hadriel_logs | how can anything survive when these little minds tear you in two? [SEMI-OPEN]

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how can anything survive when these little minds tear you in two? [SEMI-OPEN]

Who: Rey, her Doppelgänger, and VARIOUS (includes both open and closed starters in the comments).
What: Following the train of separate open logs over the Dead Ringers event. The timeline in the link is relatively loose but it covers the gist of things.
Where: Several corners of Hadriel.
When: January 16th-25th.
Warnings: Violence. Possible death and implications of sexual assault/innuendo. Manipulation. Rey is not a happy person by any means and does not have a very happy background. Feel free to check out the permissions post if you have any concerns beforehand.
Notes: If you're tagging in an open prompt, please be sure to indicate which day of the week it is in the subject line! Also I'll try to match whichever format you fancy.

I. January 16th-20th

She was created out of air. Not a construct from a lab, melded together by flesh and cells donated by two exceptional genetic donors.

Oh, ho, ho, it's magic, you know,
Never believe, it's not so.

Magic. At one point her other half would have chided at the very suggestion of such a thing existing. But time breeds experience, and experience inspires intrigue. Intrigue which turns into a little bit of curiosity. After all, her time here is limited, before returning to the ether where all the constructs inevitably go. So what's the use in fretting over details and results?

No, this is fun. Too much so for it to be short-lived any more than it already is meant to be. Thus, she keeps her distance, following her other half for some time before deciding to deviate. Good thing Rey is not one to maintain a diverse wardrobe, as looking the part is simple enough. Walking the part, talking the part, being the part is simple enough. It isn't the first time she has had to.

The only difference is the usual weapons she bears are different. One would have to be observant enough to notice the long machete at her hip in place of the kukri, the blade dissimilar in shape and curve. She'll make use of it, sooner or later...

For now, she can be found in some parts of the city: By the river, in the groves, or in alleyways, hacking and slashing at the air from which she was formed. The swift motions cutting through with a whistle as the blade makes effortless strikes with trained precision.

Just be careful where you step. Wouldn't want to get cut, would we?

Would we?

II. Wildcard

[ooc: If you have any other ideas in mind, just tag in whatever or contact me ahead of time, via plot comment, PM, or hit me up on plurk (

citygrit) or discord (revalev#6927)!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Solitude is like a worm. Digging deeper and deeper into the dirt tunnels, closed in tightly all around.

Alone. Always alone.

Panic was useless. Waste of precious air, waste of energy, waste of the mind. In a place where Rey, six feet under a patch of freshly dug up dirt in Sorrow's orchards, hours seem like years. When all that time is spent with nothing more than your own thoughts and memories, it's enough to grasp onto one shred of sanity.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Short gasps. Long moments of holding it in between. Why bother? There's no point. Might as well just die here. Alone. Like the worms.

Her chest tightens, but she fights the fear. The lump in her throat. The tightness in her chest. Time has passed. No one is coming. Maybe they're dead--

No, stop that. Don't think that.

Breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out.

Memories of dry coffee grinding in her mouth keeps her conscious. Plays the ku-ji mantra in her head and occupies her hands with the mudra. She's learned this from a sniper somewhere before. Where? Who? What was their name? Shit, she can't remember. Can't risk diving into places in her mind that she can't crawl back from. Because that's what solitude does.

It leaves again. Air closing in. Pressure tightening. Take short gasps. Rin, pyo, tou... The numbers are all that's left.

Otherwise, she is alone. Six feet under.

With the worms.

Edited 2017-01-22 01:36 (UTC)

Also alone is Nick Valentine: detective, former cop, synth. He's a member of the Guard, someone who is willing to do what needs to be done to protect the people of Hadriel. These days, he's added the title of 'family man' to his list. Unfortunately, his family is currently buried somewhere, giving him a new descriptor: determined to find her if it kills him.

And it just might, given the way he's leaking coolant, leaving a trail behind him as he limps across the western bridge. Tranquility's little moped lot is in sight -- empty. Just his luck.

