hadriel_logs | Event log: Mirror, mirror

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Event log: Mirror, mirror

Who: Anyone and everyone!
What: Hope gives everyone mirrors with visions of their most hopeful future inside.
Where: Throughout the city.
When: March 14th-18th
Warnings: None so far!

On March 14th, all characters will stumble across mirrors at some point on their daily journey. Maybe your mirror is right under your pillow, maybe it's on your bedside table, or in the sink in your bathroom. It could be in a random store that you're scavenging, or somewhere along the path that you're taking to go to a friend's place. Wherever it is, it's positioned perfectly for you to find it- though you might want to be quick so someone else doesn't nab it first.

Each mirror is predetermined to hold one person's future and will be placed somewhere that they can find it on that day. Upon looking in their own mirrors, each character will see a version of their future that will fill them with hope. This vision has to be possible- or they have to think it's possible- even if it's unlikely. Picking up someone else's mirror will not change the image inside; you'll instead see that person's vision for their future.

In addition, during the first four days, until March 18th, characters will want to look into any mirror they can find, not just their own. So be a little careful if you want to guard your innermost hopes- someone might be trying to peek.

► This log covers March 14th-March 18th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► Please report any character deaths right here!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Emily?

[Strangely, Maketh has been feeling calmer lately, the edges worn down to a smooth baseline. She spends her time working and wandering the city, the mirror tucked carefully into the breast pocket of her coat. Never far from her.

If the gods mean to taunt her, then she'll use this against them. It's motivation now.

Right now she's in one of Hadriel's ruined shops, hunting for supplies. To her great joy, she's found some coffee. It's the shitty instant kind, granted, but it's something. Praise caffeine, she's been delivered. Her smile fades a bit when she sees the mirror resting on a shelf. So very close.

Maketh hesitates, one hand extended towards Emily's mirror. She wants to look so bad.

She turns it over, instead. It's not for her to see.] Your mirror.

[Emily turns around in time to see Maketh turning over her mirror. Scowling, she tosses aside the shirt she's looking at and snatches the mirror away.]

Did you just look at my mirror?

[No room for doubt here. Emily is demanding an explanation.]

No. [Maketh blinks at her, surprised.] It's not for me.

[There are rules. Always. She takes a step back, hands clasped behind her back.]

Damn right it's not. Look at your own.

[Without a pocket to put it in comfortably (pockets on ladies' pants, right?), Emily holds the mirror in her hands. She looks at Maketh, searching for signs of her own mirror, but doesn't find anything certain.]

What do you want?

['To shittalk about the gods' is the best possible answer.]

[Now that's just rude. Maketh frowns, but resists the urge to snap. Emily left her mirror out and someone might have seen it - the reflections of something incredibly private. Maketh supposes she could understand the defensiveness.] I'm looking for supplies.

[She pauses, then reaches to the nearest shelf. There's a bag there, made of something like silk. She holds it out to Emily. Something to hide the mirror in, if she wants. Or at least to keep it from getting scratched.] These could be a trick. I haven't decided yet.

[Maketh calls it rude, Emily calls it direct. Either way, Emily accepts that answer. She doesn't really have reason to fight her on it anyway.

She eyes the bag with suspicion, not taking it from Maketh right away. It's a plain bag, nowhere near to the level Emily likes to operate on accesories-wise, and she suspects it'll scratch her mirror. As much as she wants to hide the thing away forever, she doesn't want to ruin it, either.

Still, after a few seconds, she reaches for it and rubs the fabric between her fingers.]

It's probably a trick.

[After feeling the fabric for a bit, she snorts, shaking her head.]

You'd think a fucking god would be able to afford real silk.

Edited (i left something out oops) 2016-03-15 18:23 (UTC)

[Maketh scowls. Part of her wants to yell at Emily until she discovers some manners - she must have some - and the other part appreciates the bluntness. A dilemma indeed.]

Calling themselves gods doesn't make it so.

[A pause.]

How can you tell it's synthetic?

[Maketh doesn't know very much about fabric. Her familiarity begins and ends with her uniform.]

[Of course Emily has manners. This just isn't a place where she has to mind them.

She shrugs at Maketh's comment on the gods. It doesn't matter whether or not they are what they say they are. They can do things that she can't, so they're definitely something.

At the question about sill, Emily gives Maketh a blank stare.]

Are you serious?

[It's not that Emily isn't aware that many people aren't as versed in fashion and fabrics as she is. It's more that she gets to assert herself as smarter, more cultured. Better.

