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redshift: tdm #5

Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.
▶ Click here to read what characters will experience when arriving in Anchor.
▶ All TDM threads can be considered game canon, and current players are welcome to either top-level on the TDM so prospective players can tag them, or use the prompts for logs or network posts on the communities. All threads on the TDM can be used for Activity Check.
▶ All TDM threads can be considered game canon, and current players are welcome to either top-level on the TDM so prospective players can tag them, or use the prompts for logs or network posts on the communities. All threads on the TDM can be used for Activity Check.
a. don't be a sap.
Good morning, October 25th! Whether you're a confused new arrival or a current resident, you probably had some plans for today, right? Grab breakfast, visit a friend, pick some fruit, explore a new part of the massive city.
Well. Too bad. Because, as every single bot in the city will be telling you the moment you show your face, it's GOOP FESTIVAL DAY! What? You've never heard of it? Preposterous, everyone knows about the Goop Festival, it's one of the most anticipated holidays in Anchor! Haven't you been preparing for this for a week now?
The Goop Festival is a harvest celebration, in particular, a celebration of the sap-producing trees that grow wild in the Park, thick around the edges of the south side of the lake. The bots have been hard at work setting up the festival grounds in the shade of the trees in the balmy fall temperatures. There are spiles tapped into trees with buckets placed underneath that are already half-full of a thick, viscous, amber-colored sap. The bots have also set up troughs of shaved ice with long sticks nearby, with which they will demonstrate for excited residents (you are excited, right?) how to cool the sap in the ice and wrap it around the stick to make it a sort of taffy candy. That's not the only sweet surprise waiting, either.
A long table set up in the grass is loaded down with all sorts of delicious sap-related goodies, ranging from cupcakes with thick globs of sap-flavored frosting to sap-flavored jerky to sap sugar candies, and just about anything else you can imagine. There are a wide variety of offerings that would taste good coated, flavored, or glazed with the sap, which tastes sort of like a caramelized toffee. Another table is laid out that has row upon row of cups, each half-full of the sap, heated lightly to a thinner consistency and served similarly to hot chocolate - at least, if hot chocolate gave you a floaty, happy, hazy sort of feeling. Everything made with this sap does, actually, with the cups of pure sap having a stronger effect and items with less sap content having barely any effect at all.
Does this not sound like your cup of weird tree sap? Too bad. This is the GOOP FESTIVAL, and everything is shut down for this lovely paid vacation day. Spa? Locked down. Kitchens? Locked. Bar? Nope, totally shut down and the server bots are all down at the park. VR Gaming? Too bad, the computers are all shut down. Even roaming the halls and trying to stay out of the way won't help much...be prepared to be dragged down to the park to participate in this mandatory festival! Isn't it exciting?
Well. Too bad. Because, as every single bot in the city will be telling you the moment you show your face, it's GOOP FESTIVAL DAY! What? You've never heard of it? Preposterous, everyone knows about the Goop Festival, it's one of the most anticipated holidays in Anchor! Haven't you been preparing for this for a week now?
The Goop Festival is a harvest celebration, in particular, a celebration of the sap-producing trees that grow wild in the Park, thick around the edges of the south side of the lake. The bots have been hard at work setting up the festival grounds in the shade of the trees in the balmy fall temperatures. There are spiles tapped into trees with buckets placed underneath that are already half-full of a thick, viscous, amber-colored sap. The bots have also set up troughs of shaved ice with long sticks nearby, with which they will demonstrate for excited residents (you are excited, right?) how to cool the sap in the ice and wrap it around the stick to make it a sort of taffy candy. That's not the only sweet surprise waiting, either.
A long table set up in the grass is loaded down with all sorts of delicious sap-related goodies, ranging from cupcakes with thick globs of sap-flavored frosting to sap-flavored jerky to sap sugar candies, and just about anything else you can imagine. There are a wide variety of offerings that would taste good coated, flavored, or glazed with the sap, which tastes sort of like a caramelized toffee. Another table is laid out that has row upon row of cups, each half-full of the sap, heated lightly to a thinner consistency and served similarly to hot chocolate - at least, if hot chocolate gave you a floaty, happy, hazy sort of feeling. Everything made with this sap does, actually, with the cups of pure sap having a stronger effect and items with less sap content having barely any effect at all.
