hadriel_logs | Intro Log: Faceplanted

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Intro Log: Faceplanted

Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for October
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: October 10th-14th
Warnings: Newbies, spookies, and evil trees!

If it's your first time here, congratulations! You get the lovely, unique sensation of eating dirt as the Door knocks you facefirst into the ground. You'll probably be a little woozy at first, so take your time getting up- meet some folks, introduce yourself, don't be weird about it. Welcome to Hadriel! You're not the only person who just got to taste alien dirt firsthand, though- there are several people in the same predicament as you, so feel free to say hi! Probably shouldn't spend too much time talking though, because the lovely trees that you thought were just scenery are starting to creep ever closer the more you let your guard down.

All around you is a forest of spooky evil trees- it seems to be just a normal sort of forest at first, but the more you take your eyes off of them, the more they shift around you and close in. Or is that just your imagination? If you move too close to one, look out! They're rather determined to pick you up and stick you into the ground so you might take root- and if you resist, well, a severed bud can still serve as a seed, right?

If the trees tear your clothes though, don't worry, there's plenty of extras to be found lying around the arena if you don't mind them being a bit dirty. Lying on the ground and sometimes hanging off of these tree branches are some free shirts, yours for the taking! You know, if you'd be caught dead with one...

But hey, after you've met new friends and found a new aesthetic, feel free to go explore the rest of the city! Find a house, a new monster, a project to help with, or simply scavenge for supplies. Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!

► This log covers October 10th-14th.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well!
► All characters arrive with phones that have network communication and the newbie guide installed.
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

And there it is, clear as anything. There's no working around that. Washington brought Drake here. Called him Ephemera and not Sharkface. Didn't fight back. Didn't return fire.

Ephemera exhales sharply, closing his eyes. With his helmet off, he can smell the blood almost too sharply.

"I know."

It's complicated, getting more so by the day. But there's still a chance, Drake thinks, if these two would actually communicate without bullets. If he can keep Ephemera grounded in himself. Save him, Washington said. He'd spit it out like he didn't really believe it were possible, but Drake did. It just wouldn't be easy.

"Come on," Drake prompts gently, moving towards the doors. He doesn't like being in Rage's temple under normal circumstances -- still afraid that someday the emotion will seep in too deep and he'll turn. Now that the fear and worry for Ephemera have abated, he can feel Rage's influence pushing at him. "Don't step in it."

They're leaving. They're leaving and once they're outside it won't smell so bad. Ephemera nods again, vaguely. He doesn't like the temples. His head goes to strange places if he stays in them for too long and this time he couldn't quite see the line, if there even was a line, between what was reasonable and what wasn't. It's one thing to blame the gods. They fuck stuff up all the time, he's heard. But this was on him. All of it. The things that were said, the gun.

All of it.

Ephemera hesitates once they're outside. Then, silently, he hands Drake his pistol.

Outside, Drake eyes the blood trail. A huge part of him wants to follow it to Washington and help him if he needs it, then handle this. Damage control. But he's not leaving Ephemera and he needs to keep in his place. Back to the apartment, now. They'll talk about it. Drake will try to guide him rather than just taking over.

And he'll keep this fucking huge secret, because Ephemera's not ready. God, this is killing him.

It's just as he's settled on not taking over that Ephemera hands him the pistol. Drake blinks. Is that really necessary? Is he afraid they'll pass Washington and he'll just start shooting again or something? Drake doesn't want to turn into a babysitter. How much of a safety net is it okay to become?

He takes the pistol, this time. "...just because of Rage," he clarifies. Ephemera was in the temple for too long, that's all.

And then they're walking.

Ephemera blinks. "Yeah."

Though he's not sure yet how much of that was the temple and how much of it was just him. It's an uncomfortable question, and Ephemera has a feeling he already knows the answer. It's just not a very good one. He doesn't want to be like Rodriguez, who lashed out and hurt everything around him because it was easier than trying to stop whatever was fucking up his brain.

They walk the rest of the way in silence. Back in his apartment, Ephemera starts stripping out of his armor. This feels like something he shouldn't be doing with armor on. Somehow.

Good, he's stripping on his own -- Drake was gonna tell him to get out of the armor anyway, it just makes it easier that Ephemera made the decision on his own. It means he still feels safe here.

He sets Ephemera's pistol down on the table beside his gauntlets, and unclips his own gun's holster from his belt. Armor, weapons, they don't need that shit right now. Drake watches Ephemera set his chestplate down and leans back against the kitchen counter. It's covered in painting supplies, but none of the mess looks wet at least.

"So you think you can tell me where your head's at?"

There's something calming about getting his armor off. There's a process, one thing after another. It's easy. Almost mindless.

Ephemera kneels down to unhook his boots from his grieves.

"Really want a cigarette," he murmurs.

The pack is on the counter, actually, Drake saw them just a moment ago. He reaches for them, draws one out and lights it for Ephemera, blowing the smoke out of his mouth without having inhaled it. It tastes pretty much like he remembered.

When the other man straightens up and sets down the last pieces of his armor, Drake stretches his arm out to offer the burning cigarette. "Here."

Ephemera hesitates, then takes the cigarette. Their hands touch briefly. He inhales deeply. Holds it a moment before he exhales again. The burn of the nicotine centers him a little.

