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

[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.

[ Lucky for Carlisle, Reynir has enough optimism to spare for at least three or four people. More than enough to share some. As Carlisle is describing potential distractions, a smile is spreading across Reynir's face, warm and bright. ]

Oh, well, that's easy! Those are things I would've wanted to do, anyway!

[ As for meeting in a place like this, maybe he could come up with some sort of rune, that Carlisle could put under his pillow, so he would arrive directly here rather than in that walled garden, so he wouldn't have to take that trip again...? What might it look like, such a rune? Reynir starts to think about it, hard, and doing so at that precise moment in his sleep cycle is enough to jar him awake.

Reynir knows that, almost certainly, Carlisle will remain in that same tranquil place until he wakes up, the same way other mages do in dreams. He knows that him disappearing like that might have been startling, but Carlisle is smart and hopefully he'll figure it out, and he has the sheep to keep him company...

Still, mid-way through the next day, Reynir sends a text just to check in with Carlisle, and also trying to establish how he is and whether he remembers the dream at all. Reynir isn't entirely sure that he will. The dreamspace can be unpredictable and who knows, given Carlisle's own magic...

He doesn't receive a text back for hours. Reynir alternates between worrying a little and telling himself he's being silly, and he has no reason to believe Carlisle is particularly prompt at answering his messages. Some people aren't. Reynir knows that. He reminds himself of that as he's getting ready for bed that next night.

What he does not expect is that, when he reappears in his area, that little patch of Iceland, Carlisle is there. Reynir lets out a little gasp, involuntarily, and exclaims: ]

Carlisle! You came back!

[ But now Reynir is confused. How had he gotten back here, without crossing that water by himself? Reynir doesn't think he could, really. Not just because of the fear, but because he would not have been able to walk on the water without Reynir there with him. So had he somehow managed to get himself to awaken in the dreamspace here, directly? How could he have? ]

How?

Edited 2019-12-21 22:45 (UTC)

[Upon hearing Reynir's voice, Carlisle sits up from where he'd been lying in the grass, disturbing the sheep grazing next to him. Despite having made a friend in his absence, Carlisle seems anxious as he looks Reynir up and down, as though gauging whether or not his senses are to be believed -- yes, that is Reynir coming up to greet him, not a figment of his imagination or the product of an encroaching bout of panic.]

I never left. [That sounds as though it's a realization to him.] Was I supposed to?

[He's not sure how traveling between dreams works, and it strikes him now that, perhaps, he's simply stuck here in this recreation of a world in another magician's mind. He hadn't thought too much about it at first: Reynir had vanished, and he'd assumed that, perhaps, he'd simply woken up. It seemed odd he'd remain in the space while Reynir was awake, but Carlisle tried not to worry too much. He'd awaken on his own soon enough.

So he'd remained where they'd been chatting, thinking until his thoughts turned to mild fretting. What if Reynir didn't come back? What if this was an elaborate hallucination brought on by the enchanted tea and his desperation to go somewhere much like Bear Den, except alive and well and not at all in absolute, necrotic ruin?

And deciding he'd avoid thinking like that for as long as possible, he'd ended up heading down to see the sheep. He'd never tended to any himself, but had seen the flocks near Bear Den, interacted with the animals once or twice. It was familiar, but not painfully so. He'd pet one, brushed another, their coats soft and inviting despite the fact this place and everything in it wasn't real. For a short while, it felt like it was, and that was enough to keep Carlisle from dwelling too long on his predicament.

But now that Reynir is back and the clear implication is he's there when he shouldn't logically be, Carlisle can't help but worry once more.]

How long have I been asleep?

Edited 2019-12-22 09:24 (UTC)

It's been a whole day. I sent you a text message. I thought - I assumed you were just too busy to text me back.

[ He shouldn't have just left it at that, he thinks now. He should have checked in, in person. Then he would have known before a whole day had gone by, that Carlisle was stuck. Reynir can feel the first stirrings of real worry in him. Had he caused this somehow, by bringing Carlisle here? Should he have just left him in that walled garden? Should he not have urged Carlisle into remembering who he was? Is this his fault, after all? ]

How did this happen...?