Does this not sound like your cup of weird tree sap? Too bad. This is the GOOP FESTIVAL, and everything is shut down for this lovely paid vacation day. Spa? Locked down. Kitchens? Locked. Bar? Nope, totally shut down and the server bots are all down at the park. VR Gaming? Too bad, the computers are all shut down. Even roaming the halls and trying to stay out of the way won't help much...be prepared to be dragged down to the park to participate in this mandatory festival! Isn't it exciting?
b. familiar ground.
Every year in Anchor near the end of October, there's a very strange interaction between the protective dome over the city and seasonal radiation surges that happen in the wastelands. Some complicated combination of refraction and reflection means that for the last few days of the month, residents will experience some of the more benign effects of the red shift inside the city.
Did we say benign? Because while there may not be any dangerous radiation to melt your skin off, there are some mind-bending dangers. Characters experiencing the shift will find the world becomes distorted, warped, impossible to navigate; they are enveloped in auditory and visual hallucinations, and can become so disoriented that they can't even recognize people they've known for years. And characters will find that the citywide shift brings in slivers of other universes, little slices of places characters have never seen before...or places so familiar they make the heart beat hard with joy or fear.
And just like in the wastelands, the things that show up in these shifts are all too real. Characters may find themselves walking through a door into a scene straight from home, or from someone else's home. Whether it's a favorite place to share with a new friend, or the nightmare landscape you almost died in, complete with the monster that almost killed you, be careful. Everything you experience here is real, and if you die in the shift, you die for real.
Of course, the city has its own safety measures in place - residents experiencing the hallucinations and appearances of items and places from other worlds may find themselves locked down in the room they're in, trapped with the otherworldly effects of the shift.
Did we say benign? Because while there may not be any dangerous radiation to melt your skin off, there are some mind-bending dangers. Characters experiencing the shift will find the world becomes distorted, warped, impossible to navigate; they are enveloped in auditory and visual hallucinations, and can become so disoriented that they can't even recognize people they've known for years. And characters will find that the citywide shift brings in slivers of other universes, little slices of places characters have never seen before...or places so familiar they make the heart beat hard with joy or fear.
And just like in the wastelands, the things that show up in these shifts are all too real. Characters may find themselves walking through a door into a scene straight from home, or from someone else's home. Whether it's a favorite place to share with a new friend, or the nightmare landscape you almost died in, complete with the monster that almost killed you, be careful. Everything you experience here is real, and if you die in the shift, you die for real.
Of course, the city has its own safety measures in place - residents experiencing the hallucinations and appearances of items and places from other worlds may find themselves locked down in the room they're in, trapped with the otherworldly effects of the shift.
c. the virus.
A few weeks ago, people in Anchor started getting a case of the sniffles. While some of the earliest cases might be clearing up, there are still a few people suffering, or people freshly infected by those who were sick earlier, including some of the new arrivals who may not even be feeling it yet.
Which may make the cause of some unexpected 'glitches' around the city a little unclear. Residents who are feeling the effects of the illness, or who are infected but not showing symptoms yet (or anymore) will find that their access to certain parts of the city are restricted. Suddenly, automatic doors aren't opening for them, as if they were ghosts, particularly when they try to access anything that may facilitate transmission of the virus. Suddenly, only some of the residents of the city will find they can't get into half of the MedBay, or the spa, the kitchens, the VR or games rooms, the bar...anywhere people gather or eat or sit close together.
Residents may put together that it's related to the illness some of them have been experiencing over the past few weeks, but it might take a while, since these safety and security measures are affecting people who are showing no symptoms yet. Be prepared for a few days of paranoia while seemingly perfectly healthy people are locked out of common areas. What does the computer know that residents don't? Are these people security risks? Is it a system glitch? What could be going on?
