hadriel_logs | Event Log: Party Royale

Entry tags:

Event Log: Party Royale

Who: All characters participating in the event
What: The event log for the Party Royale event
Where: All over the city!
When: September 22nd-29th
Warnings: Paintball, loss of consciousness, and partying!

As is par for the course in Hadriel, at some point throughout the day- waking up, making breakfast, doing laundry- you find an item. This isn't just any item though, it's a tried and true paintball gun, shining and just waiting to be picked up. This gun never runs out of ammunition, never malfunctions, and almost always hits the target that you're aiming at, so say hello to your new best friend for the next week.

Touching or picking up the gun will fill you with a competitive surge, which will likely increase when you find the note that's left with it, saying nothing more than be the last one standing. With instructions like that, how could you lose?

Well, you could lose if someone else shoots you. But never fear, there's a plan for that too! Even if you embrace the throes of unconsciousness, the gods have got your back and will eventually teleport you into a grand party where prizes will be handed out based on how long you survived. Awesome! At this party is also the traditional copious amounts of food and drink, as well as everyone's favorite goddess Delight and everyone's slightly-less-favorite goddess Rage!

Happy paintballing, and may the odds be ever in your favor!

► This log covers September 22nd-29th.
► 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!
► If you fall and break your neck or something because you can't die in paintball, please let us know here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Accidents
[Despite the fact that someone -- the false gods, if he had to guess -- had invaded his home in the night and placed a pair of guns upon the couch, Carlisle could not fathom himself even considering touching either of them.

He knew enough about guns to recognize them: though a rarer commodity in his world than they were in many others, the weapons were not completely foreign to the clergyman. These appeared quite a bit more advanced than those he knew of, but the shape was about right -- a stock here, a trigger there, the barrel. That was the business end. With their sleek designs, Carlisle decided immediately that these looked too much like other technology for his liking, the hair on the back of his neck rising the longer he stood there and contemplated the horrible contraptions.

And on top of that, they clearly came from the supposed deities of Hadriel. Be the last one standing, hmph. Surely no one was actually going to take them up on that offer, he thought. Then again, that might be asking a bit much of people. The gods had tried to get people to kill one another before, and people were bewitched enough to go along with it. Why would it make any difference when it was a factionless free-for-all?

Carlisle snorted loudly, disdain written across him as he went to fetch some of his morning tea from the kitchen. "It appears the false gods have left us gifts," he called to Glacius, his voice dripping with loathing on that final word. Knowing how the alien feels about violence, he has no doubt his partner will agree with him on the foolishness of anyone who would buy into this event.

However, it's not just the guns themselves that are dangerous; if only Carlisle had known, he perhaps things would have been different.]

[It's only the fact that Carlisle sounds reasonably calm--if not plenty disdainful-- over this latest development that keeps Glacius from bursting into the room in a hissing fit, but that does not mean that he seems pleased when he enters from their bedroom. Any mention of their captors and their machinations is enough to leave him wary and loathing. It takes him a second to notice the weapons placed on the couch; he's scanning for bigger threats or changes to their environment, initially. Finding nothing of immediate danger, he scans one more time, and--

--Ah. There they are. Glacius' eyes narrow as they fall upon those small but sleek weapons, and he pushes a snort from his gills that matches the disgust in Carlisle's tone.] So this is their game, then? It seems a bit obvious compared to their usual ploys. Do they really expect use to use such foul contraptions? I shall remove them from our dwelling at once. We should not have to suffer such... instruments of repugnant violence.

Obvious or not, someone is bound to be foolish enough to entertain the madness of these false deities.

[He pours two cups, heating only the second with a glyph. After what happened with the fire -- and even before that, of course -- he wouldn't dream of serving his lover a steaming, scalding drink.

Still, he worries:]

Perhaps you should stay in today.

[Glacius accepts the cold mug of freshly-prepared tea with an appreciative look and a quiet but earnest thank you, taking a drink as he turns his attention back to the guns.] Oh, trust me, I shall. I'm not about to leave you alone when there'll be who knows how many disorderly humans might be cavorting about with weapons in hand.