[ But before Carlisle can attempt to give an answer, whether the truth or some altered version of it, the dog comes trotting over from the hills. It makes its way between them and sits, tail wagging faintly against the earth even as it looks up at Carlisle, that unnerving intelligence in its face as it opens its mouth and says: ]

Your glyph was off. You didn't notice, did you? You shouldn't have inhaled so much.

[ Reynir's stomach gives a little twist of nerves. The dog doesn't speak often. Only when it is important. And this is the second time now that it has spoken to Carlisle, said something to him or about him that Reynir doesn't quite understand. In this case, it's not hard to guess. Carlisle had done some magic to help himself get to sleep and it had been too powerful?

Before Carlisle can freak out, Reynir quickly butts into the conversation again, says: ]

It's okay. I'm going to help. I'm - I'll wake myself up, and I'll find a way to get you awake.

[Carlisle's glowing eyes fixate on the dog, a mixture of apprehension and anger lacing into the crease of his brow as the hound -- for the second time now -- speaks directly to him, its words too precise, too accurate to be mere coincidence. His glyph was off, it says. He shouldn't have inhaled so much. Know yourself, Blight Heir. It knows what he was doing with the tea, knows he was experimenting -- it knows why.

It has to be prying into his mind through these shared dreams, Carlisle decides, and he doesn't appreciate that in the slightest. He's no scryer, but even if he were, he'd respect the privacy of someone else's mind. As a man who came from a prominent family and had very little he could keep from his community -- everyone knew the Longinmouths, and everyone knew he was the last of them, and everyone knew he was the failure of their line -- his thoughts were the one thing he could keep private. True, they were often suffocating, filled with anxiety and worry and festering bitterness, but they were his, hidden behind the polite demeanor he wore at his church until he was in the sanctity of his own home, where he could vent aloud to himself.

Thankfully, Reynir draws his attention away before he can stew too long in his suspicion or question the dog himself. Casting one more sharp look to the beast, he returns his eyes to Reynir.]

My room is 004. I am but a few doors from your dwelling.

Edited 2019-12-24 19:29 (UTC)

[ Reynir notices that glare. Honestly, he can't really blame Carlisle. Reynir has plenty of experience with his fylgja being cryptic and unhelpful and unsettling; he knows how annoying it can be. And Carlisle doesn't come from the same tradition, doesn't understand the role of this spirit, and it isn't his. Since it is Reynir's, he makes the apologies for it: ]

Sorry about the dog. It means well, it just - has no manners at all.

[ The dog, completely unrepentant, snuffs a breath out its nose and nudges its snout against Reynir's knee. ]

Room 004. Got it. Just - wait here, okay? I'll be there soon. I promise. You'll be safe here in the meantime.

[ And then, turning to the dog, Reynir says, simply: ]

Wake me up.

[ Rude as it might be, the fylgja is willing to obey this simple command. It raises its head, looking Reynir in the eyes, and barks. To Carlisle's view, he vanishes instantly. From Reynir's perspective, he jolts awake in his bed. It only take a moment to throw on a cloak over his pajamas and to head out into the halls, down to room 004.

...Only to find that the door is, in fact, locked. Reynir is dismayed, uncertain what to do, until he thinks about Carlisle, asleep in there for a whole day. He can repair a broken lock. So he... does what he needs to do, and gets the thing open with only a small amount of damage, and finds Carlisle not in bed, but collapsed on the floor. ]

Oh, gods, um...!

[ Reynir crouches by him, hesitating. Is he badly hurt? Should he call Onni? He doesn't know anything about healing. Maybe trying to wake him will only make things worse? After a few moments of uncertainty, he reaches out, touching Carlisle's shoulder, giving him a gentle nudge. ]

Carlisle... Carlisle, can you hear me? Are you... gonna wake up?