Which may make the cause of some unexpected 'glitches' around the city a little unclear. Residents who are feeling the effects of the illness, or who are infected but not showing symptoms yet (or anymore) will find that their access to certain parts of the city are restricted. Suddenly, automatic doors aren't opening for them, as if they were ghosts, particularly when they try to access anything that may facilitate transmission of the virus. Suddenly, only some of the residents of the city will find they can't get into half of the MedBay, or the spa, the kitchens, the VR or games rooms, the bar...anywhere people gather or eat or sit close together.
Residents may put together that it's related to the illness some of them have been experiencing over the past few weeks, but it might take a while, since these safety and security measures are affecting people who are showing no symptoms yet. Be prepared for a few days of paranoia while seemingly perfectly healthy people are locked out of common areas. What does the computer know that residents don't? Are these people security risks? Is it a system glitch? What could be going on?
c. the network.
Need to get hold of someone, call for help, ask the city at large a question? Need to warn a friend not to leave their apartment unless they want to be forcibly press-ganged into the Goop Festival? Maybe you need to hold your sat phone up to whatever crazy thing you're seeing and send out a recording to double-check if your eyes are deceiving you and what you're looking at is real?
Whatever the reason, the network is going strong, so feel free to include a post to it in your top-levels.
Whatever the reason, the network is going strong, so feel free to include a post to it in your top-levels.
Mod Note: The "familiar ground" prompt will be active between October 29th and October 31st; "the virus" prompt will be active until the next introductory mingle, which will be kicking off the second part of the illness plot.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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!
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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?
no subject
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?]
no subject
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? ]
no subject
Almost. But what normal man would keep such dark secrets as a room full of skeletal children? His picture here, his reaction there -- he knows this place, knows those people. Are they family? Friends? Accomplices? Just who is Qubit, really?
Carlisle swallows down his trepidation for now, wanting to believe the best of someone whose life he values more than his own, someone who has been trying to help him, as far as he can tell. There has to be an explanation; whether or not Qubit will share it with him is yet to be seen. After what they just went through -- what he just went through -- Qubit had better be prepared to say something.]
Troubling?
no subject
[ He feels unstable. It's this thing inside him, this unpredictable, wild thing that he's been trying to make as small as possible, increasing the pressure every time he's reminded of it, until all it takes is the slighest change in temperature to superheat it beyond its boiling point. The slightest weakness in containment, and it'll explode, taking him and probably Carlisle with it.
That's what nearly happened just now. Moment of weakness. It won't happen again. He can sort out his personal issues later, in private. For now, he should focus on getting himself and Carlisle out of here intact, find someplace to cool his head, reconvene once they're both less stressed and volatile.
... But that's not how it's going to go, is it? He can already see it in his mind's eye. "Let's get going." "Not until you tell me everything!" Carlisle digs his heels in, Qubit does the same, they start arguing, one of them says something wrong within five seconds, and the next thing you know Carlisle's a Revenant for good.
Fine. You know what? Fine. Then he'll head that off at the pass. Offer him something. It's probably less than he owes him, after that little stunt he just pulled. Not turning around, he shrugs (more dramatically than necessary) and lets his arms fall to his sides with a slap. ]
Well? Spit it out. The suspense must be killing you.
no subject
Perhaps he will one day come to appreciate his marvelous ability to maintain his consciousness and stifle out the raucous distraction of the wild magic that keeps him animated, but for now, it's still a bit much to deal with on top of Qubit's clear disinterest in talking about... well, all this.]
I was hoping you would tell me without my having to ask.
[Carlisle does his best to keep his tone steady, impassive as he offers Qubit a chance to tell him something, anything.]
I advise you -- politely -- to not insist this is nothing, Mister Qubit.
1/2
He's as dangerous to Carlisle as Carlisle is to him.
That's not news to Qubit - the notion's been bouncing around his head for several minutes - but this solidifies it, the realization that they both know. Is this how it feels from the other side? What must it be like to feel this all the time?