[Realizing what he's said a bit belatedly, the alien backs up a step:] --Ah, no offense meant, of course. But yes. I'll just go outside long enough to be rid of them, and then I shall come back in and we can try to devise ways to protect ourselves a bit better from all of this, should it be necessary.

[Carlisle gives his partner a polite smile -- he'd meant for Glacius to stay home for his safety, but knows better than to argue with the alien, who will never put himself first when there are others in need of his protection. He takes his own mug to the easy chair, sidling into it beside the rabbit, who has taken up residence in the corner of the seat as of late.]

Those are guns, are they not? My knowledge of firearms is rudimentary, at best.

[Glacius nods, still scrutinizing the weapons.] They are. I've never had a taste for them, myself, and most of my people agree, tending to restrict their use to military applications. Meanwhile most of what I've seen of humanity here seems almost gun-crazed... always clinging to their weapons, using them at whatever chance they get, even going so far as to barter with the gods for ammunition... pah.

[The ice alien huffs a disgusted snort.] Such senseless violence. Perhaps the gods did hit the mark with this game, but that's all the more reason to be rid of these things and see if we can't convince others to do the same. [With that, he takes another sip of his tea, then sets his mug carefully down on the table before reaching for one of the paintball guns.]

Edited 2017-09-23 22:53 (UTC)

I imagine convincing others to do anything will be an uphill battle, at best. Many seem to not trust the gods, yet they fall prey so easily to their whims. [And that's a shame, but one he supposes can't be helped. Not everyone is as keen on compulsions as he is, or as strong-willed as Glacius.

The rabbit moves behind Carlisle, trying to scoot him off the chair with his legs as he stretches. The clergyman sighs, setting his cup on the coffee table and getting back on his feet to scoop up the animal.]

All right, you. Off. You have a whole room to yourself these days, and you still insist on taking my chair in the mornings.

[He turns his back to Glacius for the moment, picking up the creature; though Carlisle is still able to pick him up, the rabbit has grown considerably in the apartment, reaching a size far larger than any normal bunny. However, Carlisle has been calling his pet a rabbit for this long, and sees no reason to change that now.]

It always is. But that hasn't deterred me in the past, now has it? Just because something is hard does not mean it is not worth trying.

[This, Glacius muses as he takes both of the weapons up in one great white hand each. The construction of them is... strange... and the materials almost seem to be of lower quality than what they should be. But that is not the only thing that feels out of place.

There is a tugging at the back of his mind, subconscious, but... familiar. Horribly, unsettlingly familiar. It calls him to raise the weapons in his hands, to use them... to fight, to win.. and it paints the clergyman standing before him as a mere obstacle to this end goal. His most trusted partner, and he is being willed to harm him.

The ice alien lets out a sharp growl. He has been used once already by these gods to do harm--he will not be their tool again. He casts the weapons down to the ground and then, in a fit of horror and revulsion, lifts one foot and brings it down on the offending objects as hard as he can. They crack and then shatter under his impressive strength, and their contents splash up around him, coating his feet and legs--not bullets, but some odd, colorful liquid substance. Paint?

That thought has only a moment to cross his mind before another one strikes him: something is wrong. It's the last thought to cross Glacius' mind; the world spins and goes black, and he immediately topples, pitching forward. If the shattering of the guns wasn't enough to catch Carlisle's attention, he'll certainly be alerted that something has gone horribly awry at the cacophonous cracking of the coffee table underneath the ice alien's weight. The otherworldly being doesn't so much as stir despite what was an undeniably painful and damaging landing; he lays prone in a bed of shards, ice and glass and wood. Not even a single muscles twitches.]

[The sudden growl and clack of the guns hitting the floor behind him startle both Carlisle and the rabbit; the clergyman clings to the creature tighter, turning just as Glacius' foot comes down on the supposed gifts. Well, that was certainly one way to dispose of them, he thinks to himself in that fraction of a second, though he'd thought that Glacius would likely take them outside instead. As it is, they crack easily beneath the warrior's weight, but what appears to be paint explodes from them rather than merely splinters or shards. No need to be worried though, as Glacius' icy armor makes him nearly impervious to all threats.