[Carlisle, unfortunately, does not wake from such a gentle jostling. In doubly unfortunate news, he barely appears alive at all: his eyes are cracked open, the glow beneath his lids dim; he doesn't seem to be breathing, and if one listens for a heartbeat, they won't find one unless they're imagining it.

As for what happened, there are a few signs: on his desk is a mug of gold-colored tea, and beneath it, a glyph scrawled onto a piece of paper. Several papers with similar glyphs litter one of the other desks in the room -- this has been a project of his, one he's been working on for a while. His bed is unfolded, as though he were preparing to take a nap and simply didn't get there before completely passing out.]

[ Reynir waits, and waits, but Carlisle doesn't stir. Not at all, actually. It isn't until he is this close that Reynir thinks it must be hard, for Carlisle to be breathing through that mask of his. Which leads to him looking at his chest, seeing that it isn't rising and falling - at least not as far as he can see.

Fear stabs at Reynir, then, sudden and gut-churning. Had something happened, between seeing Carlisle in the dream and getting here? Did he have a bad reaction to that tea, whatever magic he'd infused it with? Is Reynir just barely too late to save him? Just seconds, maybe? Reynir knows that sometimes seconds are all that matter. If Lalli had come into the vehicle just a few seconds sooner, he might have shot the troll that bit Tuuri before it could infect her.

Gripping his friend's shoulder hard, Reynir gives him a firm shake this time, voice loud and panicked as he calls out: ]

Carlisle!? C'mon, wake up, don't- don't do this to me!

Edited 2019-12-29 08:02 (UTC)

[At first, Reynir's efforts seem to be in vain as Carlisle's frame remains limp, completely lacking in resistance or tension; however, after another second of vigorous shaking, the dim light in his eyes ignites, fiery and vibrant and largely unfocused. His body stiffens as he very suddenly comes to, so suddenly that if Reynir isn't quick, their heads will collide as he sits up, his chest heaving as he sucks in a breath.]

Wh- what?! What is it?

[ Reynir is, in fact, quick, but it's a near thing. He reels away as Carlisle sits up, and he is breathing and Reynir had been holding his breath, too, releases it in a huge sigh of relief, hand pressing against his chest unconsciously. He isn't sure if he feels like laughing or crying or maybe both, but Carlisle is awake and Carlisle isn't dead, he must have just imagined it, him not breathing. Reynir only just woke up himself and the mind can play tricks. He had let himself get freaked out thinking about Tuuri and it had been silly of him. But no harm, no foul. ]

Thank the gods! You're awake!

[ He still has one hand against Carlisle's shoulder, steadying him as he wakes up. Does he not remember the dream? Did whatever spell he used have any other side effects? Quickly, Reynir explains: ]

I don't know how much you remember but we were together in the dreamspace and you had some magic tea and maybe something about it went wrong because you were asleep for a whole day and you asked me to come in here and wake you up and I promised I would and actually um I kind of had to sort of break your door a little to get in and I'm sorry but also I'm not sorry you're okay because I was a little worried for a second there that you weren't.

[ How Reynir manages to get all that out without seeming to pause for breath is really a mystery. ]

[Carlisle puts up a hand to stop Reynir, or at least slow him down as he rattles off a dozen details. Shoving his fingers beneath his glasses, he paws at his eyes for moment, trying to shake that feeling of disorientation. It's been so long since he felt that way -- dizzy, unsettled, maybe nauseated? Or not. Now that he's undead, it's hard to discern those feelings from one another and know if he's actually experiencing them at all, or if the sensations are just products of a worried mind making him feel what he thinks he ought to be as he desperately tries to cling to any shred of his humanity he has left.

Distracted with his immediate concerns, he seems to belatedly realize Reynir's hand is on his shoulder, shrinking away from it the moment he does. The gesture he makes is somewhat vague, as though he's apologetic for avoiding physical contact, all while doing just that.]

I'm fine. I'm fine and I remember, ah. Most of that. Not the part where you— wait, you did what to my door?