... Well, that road only leads to one place. Focus on the present. On the plus side, it means Carlisle's not immediately blaming him for what happened. He's not accusing him of wrongdoing, or demanding the truth. Maybe he just... genuinely wants to know. Not for any concrete purpose. Just... because.
Qubit's shoulders sag as he exhales. Come to think of it, he hasn't told Carlisle anything at all about himself, has he? He's a secretive bastard, sure, but total secrecy wasn't his intention. It just... never happened to come up. Everything so far has revolved around Carlisle, and Qubit didn't bother trying to change that. What must that look like from Carlisle's perspective? A complete stranger, bizarrely invested in his well-being for reasons unknown? That's hardly fair.
But where does he start?
Right where Carlisle left off, he supposes. ]
2/2
[ All these nothing skeletons. He takes another moment to compose himself, line up his thoughts. ]
... The children didn't die here, if that's any comfort. [ Probably not. ]
It was in Jackson, Tennessee. About two years ago. [ That long? ] There was - a terrible accident. Something got loose. A sort of... ultrasonic pathogen, a living sound. It only affected children, their immune systems couldn't fight it off, and from there the vibration liquefied their soft tissue in minutes, leaving only... their skeletons. Animated skeletons.
[ He rubs his eyes with one hand - they're still dry, though. Despite the content, this is something he can discuss without upset. It was horrifying at the time, of course - unspeakably tragic. But all the horror and tragedy since then have sort of put it in perspective. And even back then, Qubit wasn't the one hardest hit by it. ]
We managed to eradicate the virus, fortunately... before it could spread any further. But by then it was far too late for the victims.
no subject
Well, he was until now. He doesn't exactly have a soft spot in his heart for kids, but there's no denying the tragedy of something like this happening to them, their entire futures stolen from them in a matter of minutes. They were damned through no fault of their own, irreversibly changed through circumstances rather than choice.
Perhaps it wounds Carlisle so because he can relate. He presses a hand to his middle absentmindedly, resting on the same spot he grasped reflexively in his agony. The scars still ache from time to time through the relative emptiness he feels there; he assumes what pangs he feels now are from the agitation of his energies rather than compassion.]
But why are they here? [He tries not to sound accusatory; neither of them can handle that right now.] And who are 'we'? Those other people?
[He cocks his head slightly toward the ruined picture.]
no subject
We called ourselves the Paradigm. "Earth's mightiest protectors." ... That was the intent, anyway.
[ He points to it casually, without any real force. ]
See the man in the center, there? In the white and red? ... That's the Plutonian. Tony, to his friends.
[ Tony, before. Tony, the way Qubit wants to remember him. His brow creases further, and he feels the thing stirring in his chest- No. None of that. He pulls his eyes away, focusing instead on a spiderweb pattern of cracks in the wall. ]
... He lived here.
no subject
Qubit's expression, as much as he tries to mask it, gives plenty away when combined with his body language. There is longing, anguish, private torment etched into his brow. Gauging by his casual gesture, he's doing his best to bury it all down, down, but there's only so far down it can go before it hits stone. Keep burying and it'll pile up until it can no longer be contained. As a man who did the same himself loads of times, forced to maintain his composure for the sake of his name and occupation no matter what horrible accusations were being thrown at him, Carlisle can relate to that, too. He cracked under the pressure on occasion, but only once he was in the sanctuary of his estate, where he could drown himself in liquor. No one could see him there; only he could judge himself, and he was never kind when he did. Drinking himself in to a stupor was easier than dealing with the mounting anxiety he felt as his affliction worsened.
Easier, but not a permanent solution. Even death wasn't a permanent solution.
He pulls in another breath and tries to paint a more complete picture for himself. Paradigm, their intentions good. Qubit was one of them, which does take steps to explain why he would be so focused on working for the good of Anchor. It's in his nature. That's reassuring. However, it all went wrong somewhere along the way, and the accident in this Jackson, Tennessee place was likely not the first signs of trouble, nor the last. Qubit points out Tony first, his expression winding tighter before he pulls his eyes away. Was he the catalyst? Possibly, if this was his home.