"Shit," Nick utters, looking down at himself to see how he's holding up -- given the stain from the hole in his middle that bleeds through to his shirt and pants, not good. While not alive, he can still feel certain degrees of pain as his sensory receptors fire one after the other, a sharp beeping in his head telling him he needs a better patch job than the one he managed to give himself after dealing with Rey's double. He didn't have time to do anything better than wrap some of his ruptured pipes with duct tape and hope for the best; his family is out there, somewhere, and he'll be damned if she dies on his watch.

At least the double left him enough clues to go on, had littered them throughout the house: a shovel like they stock at the orchard, fertilized soil rather than the parched dirt from the park. Now it's just a matter of getting there, finding her, digging her up... and not overheating until he does. With a sigh and a fiery look to the trees far in the distance, he gets moving again, one hand leaning on his cane, the other using the shovel as some kind of walking stick to help hold him up.

He might be alone for now, but he won't be for long.

It's the trail Sharon spots and follows, having always had an insatiable curiosity along with what some might call compassion. The sight it leads her to is an even more curious one than what drew her in in the first place: Nick, one of the guardsman, leaning heavily on a cane and using a shovel to shuffle forward. He's a man on a mission and Sharon can't be too certain if it's a good one or not—the doubles weren't known for their niceties thus far.

"You look like you might need some help there," Sharon calls from some distance behind him, intent on not startling him and accidentally getting herself struck with a shovel or a cane. Or laser eyes, if he's got them (what, she hasn't the faintest idea of his skillset),"Not sure if I should call a doctor or a repairman, though."

In his state, it's unlikely he's a danger to her, even if he turns out to be a double, but she'll keep her distance until she's certain.

Nick stops; though he doesn't turn -- frankly, he's not sure it's worth the effort, given his condition -- he recognizes that voice well enough from all his surveillance on the network.

"Sharon." He'd address her more formally, given their relative unfamiliarity, but he's sure he might be on borrowed time as it is. And for all he knows, this might not even be her. His hand tightens on the shovel, his weight against it evident as the shaft shakes.

She may be the real Sharon, but with the distance between them and his general unsteadiness, there's not much he can do about it even if she isn't. "What I need is a gravedigger."

Edited 2017-01-23 20:32 (UTC)

A gravedigger.

Her stomach sinks, heavy with the memory of her time beneath the ground nearly a year ago now. She did little gravedigging after being saved by Rey, too caught up in just trying to keep her sheets from catching on fire in the middle of the night. She swallows back those memories, her reply hesitant,"To put someone in?"

The way she says it, it doesn't sound like something she wants to do, and then,"Or get someone out?"

At least she hasn't killed him yet, Nick thinks to himself. She's either one of the cleverer doubles or the real deal. He's hoping she's the latter as he picks up on her tone -- apprehensive, tentative. She's trying to figure him out, as well.

"Rey's out there," he answers honestly, coolant starting to pool beneath him as droplets come together. Though vaguely aware the two of them don't get along, he'd rather chance it that she might help him. "Somewhere. Got a feeling she's in the orchard."

Whatever issues her and Rey have, it's immediately evident they do not matter in this moment. She wears her thoughts and feelings on her sleeve, though she would proclaim otherwise, and the first thing that flashes across her features is genuine worry.

"Then let's go." She moves forward, her steps urgent. This isn't some game Fear's playing at and Sharon doubts the other woman has three whole days of oxygen to keep her alive until they get to her. There's a flurry of questions and concerns on her mind, the damage Nick has sustained among them, but she doesn't bother to ask them; they'll come in due time. Rey's been buried alive and, right now, that's the only thing that matters.

Nick offers Sharon a grateful smile and gets moving as fast as his body will take him, which is still faster than he should be going when he his innards are essentially being held together with duct tape.

He leads them toward the orchard, his eyes scanning the spaces between the trees, looking for any thing moved, anything disturbed -- the ground points them in the right direction, a few muddy footprints here and there from around the plants.