[ It's a relief, that Carlisle remembers what had happened in the dream - if for no other reason than the fact that... well, it would have made Reynir quite sad, actually, if Carlisle didn't remember that they are friends. Maybe that's selfish of him, since part of the dream had been quite unpleasant for Carlisle, but he's glad, that he's not left as the only one with that particular memory.

More than anything else, though, he continues to feel worry. Perhaps it is because of the contrast, having seen Carlisle just a few moments ago in the dreamspace and seeing him now, but he looks... unhealthy. Sickly. Pale. And even if Reynir had been silly and wrong about him not breathing a moment ago, he had made that mistake for a reason. Carlisle doesn't look like he's doing great, health-wise. ]

I - well, it was locked. So, I broke it.

[ Reynir sees Carlisle recoiling from his touch, and quickly moves his hand away, feeling a surge of guilt for forgetting that Carlisle doesn't like to be touched. It had been necessary for a moment there, but he should have remembered after. Reynir tucks his hands inside his pockets and continues speaking: ]

I'm sorry. I had to. I - was worried about you. I'll fix it.

[ Reynir means it, too - but that is a worry for the future. Doors can be replaced. Friends cannot. Anxiously, he asks: ]

Are you feeling alright? Do you need to go to the medbay? I know you hate the constructs but - I can come with you.

No, no no no, I- I don't need to go to the clinic. I'm fine, really.

[Said like someone who is definitely still disoriented and trying to convince himself as well as Reynir. Frankly, he's not sure the constructs in the medbay could do anything for him, and he'd rather not deal with them long enough to find out. He shakily gets to his feet, his limbs sluggish to respond.]

I'm fine, and the door is fine. A lock will fix, and- and I wanted your help. You need not- need not apologize.

[Annnnd he's back on his feet. Sort of. He's at least vaguely upright as he puts a hand on his bed and takes a seat, deciding he probably shouldn't walk like this. There's a second where he seems to suddenly remember his mask and his veil, and he checks to make sure they're all in place, covering his ruined features. Thankfully, they didn't get displaced when he passed out. He straightens them, and then his glasses.]

Thank you, Reynir. Truly. I don't- I don't know what would have happened if not for you. I could've been asleep forever.

[ Reynir narrows his eyes, skeptical that Carlisle is telling the truth about not needing to go. He might be injured but just lying because he's afraid. Then again, what good will come of insisting? He'd seen how much Carlisle's fear had distressed him in the dream. Hell he'd seen it the first time they met at the spa. That can't be good for his health, being terrified like that.

So Reynir just exhales slowly, and gives a reluctant nod of acceptance. He stands, along with Carlisle, ready to reach out and steady him the moment he starts to fall, aversion to touch or no - but he doesn't need it, thankfully. Still, Reynir hovers close, for the time being. It's a relief to him with Carlisle sits down on his bed.

And Reynir's heart twists with sympathy and sadness when he sees Carlisle touching his face, checking his coverings. Now that Reynir knows they are not a mark of devotion, but of trying to hide himself because of a curse... well. He can't help seeing them differently. He just stands there, arms loose at his sides, full of fondness and fretting and helplessness.

His voice is quiet as he promises: ]

I won't let anything like that happen to you. Not if I can stop it.

[ He glances over towards those glyphs. He wants to ask what went wrong. He wants to ask if Carlisle had set up any kind of safety measures. Instead, swallowing, he asks: ]

Can I stay here with you, for a little while? Just so I am sure you're okay? We don't have to talk if you don't want to.

[Carlisle hesitates for only a second at Reynir's request before he finally nods, scooting over an inch or two to make more room on the bed in case he wants to sit down there rather than the chair.]

I would like that, I think. I could use the distraction from, ah. [He makes a vague gesture similar to the one in the dream, albeit stiffer.] From myself, frankly. Just- just having a friend around helps.

[And he does hope it's still okay to refer to Reynir as such.]

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braidmage - 2020-01-03 18:38 (UTC) - Expand

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