... 'Home' in the loosest sense, of course. Who lives somewhere that is unbearably hot and has a collection of dead children?]
I assume he lives here no longer, and that Paradigm is no more.
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[ He's quieter saying that. Somber. He's aware of what Carlisle was really asking, though, and clarifies - ]
Kaidan and Gilgamos are still around. Or were, when I left them.
[ He wonders, sometimes, how they're getting on in his absence. He intends to master time travel, of course, and return to the exact moment he left - he intends to be there for them, to help rebuild the world, after the Porter took him from it at such a precarious time - he would never abandon them for this long, not with so much left undone...
... Yet at other times, he wonders if, perhaps, everyone's doing just fine without his "help."
He tries not to wonder that too often. ]
We didn't find out about this until much later. Well after Jackson.
[ He tilts his head back, absently turning his eyes to the ceiling. ]
Looking at it now, I think... it was his way of trying to undo what happened there. That was the only thing he wanted, really. A do-over. [ Sighs heavily. ] Don't we all. But... some mistakes can't be unmade.
cw: vague suicidal ideation
As much as he'd like to change it -- all of it -- Carlisle has always known there's no rewriting the past; he must keep pressing forward, making amends and using his skills in the hopes of appealing to his goddess (and himself, a man in desperate need of some reason to validate his existence). It's either that, or he ends up stagnating, suffocating, drowning in his own regrets. He's done enough of that for several lifetimes, if his Revenant form and his embittered temper are any indication.
It's a difficult undertaking, and one he's still not sure is worth it, but it's all he has sometimes. His brow furrows, his arms folding in a barely flexible fashion as he tries to protect himself from his discomfort.]
Those children were better put out of their misery than existing like that.
[There's no cruelty in his voice, but a purposeful sobriety as he fights to keep his tone even. Qubit knows well enough how Carlisle feels about undeads -- and unlike many, he knows why he would feel that way, why he would take umbrage with anyone being kept in that state, forced to live with what they'd become and all the horrors associated with it.]
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[ He means that to be reassuring, but it comes out sounding ... sort of resigned, almost clinical. He turns back toward Carlisle, finally, and taps one of his temples. ]
Their brains were destroyed with the rest of them. By the time their bones got up and walked, the child was already gone. So they didn't suffer long. [ a twitch of the shoulders that's barely a shrug. ] Not that that makes it any better, but.
[ But they were mindless, that's what he's getting at. There was no awareness in them, only the drive to seek out the living and propagate the virus through their screams. It only looked like they were begging for help. ]
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It's not something he would wish on anyone, certainly not innocents, and in that moment where the skeleton tugged at his coat, seemlingly begging him for answers, Carlisle saw himself in them, a man in constant argument over his identity and self-worth, pleading for someone to give him purpose enough to keep moving forward.]
Ah. Truthfully, there is some relief in knowing that they weren't... well. [He gives a little shrug himself. That they weren't like him, alone and confused and struggling to adapt.]
What happened to your friends? To this 'Tony' and all the others?
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But then Carlisle drops the million-dollar question.
Qubit closes his eyes, takes a deep breath through his nose, his mouth going tightly drawn. And really, does he need to say anything? He already named the two who are still around. Carlisle's a smart man, surely he's picked up on the hints. ]
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I see.
[He glances back at the picture, at all those proud faces of Paradigm, and for a moment, he's back in his father's study, gazing up at the painting above the mantle of his father and his uncles. Though long gone, the burden of their absence never got easier to bear, the weight always that much heavier when he gazed upon that painting. What would they think of him now?]
And I suppose what happened to them cannot simply 'be fixed,' no matter how much you may wish it.
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In the end, he couldn't turn back the clock. He managed to give Tony a second chance, but not the do-over he so desperately wanted. And that was only Tony. What about the others? Did they deserve any less? What about the people of Sky City, of Singapore, of Earth, of the galaxy, of every distant world they ever touched? The victims not just of Tony's rage, but of Hornet's fear, or the General's desperation, or Qubit's -
- or just Qubit? All the victims of Qubit's rage and fear and desperation and devotion and grief and that thing that keeps clawing at his heart from the inside, even now?