Nearly, and yet, down Glacius goes, his bulk crashing into the coffee table with all the grace (and weight, no doubt) of a sack of bricks. The table hardly even slows him down, its frame buckling from the impact, shattering into a rain of splinters. His body slides into the cradle of debris, still as the grave.

Carlisle about drops the rabbit, but has enough of a mind to set him back in the chair before he tears over to his partner, his hands already trembling as he calls Glacius' name. The alien does not stir -- not from Carlisle's voice, nor the hand on his shoulder, nor the desperate jostling Carlisle puts him through when his first two attempts to rouse Glacius fail. Disbelief colors the clergyman, followed by despair, then denial to hold back both of them: he'll awaken after a short time, Carlisle tells himself. It must be the effects of a fainting charm rather than something wholly malicious, as the timing was far too coincidental. He picks up those tantalizing weapons, then passes out? And the gods thought themselves clever. They have an unfortunate penchant for what they view as 'games;' this will likely be as those before, Carlisle thinks with increasing desperation, his inner voice as agitated as the rest of him. Glacius will be fine.

But days pass, and Glacius does not awaken. Carlisle keeps vigil over his partner, clearing up the debris from the floor around him, doing his best to pull the dead weight of the alien warrior onto the couch, cleaning the paint from his icy frame with a towel before using glyphs to conjure more ice and snow around his nearly lifeless body. The fresh snow helped him before; however, it does not help him now, yet Carlisle keeps at it from morning until night, using routine to keep himself moving. Awaken, feed Rabbit. Check on Glacius. Morning prayer. Gardening. Steps start to fall by the wayside as the days pass and he struggles to maintain any semblance of composure.

He must believe things will be all right, as he's almost more frightened of what he might do if he believes otherwise for even an instant. He's lost so many in his life, and never handled it well -- he cannot lose Glacius now. Not now, when he can still feel his partner through the Mote. Why does he not wake?

And then, on the fourth day of Carlisle's vigil, the body is gone.]

Edited 2017-10-12 01:14 (UTC)

Carlisle might be agonizingly aware of each day that has passed, his distraught, panic-stricken mind damnably aware of every hour, every minute that his partner does not awaken--but for Glacius, it is much the opposite. He's been rendered nearly comatose for the duration of this nasty little game, and when he finally awakens again he feels as if he is drifting through an endless black haze, his mind struggling to restart itself after being forcibly shut down for so long. He has no idea what has happened, where he is, or how long he has been there; all he really has the faculties to at first is cast out for his primary source of comfort when things go wrong.

Carlisle... Carlisle...

The pings start out aimless, less direct--subconscious, nearly. It takes the otherworldly being a moment or two, but his last few moments of consciousness gradually begin filtering back into his mind, and that's enough to dispel the lingering confusion and disorientation. When he reaches out next, there is much more intent to his call, memory and desire driving him towards his partner's soul.

... Carlisle!

The alien scrambles upright in the dirt he's been unceremoniously deposited on, scrubbing his face as he tries to figure out what's going on. Where is he? Where is his partner, for that matter?! How long has he been pulled apart from the clergyman? What if something has happened to him? Glacius immediately redoubles his effort, hoping that Carlisle will be able to detect these metaphysical pings despite how relatively recently he was gifted with the Mote.

Carlisle, can you hear me? Are you alright? I-- the guns, the gods, they... they wanted me to hurt you. I couldn't do it, but I didn't mean for this to happen, either.

There's silence for a several seconds, no answer for Glacius' metaphysical signals. Perhaps it's because Carlisle has drunk himself into a stupor, or perhaps he's asleep. Perhaps he's been knocked unconscious himself, having fallen to the gods' game at the hands of someone else's gun. It could be a number of things, but the truth is, thankfully, more benign.