Hadriel, for all the amenities they have, lacks in many of the crucial components that make up normal lives for the many of them, like the hum of nighttime critters or the bustle of people living actual lives. It also lacks in, lucky for them, dynamic environment; there are no storms, no gusts of wind, or torrents of rain (though they did have snow for some time, which was as horrible as one can imagine in a cave). Sharon observes the scene without much movement, dark brows curled beneath freshly bleached hair.

"When was she taken," Sharon asks as she scours the scene for evidence, but she's not a detective, despite her ability to solve the occasional puzzle,"and how long has she been gone?"

There are signs scattered, here and there, but Sharon is keeping her eyes peeled for packed dirt.

"Can't have been more than a day," he estimates, based on the dirt and mud that had been all over her double. "Probably half that, but I'm not taking chances by taking my time. She dug me out of a hole once. It's high time I returned the favor."

Though Rey would probably argue he's done that several times over, given their closeness. They can bicker over who is the better of the two of them when she's not buried six feet under.

"More tracks over here," he calls, his hand on his cane shaking. "We oughtta thank whoever waters these plants for all the mud. Maybe it'll lead us right to her."

Rey was a big damn hero that month and Sharon only utters a,"Yeah, me too" to his confession. The other woman had saved her fucking life and, lately, she's been such a fucking ass to her; maybe it's about time things come full circle between them. But Sharon isn't looking for a reset button on their relationship. Right now, she's just looking for signs of Rey.

When he calls, she's by his side in just a jog, moving ahead of him to the left of the trail so as not to sully it. She wishes they could call to her but the other woman doesn't even have her phone on her (the doubles are feisty and smart but most give up the game after people show some hesitation towards their 'woe is me' or 'I'm a murderer' sob stories).

She spots an area of earth that appears freshly packed. Is Rey's double smart enough to fake shit? She pauses to let Nick observe and determine whether or not she should take the shovel to the ground.

Nick follows Sharon's eyes, also considering if the other Rey would be smart enough to plant a few false leads and dead ends; however, he figures if she's smart enough to have done that, she'd be smart enough to try to beat him home to wash away the evidence. Whether she'd been unlucky with her timing or just plain cocky, it works to their advantage -- if this isn't the spot, then they've got to be close.

He takes a look around for any other signs: there are some drag marks here and there, and while there are prints all around the mound of packed dirt, there's one set that's deeper than the rest, as though someone stood there for a while while refilling the hole, their weight letting them sink into the soft terrain. He'll take his bet on this being where the real Rey is.

Which means they need to get to her, and fast. He leans heavily on his cane, offering Sharon the shovel. "I'll see if I can't find another one while you get started. And if you hear anything, dig faster."

Edited 2017-01-28 00:43 (UTC)

"I suggest you sit this one out, Leaky," Sharon responds, gesturing to the hole in his stomach, the remark an attempt to hide the worry that's settled in her chest and stomach. She takes the shovel and wastes not a second longer, stomping it deep into packed earth and then tossing the dirt to the side only to repeat the first step all over again. She's not the best digger, a little clumsy, but quickly falls into a pattern.

In. Toss. In. Toss.

Sweat catches in her brows and trickles down the back of her neck. Her bangs cling to her forehead after minutes begin to pass. Fuck, grave digging must have been a shit job before excavators existed.

He'd argue, but Sharon has a point -- Nick was already pushing it with the walk over, and if he manages to literally fry any of his circuits or wires because the rest of him is overheating, he's in real trouble. Mechanical parts are hard enough to replace in Hadriel, but the gods can make screws and bolts and piping with enough of a description. Something programmed into him is a horse of a different color, and while they might be able to replicate the pieces, chances are they can't include all the coding required to make those more complicated pieces work.

So he stands aside while she works, watching as the pile of dirt grows and grows. She's more than halfway there when he gives calling a try. "Rey! Can you hear us?"

The phantom pains of that cold blade slicing through her chest has dulled with the hours, but remembering it has been one of the more sobering things that's kept her going. Hand upon the bloody spot where the wound had once been, and now sealed over, her fingers clench into a tight fist.

