hadriel_logs | Event Log: Flu Season

Entry tags:

Event Log: Flu Season

Who: All characters
What: The event log for the Flu Season event
Where: All over the city
When: March 20th-March 30th
Warnings: Gross sneezing, sick people, and paranoia

It starts with a cough, a sneeze, a sore throat - something small and simple, easily ignored. But then your symptoms get worse. It's probably been awhile since you've been sick, that sort of thing doesn't usually happen here. You might be able to raid the shops for some tissues and tea before it gets too bad, and hopefully you've got a friend to help out until you get better. Surely it'll be over soon, right?

Until the fever sets in, and you start to understand why your friend is really there. They don't want to take care of you. They want to make sure this is the last anyone will ever see of you. They want to learn all your secrets. They want to steal your most precious possession. You know they're plotting against you, you know they're keeping something from you. What will you do to find out what it is?

Then, as the sickness fades, you realize it was all in your mind. Let's hope you didn't do or say anything too awful. But that friend of yours... they seem to have picked up your cough. Maybe you should help them out?

► This log covers March 20th-March 30th.
► 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 your paranoia ends in murder, please let us know here.

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As Glacius' rambling continues, what he says sounds more and more... familiar. Carlisle is no stranger to paranoia; his own mind turns on him so often that there are times when he cannot discern reality from delusion, when he is positive that his curse has finally swallowed him whole and left nothing more than a madman in its wake. Such troubling moments have become more prevalent as the years have passed, but he has learned to cope with them. He first turned to study, burying himself in his notes and his books; when that no longer drowned out his doubts, he drank. That dulled them for a time, and when it no longer sated his fears, he drank more. There are times he still wants a drink -- that's when he confides in Glacius, lets his partner be his bulwark against his inner turmoil.

But who could shield Glacius himself from such troubles? Carlisle knows it's up to him, as he is certain that this all must be a scheme of the gods. Why else would so many fall ill all at once? Was it just a mere infection, or did the sickness extend to the mind, as well? It's not just the paranoia laced within the alien's words that troubles the clergyman, but the way he says them, his cadence as he voices his concerns, his tone and the look he casts upon Carlisle himself.

It's too familiar, indeed. He paws at his sweater, feeling his talisman beneath as he steels himself.

"I am not just any human, Glacius," he insists. "I am you friend, your partner."

Edited 2018-03-31 02:16 (UTC)

None of those statements are true.

[And he doesn't appreciate what is clearly--to him, anyway--an attempt at deflecting from the actual subject, but he's thoroughly convinced now that there's something more going on and Michael is definitely not trustworthy on the issue of Name and perhaps other things.

But really, Lance feels like he shouldn't be that surprised; everyone else is probably going to end up in the same category, because trusting people at home is often risky enough, let alone in Hadriel where everyone is a secret murderer or something.]

But I think I've heard enough anyway.

I don't believe you!

[Michael loses a little control over his voice, getting loud at the same time he gets hoarse. The overall effect is that he's spitting the words onto the ground.

And what does that "I've heard enough" even mean? That Lance is going to do whatever it is that he came here to do now? As he's thinking through it, Michael's thoughts get interrupted with a sudden shrill insistence. There's a sharp jab on the inside of his skull, and he brings a hand up to his head. It's the hand holding the knife, unfortunately, but at least it's not being used in a threatening way. Yet.

He screws his eyes shut for a second and digs the heel of his hand into his temple. Now he's just repeating himself.]

I don't believe you.

"You and I need to talk about the definition of okay." Which... is a bit ironic coming from her. They've fought in different situations over the years, been injured and kept going. Of course there had also been a time where Carolina could have had a life serious injury, and she would have kept going. She still pushes herself now, but she is a bit more realistic in what she can and can't do- or maybe what she should and shouldn't. It doesn't stop her from pressing if it is serious enough, but she does also back off.