Carlisle stirs from his spot on the floor of his cabin in the garden, his glasses askew, hair as frazzled as the rest of him. The past several days have been some of the most turbulent he's ever experienced, his mind turning on him more and more with every passing second -- with no one there to pull him from the edge, he's let himself be swept away by self-degradation and disgust. Why hadn't he been able to awaken Glacius? Just when he'd thought he might be a worthy partner after all, he failed his alien friend -- and for said failure, had Glacius taken from him. Though he could still feel his partner through the Mote, he couldn't find him within the city. He was gone.

Just as it should be for a twice-cursed.

And that thought just about destroyed Carlisle Longinmouth. He has a man who had failed to die, failed his family, failed his goddess -- and now, he'd failed the one person he cared for more than any other. What did he have left?

Liquor, for one. Without Glacius at the apartment, Carlisle couldn't bear to stay among, and so he'd taken some of his plants and the rabbit to the cabin, stopping along the way to pick up a bottle of something potent enough to drown out his misery. It would be so much more effective than tea, he told himself. He'd be welcoming back an old friend who had gotten him through a lot of dark times.

But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He'd spent nights writing, meditating, ranting and raving among the trappings of a life they'd been building together, but Carlisle hadn't yet succumbed to temptation. He had, however, given into exhaustion a time or two, hence his position on the floor when something from the back of his mind rouses him. For just a second, he'd thought he'd heard Glacius -- the alien's voice isn't clear, and it's likely a delusion, he tells himself. That's what happens in the panic-ridden mind of a desperate man. He remembers seeing figures when his father died, shadows where his uncles used to linger when they vanished into the night.

It's when Carlisle hears Glacius' voice again, clearer now, that he wonders if he truly is going mad. He pulls himself off the floor, pawing at his eyes -- they burn, so dry from his sobbing. Another reason for disdain he will apply later.

He doesn't know how to answer, aside from aloud. "G... Glacius?"

Edited 2017-10-12 04:08 (UTC)

Though talking aloud could aid in communication via the metaphysical link now established between them, it requires clear intent to open said link, focus that Carlisle's grief-addled mind isn't currently offering--nor is the endeavor helped by the fact that his knowledge of the Mote is in its infancy. Glacius might not be able to get the specific inquiry that his partner makes, but he can feel the clergyman grasping around for him, reacting to his presence of mind... and that's enough. Just knowing that his Bondmate is out there, alive but alone, is enough to get the alien to redouble his efforts as he tries to find his way back to him.

I'm here, the bridge thrums with the alien's determination and longing. I don't know if you can hear or understand me, but... I'm coming. I just need to find you. Can you picture in your mind where you are? The apartment, maybe? Or the shed in your garden?

Carlisle shudders as he feels the thrum within him, and is so sure he is losing his grip on himself again. It would not be the first time in the past few days that he's struggled with his own energies; when the rest of him is too entrenched in his despair to focus, he cannot possibly maintain control over them. It has been that way his entire life, and is one reason he prefers seclusion.

Preferred, that is. Things are so different now.

He feels longing, feels need -- his head throbs. A drink would stifle all of that, drown out everything: his thoughts, his fears, his despondence and the encroaching madness that feeds upon him. Twice-cursed tend to lose themselves to their affliction, but he has staved it of so far, dulling the effects by tempering himself with alcohol.

"I said I wouldn't."

He made that promise to someone whose presence he can feel, but who is entirely absent. His chest aches, and he doesn't yet know how to seek the solace he so craves from the Mote. It's easier to turn to what's familiar. That's what he's always done. Grabbing the bottle from the table, he sinks back to the floor, down, down. The glass is cool in his fingers, inviting only because he associates such a chill with the icy armor of his partner. Just one drink won't hurt. Something to take the edge off the remorse impaling his heart.

"I said I wouldn't."

Through his heartache, he feels something as familiar as disappointment: disgust. It is white-hot, a fire compared to the melancholy that has suffocated him for days now. He can drink all he wants to extinguish it, yet the smoldering embers will always remain long after the intoxication is gone. Despite that, the temptation is still there, still urging him to drink... and as he uncaps the bottle, he's not sure whether he'd rather feel emotionally encumbered or inebriated.