This is here. This is right now.

He runs his free hand through his hair, meeting Drake's eyes.

"Think I fucked up pretty bad."

"You're both still alive, and he used your name. It can't be that bad." He stands there, a little closer than an arm's distance, gripping the countertop behind him. Watching Ephemera smoke. "...I need to know how much I'm allowed to interfere here. And what you're thinking. I know you still want him dead, but you didn't kill him. Why?"

"I said I wouldn't."

And he tries not to lie. It gets things tangled up too easily.

Ephemera smokes. Watches Drake. He's feeling calmer now. More in control.

"Rodriguez hurt people," he says abruptly. "Not all the time. When he thought we weren't watching. Shot stuff just because. Birds, people, whatever was there. He got targets in the knees so they'd scream. Just so they'd hurt. I don't wanna be like that."

"Is it just about keeping your word, though? Or do you agree with why I don't think you should?"

And then Ephemera's talking about his old teammate, who sounds like a textbook sadist, really. Drake wonders if Ephemera wants Washington to hurt that way. To suffer. Or if he just wants his revenge. The soldiers' world view is more than a little fucked up, in Drake's opinion, but he's starting to understand that there's a difference between injuring someone and really hurting them, to Ephemera. It's about motive. "...that's not you."

Ephemera takes a deep breath. Lets it out, the cigarette held loosely between his fingers. "Both? I don't know. He'd just come back."

Maybe he should have shot Washington right between the eyes. Ended it fast. He would've come back mad, sure, but it would have been quick. Would have made his point.

"Rodriguez did some fucked up shit," Ephemera says, softly. "But he wasn't like that at the start. It was -- after."

After what happened to the twins.

"I can't kill Washington. It wouldn't matter. But I could hurt him. Did hurt him." They're being honest. Ephemera takes a long drag, exhaling slowly. "I thought he'd back off but he didn't."

Drake listens, and it seems like Ephemera understands, at least. That it wouldn't do any good. It wouldn't take, and it wouldn't bring his family back. Which is obvious, but Ephemera's actually accepting it rather than wanting to kill Washington over and over again anyway.

"I guess what matters is... did you enjoy it? Hurting him." And does he think he's going to do it again? Because there's only so much anyone can take.

"For a moment."

He could lie and say no, but that's not how it went.

"Not after."

Okay. Good.

He's not sure how he would have taken it if the answer were a straight up yes, because that would fuck with his view of who Ephemera was. But 'for a moment' settles, and 'not after' lines up.

"Remember that, then. That it didn't last. Didn't make you feel better."

Ephemera nods, taking another drag. He hadn't set out to hurt anybody. Hadn't wanted to see Washington at all, except here he'd been and he wouldn't back off. Had to respond to that. Had to do something or--

Risk it falling back on his people. And he does have people here, Drake and Lup and sometimes George. They matter.

"How am I supposed to be around him?" Ephemera asks after a moment. Because it's going to happen again. It's inevitable in a place this small. "Just--seeing him fucking pisses me off."

"It's gonna happen," Drake concedes. The cave isn't that big. He rakes a hand through his hair, wishing not for the first time that Washington had never shown up here. Too late for that. They just had to deal with the reality they were in.

"You'll desensitize eventually, I think. Until then...maybe anger management? I've been through that, I can teach you some tricks. And Sweets has been a pretty good therapist here, honestly, if you wanna talk to someone besides me."

"Therapy," Ephemera repeats, dubious. Before Hadriel he'd been able to bottle his anger, keep it under wraps until it was useful and then unleash it. But it's different here, with these people. He can't spend months at a time stewing in his head just waiting for an excuse. It won't hold. "That actually works, in your world?"

"It's not about the world, it's about the person, and how much they're willing to put into it." Drake shrugs a little. "At the end of the day, it's just talking to someone. Having them guide you through what you're feeling."

"We had psychiatrists in the UNSC," he explains. It hadn't gone well. CT had bribed a corpsman into stealing one of the handbooks and coached them mercilessly on what to say if they were questioned. And how they were never, under any circumstance, to let anyone else near the twins. "They didn't help anyone."

But it's different now, in Hadriel. How much so remains to be seen.

Ephemera takes another drag, considering.

"I know Sweets. He's -- hnn. He's trying to help."

"Yeah I don't trust the shrinks on the force any farther than I could throw them. And that's part of it, you have to be comfortable with the person."

It's hard to open up to someone who could have your badge. Especially considering Drake's background.

"...he's helped me, I think."

Even if he hasn't actually told Ephemera the truth yet. And doesn't know if he can now, when this new secret follows so closely after. But he did promise... He watches the smoke curl off Ephemera's cigarette and wonders if there'll ever be a right time.

Helping--oh.

Ephemera blinks.

"You trust him?"

Drake thinks about that. It's complicated, because... the way he trusts Sweets feels so different from how he trusts Ephemera, for example. They're not friends, at least not yet. And he wouldn't put his life in the guy's hands. But.

"I trust his judgment, and I trust him to keep what I tell him private. That's basically best case scenario for a therapist."

It's a fair answer. Ephemera leans back against the counter, tapping ash into the sink. "I just--talk to him?"

If you want things to change, you have to do shit to make them change.

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