She lifts the bag a little, to indicate the fabric, and rubs it as she speaks, her tone slow and annoyed, like Maketh is some annoying child.]

It's smooth but not slippery. Synthetics are slippery.

[Now that tone Maketh recognizes. It's one she heard often in the Academy, some sneering cadet looking down their nose at her accent, at all the technology she had to be taught when it was supposedly commonplace in the inner planets. She bristles, but takes a breath so she won't yell. It's not good to yell at the civilians. Sometimes they cry.

She doubts Emily is the type to cry, but it's bad form nonetheless.]

I see. I have no reason to know such things.

[And why should she? Lothal never exported fabrics, never had anyone wealthy enough to care about them one way or another.]

[Yeah, Emily is not the type to cry. She's the type to make people cry.]

Is that how you thank someone who's just taught you something? [Who's rude now?] It's obvious you wouldn't know it. [Seriously, look at your clothes, look at your choices.] That's why I answered your question. Now I know not to waste my time.

[For better or worse, they have that in common.]

I have more important matters to consider.

[And normally Maketh does like learning new things, because the world is huge and she wants answers to the questions it poses, but not when they make her look like an uncultured fool. She clicks her heels together spitefully.] Good day.

[Yeah she's pissed.]

[Emily actually laughs at that, a quick, sarcastic sound.]

Riiight. Your little 'imperial war' game or whatever.

[It's so, so hard not to laugh again when Maketh clicks her heels. What, is that supposed to intimidate Emily? Make her uncomfortable? Please. Try dealing with bratty socialites and spoiled, brainless housewives at cocktail parties.]

You go ahead then, Maketh. Have fun. Report back if the city starts to go to shit again. Nobody needs more wendigos prowling around.

[OOC: Let me know if this is okay! I can edit.]

[Maketh is turning to the door, moving to leave, but stops. War games. Fine. Civilians don't understand, that's fine, they're not supposed to. And if she grits her teeth, at least she doesn't say a damn word. Be polite, be good, ignore the fools you can't quell into submission. She's prepared to let it go until Emily mentions the wendigos.

Then---

Oh.

Maketh barely realizes what she's doing before she spins around on her heel and punches Emily straight in the gut. Never go for the face, her instructors said, you'll break your fist on their teeth.

Go for the place just under the sternum, where it's soft, and hook up so they can't breathe.]

[There's no way for someone untrained to react in time to avoid that. Emily barely has enough time to open her eyes wide before the punch connects and knocks the air out of her lungs.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

It's all she can think for those first few seconds as she staggers back against the table she'd been facing before. Her mirror clatters to the ground, but she barely hears it (and it doesn't shatter -- she'll be grateful for that later). She tries to catch her breath, but every attempt to expand her diaphragm sends pain shooting through her middle. Her eyes tear up, and even though she's starting to feel faint, shemanages to wheeze out,]

What the fuck!

[It's directed to the floor, mostly, because she can't straighten up, and her whole body has shifted to protect the already injured area. God fucking damnit. What the fuck! Talk about rude?? Hello, you just physically assaulted someone because they said something you didn't like!

Maketh you are a fucking bitch holy shit.

But you won't hear any of that because it is far more important to breathe right now.]

[Down she goes. Maketh shifts into a fighting stance without even bothering to think about why. It doesn't matter, it's instinct now, knock her down and kick her again, make sure she stays down, learns her fucking lesson--

No, no, stop. That's not right at all.

Maketh turns in a slow circle, hands going to her face as Emily wheezes. She hit a civilian. She lost her temper and hit a civilian. She can't do that, it's against the rules, the rules are fucking God. You can't hit civilians, ever. Shoot them, sometimes, if there's sufficient cause, but never strike one in anger. And she hit Emily, a child, because--

Well, it doesn't really matter why, now does it?

Part of her wants to bolt and forget this thing ever happened. Maketh digs her nails into her hair, messing up the line of her bun. She hit a civilian. She hit a fucking civilian. She broke the rules.

Stop. Focus. Break the problem into pieces.

Maketh tips her head back, trying to control her breathing. Her hands are shaking but she doesn't notice. Emily's still conscious, so that's good.] Did I break your ribs?

[It comes out shockingly flat.]

[Time seems to move so, so slowly, as if it feels her pain and wants to stop moving altogether. That's what Emily wants. She just wants to stop. Just stop. Stop with all of this shit, all of these monsters and people dying and dying herself and fucking becoming a wendigo and god fucking damnit what the FUCK.