The aid that Glacius is seeking never comes; instead, Carlisle drops off the link, his searching washed away by a wave of... something. The alien is having a hard time distinguishing without a clearer connection, but it feels a lot like disgust and despair, which wrenches at his hearts and makes it hard to focus on what he needs to. The otherworldly being curses weakly, rubbing at his forehead, his head pounding and his senses dull from the time he's spent unconscious. He is feeling too bad to have to figure everything out on his own right now.

And yet, he has to. It was his fault that he was pried apart from Carlisle, leaving him to battle with whatever is troubling him alone now; it is his responsibility to find his way back to his partner now. Glacius pauses, closing his eyes and trying to sort himself out from the pain and confusion clogging up his thought process; he can only hope he understands and knows his partner well enough to figure out where he might be. Would the clergyman stay back at the apartment even after he mysteriously vanished? Or would the loneliness push him outward, trying to find solace elsewhere?

There's always the shed in the garden, Glacius considers. Carlisle has often retreated there in times of stress or fright... and it isn't too far out of his way. If the clergyman is not there, then he can double back to the apartment... and if he's not there, well, then things get more difficult. At least the alien can tell that his partner is alive, though there's no telling whether or not he's been left injured and stranded... though pain and fright would probably be more prevalent if he were. Either way, it's clear that the clergyman isn't doing well, and it's his duty as a Bondmate to be there for him, so the alien sets off, urgency spurring him to move more quickly than his normal steady pace.

It still takes him some time to make it over to their garden nestled away in the park, though he tries to compensate by sending repeated pings across their link, hoping Carlisle might snatch onto one and take reassurance from it... but the clergyman will get that either way when Glacius finally makes it to the shed and knocks solidly on the door.

"Carlisle, are you in there? Are you alright? I tried to reach you, but without my communications device, it only left me with methods that are less familiar to you..."

Edited 2017-10-12 19:35 (UTC)

Glacius barely makes it through his question before the door flies open, revealing a disheveled Carlisle on the other side. His eyes are wide with the terror that comes when one cannot tell if he's truly awake, or simply facing a hallucination of a desperate mind; through the tears welling in them is the glow of agitated energy. Beyond him, the room is a mess, strewn with notes and journals, heavy with the smell of liquor.

Though he hesitates for a second or two, Carlisle reaches for Glacius' scar and, upon feeling the chill from the alien's icy layer, he breaks. His teeth grind as he chokes on his breath; he wraps his arms around his partner, holding onto him as though he has no other respite from the anguish that has tormented him for days now.

And perhaps he doesn't, if the state he's in is any indication.

Carlisle cannot even begin to question what Glacius has gone through; he cannot even wonder if Glacius truly died and was revived, or if he was simply stolen in his unconscious state. The clergyman's entire body shakes as his limbs tighten in the embrace, fingers curling against the ice, scratching at it as though it'd convince him that this was not some mere specter: Glacius has been returned to him.

"I- I tried, Glacius," he sputters. "I tried to wake you. I- I tried for days!"

Edited 2017-10-12 19:52 (UTC)

Glacius is surprised when the wooden door flies open, and has only a moment to take in his partner's utterly distraught appearance before Carlisle flings himself at him, throwing his arms around the alien and hugging him tightly. Though the clergyman has always grown openly desirous of his affection throughout their time together, this is another level entirely that Glacius has not seen; the human's nails scrabble at the his icy layer, hurting only the alien's hearts as he realizes just how long he's been apart from his partner, and how badly that has shaken him.

"It was that long?" the alien asks, horrified by the revelation. He wraps his arms tightly around the clergyman, holding him tight, trying to reassure him. "Carlisle, I'm sorry. I never meant to leave you for that long. I promised that you would never have to go through anything alone, but I allowed me emotions to get the better of me and acted recklessly.. and we both paid the price for it. I just--I didn't want to be used to hurt you, my partner. I couldn't live with myself if I had, but... I don't think I'll be able to forgive myself for what you went through as a result of my foolishness, either."

Glacius sighs, hanging his head; his nasal cap brushes against the top of Carlisle's hair--normally so neat and tidy, now as disheveled as the rest of him. His fault. "... Let me try and make it up to you. What do you need? What can I do to make it better?"