But it's not a "thing," obviously. There's no thing, no separate entity that he can blame. There is no Hyde to his Jekyll, no Blight Heir to his Longinmouth.
There is only Qubit, alone.
The long silence breaks with a shudder and a quiet, strained gasp. He clenches his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut, but he cannot stop his face contorting, or the first burning tears from spilling down his cheeks. ]
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But sometimes, there's nothing one can say. None of the consolatory platitudes offered to him years ago brought his family back, and it's the same here. And as ashamed as he may be to admit it, there is respite to be found in unadulterated emotion, in allowing the facade to come down and letting oneself feel. Carlisle was once too practiced in that, in holding himself together until he was alone. It was then that he could scream and sob and drink himself into a stupor, but never a moment before; he hid how the weight of his responsibilities wore on him, caging his unfettered emotions until he could suffer in his anguish alone.
That had not ended well for him, given how such behavior gave way to embittered resentment, which in turn gave rise to a true monster wearing his face. He cannot take back what he did or what he became... and he would do just about anything to keep someone else from suffering the same way, particularly someone he considers -- however privately -- a friend.
Qubit is not alone, though perhaps he doesn't realize that, or is unwilling to admit it. Shoulder those burdens, carry that weight, it's all on you -- it's painfully familiar rhetoric in which Carlisle assumes Qubit is unfortunately well-versed. They may be very different men in a lot of ways (and Carlisle is still on the fence about whether or not he even counts as a person anymore), but he cannot bring himself to let Qubit suffer completely and utterly on his own, no matter what may have happened to his teammates. Qubit has genuinely tried to help him, after all, Carlisle is sure of it -- he ought to do the same, if he can.]
I- I'm sorry, Mister Qubit. [He steps a little closer, palms up in a gesture of openness, harmlessness.] I... I know what it is like to have lost everyone you ever cared for. It was long before the Blight Heir that I lost what family I had, and I wonder, even to this day, what part I played in their deaths. Was there another way? S- something I could have done differently that would have changed the outcome?
[Not that Carlisle knows that Qubit is directly responsible for some of the deaths he shoulders, and indirectly responsible for others, as opposed to ends of the Longinmouths due to unfortunate circumstances well beyond Carlisle's control; however, the survivor's guilt, how it eats a person alive, how it can change someone and twist them into a husk of their former selves -- that, he knows. He flicks his wrist, conjuring a small square of cloth akin to a handkerchief, and offers it to Qubit.]
One would think I, of all people, would know how to put the ghosts of the past to rest. I have yet to find a way.
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He has enough presence of mind to listen, though. And he recognizes that Carlisle's trying to reach out to him, to commiserate. There are similarities, common threads in their subjective experiences of grief, as there were between him and Peter. Losing everything. Failing the people they were supposed to defend. Going back over the events, analyzing each inflection point ad nauseum, searching the past for opportunities to do better, kicking themselves for each one missed.
But just as with Peter, comparing them twists his gut with an intense, visceral repulsion. It's not the same. Carlisle's spent his entire life struggling to overcome the stigma of his curse, only to have it all backfire through no fault of his own. He's a good man who deserves so much better than he got, not a bastard who got better than he deserves.
Eventually Qubit opens his eyes, dragging his hand down his face - only to find Carlisle offering him a handkerchief, of all things. He stares at it for a moment as if he doesn't know what it is, but then takes it and wipes his eyes. ]
... I'm not sure ... there is a way.
[ His voice is trembling. It sounds alien to him. He dabs at the sweat dripping down his forehead.
For some reason, he's reminded of something Reynir mentioned a while back. How mages can hear the voices of the damned, the trapped souls that scream and scream and never stop. There's no respite, no way to turn it off, and only one way to cope. ]
Perhaps we'll just ... get used to it.
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