

Edited 2019-12-17 08:15 (UTC)

[ While Carlisle's busy putting the kids to bed, Qubit gets some time to himself in the wrecked anteroom immediately next door. There's nothing new here, it's all exactly as he remembers it. No new threats. No old threats. Just heat and debris and a defaced group portrait and the low, loud rumble of the volcano in the background.

He finds a wall and leans heavily against it, letting it take some of his weight, tilts his head back and presses both hands tightly to his face. He keeps them there for a while, and wonders how the fuck he let this happen.

"This" meaning... just... this. All of this. Everything.

He tries to go back over the facts of the incident in his mind, in a last-ditch attempt to occupy himself with something constructive. But that train of thought escapes him, and with it the last of the delusion that he's still in control of his own mind. God, what's the matter with him? Carlisle really was doing fine, they'd made it through the Redshift unscathed, but then Qubit went and lost his composure and nearly got them both killed. (So Carlisle is responsible for Carlisle's actions, but Qubit still gets to blame himself? Try and work that one out.)

He thought he was okay now. He can talk about the Paradigm without flinching, even if he does leave out everything from 9th July onward. He even told Peter what happened to Tony - sort of. That counts as addressing it. He's supposed to be stable. Is this really all it takes to compromise him? One familiar locale? Good Lord, what would happen if someone from his past actually arrived here? He'd spontaneously combust, probably.

After some time, he lowers his arms and looks to the portrait. The Paradigm, in their glory days. There's no real purpose to his gaze as he lets it drift over each of their faces. All he does is look, and recommit them to memory. They're faces he hasn't seen in a long time, except in dreams... but in his dreams they're never smiling.

By the time Carlisle emerges from the room, Qubit has calmed down considerably. Instead he's staring at the picture, no longer agitated, just... exhausted, and very, very sad. Spotting his friend, though, he resets his expression to something more typically stoic, and pushes off from the wall to approach him, hands in his pockets, ignoring the picture entirely. He does not get too close. ]

... How are you feeling?

Edited 2019-12-17 09:59 (UTC)

[Carlisle only gets a glimpse of Qubit's despondence as he emerges from the room; it's gone the moment Qubit notices him, but not forgotten in the slightest. Their eyes meet briefly before Carlisle lowers his gaze, shame etching into his visible features. He may be calmer, but his internal disgust festers within him, as always.]

Embarrassed. Exhausted from the toll of living like this. Frustrated with my very existence and what it means for those around me. [He shrugs stiffly.] Aside from being drawn here, a normal day.

[His gaze flicks back to Qubit, then trails from him to the portrait in his line of sight. His brow tightens just a bit, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the faces he finds there, his head tilting a degree or two as he focuses on one in particular. Is that...?

And back to Qubit his attention goes as he tries to feign ignorance of the picture and its implications. One thing at a time.]

And you?

[He doesn't blame Qubit for standing a distance from him, as he'd distance himself if he could. However, Carlisle knows good and well that not all wounds are physical, and as he thinks again on that look of sadness Qubit wore when he exited the playroom, he cannot help but recall the torment in Qubit's voice earlier, the look of unadulterated anguish that stunned the near-Revenant from his wrathful tirade.

That look, the portrait, the stoicism now -- they all tie together, don't they?]

Edited 2019-12-17 10:42 (UTC)

[ As Carlisle's eyes find the portrait, Qubit's follow without him moving his head. Yeah, that sure is him on the right. A few years younger, maybe, but he's pretty distinctive. That's all the acknowledgment he gives it, though.

Honestly, he's a little surprised when Carlisle doesn't demand an explanation there and then. The first shoe's been dropped, where's the other one? But asking how he's feeling is almost worse. He doesn't know where to begin with that. Or with any of this, really. His eyes leave the picture, but they pass over Carlisle without meeting his gaze, settling on nothing in particular on the other side of him. ]

I'll live.

[ Kind of a loaded statement, in context; he's the only one here who can say that. He turns away slowly, letting out a long sigh and putting a hand to his forehead. ]

We can't stay here. It's too...

[ Dangerous? Fraught? Close to home? All of the above? ]

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