"This isn't your fault," Carlisle chokes out; he leaves off his usual bout of self-blame, though it is apparent through his heavy tone. Why hadn't he been able to wake Glacius? He asks himself that for the umpteenth time; the answer is always the same. He wasn't good enough. He should have done more.

He buries himself against the alien, afraid to let go of him for fear that he'd vanish. "I d- don't want you to make it up t- to me," he murmurs as he struggles to catch his breath. "I just... want you to be. I fear you are a figment of my mind l, that I will awaken on the floor and find you stolen from me once again. I- I don't know how they took you from me so quietly. I slept f- for only a moment, and you were gone. I- I should not have closed my eyes."

Even Carlisle seems to realize how impossible a task that is, but his frustration knows no end when it comes to his own doubts.

"It isn't your fault, either," Glacius replies softly, knowing that just because Carlisle isn't verbalizing his self-blame doesn't mean he isn't experiencing it. He's had years upon years of being left to wrongly internalize fault for things, after all. The alien tries for a reassuring croon as his partner buries himself against him, rubbing at his back soothingly. "You watched out for me the entire time. You're probably the only reason I survived long enough to wake up again, Carlisle. If I had passed out anywhere else in this city, who knows what could have happened to me... so thank you. Thank you for helping me, as you have always done. I love you. Alright? You're enough. You have always been enough."

Carlisle shakes his head, his face still against Glacius' chest. "Thank you for keeping your promise... for returning to me."

He remains there another several seconds before his embrace finally relaxes. His hand slips from his partner's back along his arm, clasping at Glacius' palm as he tugs against it, hoping to coax the alien inside. Though Carlisle has clearly been staying at the shed-turned-cottage, it's arguable just how much he's been living there: the pages all around the room are scrawled with notes and glyphs of every sort, most of them not in Carlisle's usual, minute print, but instead in a panicked scrawl; his mugs of tea are abandoned on the table, several half-full; the bed is still made, but the covers have clearly been disturbed as he slept atop of it rather than within.

And on top of all of that is the thick odor of alcohol. Whether he had any to drink is still unsaid, but the main source is clear: the shattered remains of a bottle lying along the far wall, something he likely hurled -- as he has done before -- in a fit of rage.

Carlisle takes a seat on the bed, sinking into the furs as though his guilt weighs him down. "It was madness, Glacius," he starts, his voice devoid of emotion as he paws at his eyes again. He's felt enough to last a lifetime. "They- they treated it like a game. They were... so callous."

"Of course. I will always find my way back to you," Glacius murmurs, slipping one hand up to thread through Carlisle's mussed hair, trying to tease its strands out to something a little straighter. He keeps up his gentle ministrations as his partner gradually relaxes, only stopping when the clergyman takes his hand and leads him inside the shed.

The alien wastes no time casting a look around, but what immediately grabs his attention is, of course, the prevalent stench of alcohol. To his surprise, he finds it coming mainly from a broken bottle, the mark it has left against the wall and the spread of shards clearly indicating it was tossed there. Moreover, he couldn't smell much on Carlisle when the human came out to greet him--couldn't detect a hint of it on the clergyman's breath. Glacius has no doubt that he was tempted, but to think that he might have actually resisted it this time around instead of caving as he has in the past is... remarkably significant.

Sitting down right next to Carlisle and immediately extending one hand to cup his partner's cheek, Glacius is about to ask him about it when the clergyman speaks up himself. The alien silences himself and listens, frowning at even this bare recounting. "I can imagine. I felt it... the moment I picked up that gun. It wanted me to fight... to win, tugging at my muscles and my mind, calling me to... attack you." The ice alien pauses; his gills flutter and he shifts with horrific discomfort at the very thought. "I thought I was protecting you by destroying them, but instead I rendered myself unable to do that at all. Did anyone attack you? Are you injured in any way?"