In the distance, she hears scratching. Like claws or pieces of metal dragging across the surface of the coffin encasing her inside. Something even more distant sounds like voices, but it mixes with the echoes in her own head and the mantras, repeating in perpetual clockwork.

If she yells, she might just use up what little oxygen she has left for nothing. Most people wouldn't live longer than a few hours in the situation she's in, and for Rey it has been a day or so. If she moves, she could break the focus she has maintained all this time down here.

What only takes minimal effort on her part, Rey draws her hand to the blade of the machete her double had left behind for her. No doubt with different intentions than letting her dig her way out of this mess.

Rather than giving in to that, she squeezes the hilt. Eyes still closed, she begins tapping the blade against the top of the coffin's interior. Still drawing in tiny breaths. Still thinking along those rhythmic beats playing in her mind, as she drums the machete to the mantra.

Just don't breathe, don't speak, don't scream.

The moment Nick calls out for Rey, Sharon freezes, breath bated. Her grip on the shovel remains tight, ready to be thrust into the dirt the moment she hears the synthetic woman somewhere beneath her. She can feel where blisters have popped and reformed, a pain that throbs the moment she stops digging. The moment seems to go on too long and just when she thinks there may be nothing, that they've picked the wrong spot and been trumped, does Sharon pick up the faint sound of tapping.

She does not say a single word before she digs again, double time. She wants to yell something, to tell Rey that they were here and everything was going to be all right, but that would be a waste of her breath and energy. She couldn't waste either when Rey's was so limited.

The shovel hits the hard wood of the coffin, the sound sparking hope. This has to be Rey because if it's not... Fuck, that's not even a line of thought she wants to travel at the moment. If they've been duped, Rey just might die before they can find her.

Quickly, Sharon clears the remaining dirt from the top half of the coffin, the tapping sound now barely muffled by the wood. With effort, she throws the lid back and it hits the wall of dirt with a thud.

"Rey?"

Though the tapping is almost too faint for Nick to pick up, Sharon's faster pace tells him enough -- she heard something, heard Rey beneath her. They're close... but are they too late?

Nick usually wants to know the answers, but he's not sure he wants to know that one. Some things are too much even for a weathered synth like himself. He's made of metal, more mechanical than human, but there's only so much a heart like his can take.

He wants to slide down into the hole as Sharon reaches the coffin; he wants to help as she tears back the lid to reveal the only family he has in both this world and his own, but he knows he's in no condition to do so. Rey might not be in any condition herself to help him back out again, either. She's tough, but he knows her, knows that being trapped won't sit well with her.

The scars go far deeper than that, though: some wounds never heal, and some are made raw again as the gods toy with their emotions. Usually cool and collected, even Nick's are being pushed as he waits at the top of the grave, his brow etched with concern, mouth pulled into a tight frown as he kneels, his hand outstretched to help them both out.

Those last few seconds could have been hours after days spent focusing on her breathing. Thinking of nothing else but concentrating on living a few minutes long. All she needed was time.

How long had it been since she ran out? With her phone taken and her perception of time itself warped by isolation, it was impossible to tell. That's what happens when you spend so long in your head: It becomes its own prison.

(Is this real?)

Lungs searing and vision failing, the last thing Rey expected to see was a white light. Oxygen once again flowed into the hole in the ground that was supposed to be her tomb. Having only made use of what little air she had left in this pocket just to survive, the first inhale was beyond overwhelming.

She gasps, throwing her hands over her face to shield her eyes from the blinding light pouring down from above. Parts of her skin and shirt are caked with dried blood, mixed with dirt. The mere act of breathing is like a ravenous hunger overtaking her after a long fast. Worse yet, she can't see who stands above her to know if they are saviors or the very ones who put her under, returning for the purpose to force her to endure it all over again.

Not again.

Unable to speak between gulps of air, the only thing Rey can articulate is a scream.

The scream is piercing, startling, and Sharon does the only thing she can think to do: touch the other woman, palms hot and wet with sweat and blood. Rey's name falls from her lips more times than she can count, followed by consistent,"You're okay, you're all right, you're safe."