She stops trying to stand and sinks mostly ungracefully to the floor, curling in on herself. The tears have fallen down her cheeks, and there's a bitter taste in her mouth that she doesn't want to think about. She just. She needs air, and Maketh is asking such a stupid fucking question WHAT THE FUCK. DOES IT EVEN MATTER. IT HURTS ALL THE SAME RIGHT NOW WHETHER OR NOT SHE HAS BROKEN BONES.

But all she manages is,] I don't-- know-- fuck.

[She will not soon forget this, Maketh. You're on her shitlist. Top of the list, at least for now. And that is a feat.]

If the pain is throbbing, then something is broken.

[And that will need to be dealt with. Painkillers, first. Perhaps antibiotics because coughing can lead to pneumonia and then Emily might die, who knows, civilians break, they're soft, the Empire always says, they need to be coddled and herded into the proper direction so things like this don't happen.

Except it has. Happened.

Maketh breathes, in and out, hands trembling. She hit a civilian. She broke the rules. She broke the fucking rules, and Emily is crying.

That's wonderful. She's messed it up again.

She doesn't look at Emily and makes no move to touch her. It's not right. She's not supposed to get mad at civilians, not supposed to touch them, hands behind your back stand up straight soldier, look at what you did.

Look at what you fucking did.

Maketh looks. Then finds she can't, anymore. She digs her nails into her palm.] If it's not sharp, then nothing's broken, and it will go away.

[The pain, she means.]

[The pain is a goddamn nuclear furnace blazing in Emily's middle. God. Goddamnit.

For a while, she doesn't try to speak. Breathing, getting air, that's what's important. It's two, maybe three minutes before she finds the strength to say something again, so of course she decides it's a good idea to insult the person who just decked her.]

Fucking -- bitch.

[And then, because for once, justice is swift, she adds in a barely intelligible rush--] Ifeelsick.

[She shuts her eyes tight and wills herself not to get sick, not just because it's gross, but mostly because it's going to hurt like hell, and she's in enough pain as it is.]

Edited (html) 2016-03-16 00:24 (UTC)

[Maketh waits silently, standing at attention. If she'd hit another cadet in the Academy, they both would have gotten in trouble if it had been done in public. A punishment rotation if they'd done it in public, probably cleaning the bathrooms or dealing with whatever nastiness the science department had cooked up. If it had been unseen, then it would have been ignored until the issue was resolved.

After graduation, she was supposed to be above such things.

Apparently not.

Maketh closes her eyes, waiting. She supposes she could let Emily hit her back. If that would make them even.] It will pass. Breathe through your nose.

[Emily would love to hit Maketh back, to scratch her up and pull her hair and transfer all her pain onto her attacker. She already would've, if she weren't winded and aching. Hearing Maketh give her an order -- Emily doesn't consider it advice -- is salt on the wound, but in the interest of recovering even the slightest bit faster, she does as told.

It does pass, though it takes time. She still feels like she might die, but she can breathe again, and she looks less distressed, able to straighten a little and shoot Maketh a fierce glare.]

What-- the fuck-- is your problem,-- bitch?

[Maketh doesn't look at Emily, eyes straight ahead, back straight, hands clasped tight behind her back. So tight that her knuckles are aching and ghostly white, nails digging into her palms.]

You can hit me back. If you want. I won't dodge.

[She doesn't offer an explanation or an apology. Neither would mean very much right now.]

Gladly.

[Emily tries to stand. It's slow-going, but she manages to get to her feet, leaning heavily against the table.

Goddamnit. She won't be able to hit Maketh as hard as she wants, not when it'll end up hurting Emily at least as much.]

Rain check, [she mutters, her scowl deepening. She has to pause for breath before continuing. For someone who's wholly inexperienced in taking this kind of damage, Emily manages to sound fierce as hell, and almost as if she were fully recovered.] Answer my question.

[Maketh's eye twitches, but she keeps her face otherwise blank. No eye contact when you're in trouble. Look straight ahead and don't flinch when the punishment comes.] It doesn't matter.

[She hit a civilian. The reason why isn't important.]

Fucking answer me.

[Maketh's opinion doesn't mean shit to Emily right now.]

Look at me.

[No eye contact. Stand up straight and take your punishment. Maketh holds herself very still.] You called me a monster.

[Those weren't the words and Maketh knows that, she knows, but something--there's something angry and wrong inside her still, a bit of wendigo that hasn't been burnt out just yet. And then Emily had the nerve to fucking say it--

Well, that's no excuse.]

March 15

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assuming i'm reading correctly and maketh has not yet left

oh this is fun

omg violence!! works for me!

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