Though a compulsion does explain some of the behavior of the people of Hadriel, Carlisle cannot find it in him to forgive those who were so flippant about it on the network -- those who would have readily shot at him or Glacius had either of them been on the street. Everyone might not have the experience with compulsions he does, nor the strength of will that Glacius bears, but Carlisle judges them all the same. Some would say he shouldn't, as clergy, but... well, he's not in the church, and this is not confessional. This was something that could have damned them all to a fate he'd consider worse than death.

He leans into Glacius' hand, relieved he returned. He's not sure his heart could bear the alien's permanent absence.

"I could feel that within you," he returns, his voice still emotionless. "Scrying your last moments, I could feel the influence of the gods over you, and your resistance, but I could not find a way to right what had been done to you. You protected me, and I could do nothing to help you. I- I stayed in the apartment until your body vanished. I hid, unable to bring myself to leave you. I feared you would melt away without my glyphs, or that a great beast would appear and rend us both from this life."

His nose wrinkles, his teeth bared as ire finally breaks through his impassive surface. "I feared for our lives, and people thought it a game, even when made aware of the gods' influence."

"I almost forgot you could do that--the scrying, I mean," Glacius blinks, then tucks his head back slightly, struck by an odd little surge of shame. "I'm... I'm sorry you felt that from me, even if it was just for a moment, and even if the urge was not my own. I know you said you felt this too, but I-- I didn't want to hurt you--I would never hurt you." And his actions no doubt showed that, given the lengths he went to keep himself from doing just that.

"I only wish that I could say the same for the rest of the miscreants that inhabit this wretched city," the ice alien continues on, his voice growing darker. He's apparently similarly incensed by people's willingness to play along with the god's machinations--but then, the thought of anyone making light of Carlisle's fright or worry while contributing more of it is enough to do that to him. It hits too close to home to foulness that the otherworldly being knows his partner has had to deal with already, both here and back . "You say you could do nothing to help me, but that's not true. You stayed with me the whole time. It was me who vanished... and thus, it was me who couldn't do anything to protect you from the madness spiraling down around you."

Glacius sighs, shaking his head, then lowers his head toward's his partners, trying to garner reassurance through a little nuzzle. "What happened may be the fault of the false gods... but I should have been there with you through this. I'm so sorry you had to go through this alone, Carlisle."

Carlisle shakes his head, his arms stiffening as his energies continue to boil beneath his skin. "Don't apologize. This- this wasn't your fault. You didn't want to hurt me, and you did everything you could to prevent that. I—"

He cuts himself off as he folds over, back into Glacius' arms, his own hands covering his face as he swallows the ink gathering in his throat. "I don't know what I'd have done if you'd never returned. I don't want to know. I... I don't want to think about it. I don't to think at all."

Carlisle sucks in a breath. "I- I considered it again. Drinking. It was easier than facing myself, pondering an existence without you in it."

Glacius curls his arms around Carlisle when the clergyman folds against him, flopping back the other way so that he effectively pulls the human over and on top of himself when he moves--and from there, he pulls his legs up and curls protectively around his partner. The alien strokes the human's face again, keeping his own head lowered so that there's not much space between theirs.

"But you only considered it, am I correct?" Glacius asks gently, offering his partner a reassuring smile. "Carlisle, I don't think I can state enough what a huge step forward that is. I know it took a lot of strength. It is so easy to do what is familiar, especially in times of duress... that you would hold to your promise to me shows not only loyalty and care, but great resolve as well. I am proud to see how you are growing, even though the universe has never stopped slinging hardships at you."

Despite the praise Glacius offers him, Carlisle feels only a minute sense of satisfaction in his accomplishment. He has been inundated in intense despair for a matter of days, and having finally found solace in Glacius' arms, grows increasingly numb in his emotional exhaustion.

"I don't feel resolve," he utters, his confession nearly lost as he curls against his partner. "I feel like I still want a drink. I feel tired, frustrated with my ineptitude. I feel unable to accept your kindness, as I see not the strength you so insist I have. I'd... I'd rather not feel anything at all, even if only for a moment."

Except his partner, perhaps. He places a hand along Glacius' chest, his touch tentative, as though the alien might vanish beneath his fingertips.

Event Log: Party Royale

Carlisle Longinmouth [closed]

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