There's not a lot she can do to offer comfort and can only look to Nick with a wide, worried expression. What can they do? Is there anything they even can do?

Nick returns Sharon's worried expression with one of his own, his teeth gritting together as he watches his only family fall to a moment of hysteria, raw emotion so foreign to her usual persona that one might mistake her for someone else entirely.

Not Nick, though. Not with Rey.

He thought otherwise a moment ago, but down into the grave he goes, his own injuries be damned. Landing heavily in the coffin, he drops his cane to wrap both his arms around Rey, so absolutely overcome with concern that he doesn't even stop to think about the way it must feel to be embraced by his metal frame, or if she's even aware it's him. He utters her name a few times, quiet whispers in a soft tone to try to draw her back to reality, reassurances to match Sharon's. She's here. She's safe.

God, he's glad she's alive.

Is this real?

The next few seconds practically confirms the answer to that question burning in her mind. And the reality of it shakes her. What it was her dead ringer had try to do, what it had almost made her do. If not for that pitiable promise she had made to herself never to do something like that again, she would have made good use of the blade left behind for her.

She could have. She would have. But Rey didn't. That's Sharon's voice she hears now. Those are Nick's arms around her -- hard to mistake those metal parts embracing her for anyone else. Every muscle in her body goes rigid, before the next sound to come out of her is not a yell or even words, but a strangled gasp as she buries her face against Nick's shoulder. Fighting the ever-waging war not to scream or cry, and instead just gnashes her teeth and pulls her arms underneath Nick's, hooking behind his back.

"Didn't... think anyone would... come," she finally says, voice scratchy and shaking while holding back the stabbing tears. Don't cry, don't cry, you don't fucking get to cry.

Sharon watches the scene unfold, Rey wrapping around Nick as she struggles to keep everything bottled up. Her words sound painful, raspy from disuse or, perhaps, too much use. She lets them fold into one another, recognizing the familial quality to it; the grasping for comfort from someone loved. She feels like an outlier and crosses her arms across her chest, discomfited by Rey's show of emotion or the fact that she can feel the familar prick of envy.

"That's what you get for thinking," The words lack any bitterness. She's just glad the other woman is safe, even if there have been times she wanted to smash her face in just a little bit. Buried alive, that's no way to go.

Though he sees the discomfort Sharon expresses through body language alone, Nick holds Rey another moment, feeling the pull against his back as her arms hook behind him, the gasp at his shoulder as she chokes back tears. He lets her have that moment to do what she needs to do, no matter how much she might hold it back. He needs that moment himself. He wasn't sure what he was going to do if he had to once again see the corpse of someone he loved killed on his watch.

"Come on," he says finally, still holding onto her, letting her determine when to pull away. "Let's get you out of here. Somewhere safe."

And given the beating he took there from the other Rey, their home is probably not an option.

"Didn't have many other options," Rey mutters in response to Sharon's comment, similarly devoid of any animosity between them. "Wasn't exactly left with a book or anything."

After all that time, she can at least attempt at a joke somehow. It's easier to get out than deal with stupid emotions and what's really on her mind right now -- and that's that she would rather be anywhere but here.

So when Nick speaks, a tight feeling knots up in her chest. "I can walk... I can... I can walk."

As she says this, she starts to move. Despite spending several hours (days? feels like years) underground, she trains her muscles to move and chokes down the feelings chipping away at the surface of her visage. You're supposed to be a soldier, dammit. Fucking act like one.

Sharon goes to pull herself up from the grave first, the knowledge that she's in better condition than the two of them put together right now the only thing on her mind. She struggles some but manages to hoist herself up before turning to offer her hand to both Nick and Rey.

"I can take you to my place," She offers. There are a lot of places to stay around here, to hide out in, but no place seems safe with the doubles running around,"My double is dead so you won't have to worry about her getting involved."

how can anything survive when these little minds tear you in two? [SEMI-OPEN]

January 24th (Closed to Rey, Nick Valentine, and Sharon da Silva)

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THANKS FOR NOTHING, NOTIFS >:(

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