"Cover up, 'cause I'm coming in." Considering he has been all but a ghost recently. Yes, feeling like shit doesn't exactly make one want to be social, but she would like to at least make certain that he's not bad enough that she's going to need to talk to Kyna about what else they can do for him.

[The monster steps out onto all four legs just as Law teleports away. It doesn't get the chance to reorient itself to his new position before there's incoming debris, so instead it sort of backs up and hunkers down over its host, using the solid parts of its bulk to deflect most of the rubble. Michael is fine, but the Visitor is less than pleased.

It shakes off like a massive dog and then lunges, barrelling forward in a kind of lumbering charge, the end result of which will be a pouncing leap if Law doesn't move out of the way.

There is still the knife in Michael's hand if Law really wants a weapon. Unfortunately, it's past the Visitor.]

[Lance jumps just at the change in tone, but the sight of the knife is actually more worrying and he freezes in place briefly; the fact that it's just in Michael's hand is at least something, but that doesn't make Lance any less nervous. He's just not sure if he should be afraid for himself or for Michael, or both.

He wants to leave and knows he should--he remembers clearly how his last conversation with someone in Hadriel who was volatile and holding a knife went--but paranoia or not, he can't bring himself to do so just yet. He's too concerned that Michael might hurt himself, especially since the way he's acting now is so erratic.

So he takes a deep breath and tries to focus on diffusing the situation, like he should've before, but it's hard to do so with how he's feeling due to the event. Because of it, his voice is shaky and therefore probably not as calming as he wants it to be, and his words aren't quite as well-chosen as they normally are.]

I'm telling the truth. I'm not going to do anything to you; I just wanted to talk, and we have.

[From what he remembers, Michael himself is the key. But getting close enough to him to do anything - take the knife, take his heart, try to wake him - is the hard part. The creature is fast, powerful, and determined not to let anything happen to its host. Law immediately rejects Mes as an option - Michael's already out cold, so it's not like it would actually stop the thing. He has to weaken or incapacitate the Visitor enough, first, before he can even think about getting close.

There's not even time to think, here, he immediately goes on the defensive, using all that handy rubble to Shambles himself here and there and everywhere, circling around the Visitor and pelting it with debris to get it to keep changing directions. It's a stalling tactic, nothing more. He catches the glint of light on the knife and thinks about it, but at the same time, he wonders if he could lead the Visitor to within range of his apartment and teleport Kikoku down to his hand. Without getting shredded. Hmm.

Oh shit gotta move again. This time, he does the true dick move and swaps himself for Michael, putting his limp body right in the Visitor's path.]

[ Softly. ] I am very sorry that you are subject to this. There are times when we all hate them for what they do! No, it isn't right.

Everybody in the house is ill. Thank you for helping! You are very kind to us. But yes, it is a nightmare. I seem to have the luck to be less affected by it than the rest, but I have had some bad moments. Luckily, not many of them, which leaves me free to care for the others. And right now, for you.

You could never be a nuisance to us! You are a delight. [ He smiles at her. ]

[ They go down the spiral walk and reach the front door of the Elfhouse. Curufn carefully disengages the few wards that they are still in use. And then he heaves up the portcullis and opens the door. He steps aside to allow her to enter first. Once inside, he'll ask her to sit down on the sofa while he gets the two of them something to drink. All they have right now is cool, refreshing, pure water -- but that is good enough, especially for one who has a fever. ]

[ Magnus has set up camp in the park, like some kind of bizarre, wood-carving hobo. It's a pretty sorry excuse for a campsite, too, just a bedsheet tossed over a line, a few blankets on the ground for warmth, and a pillow to rest his head. Peanut is with him, happily curled up in the blanket pile, unaware of just how unorthodox this whole thing is.

Because the ground around the campsite is littered with small wooden carvings. There's a pile near the tent that appear to be the carved, wooden stems of flowers or the start of rose blooms. They have all been hastily discarded, imperfect, Magnus's paranoia-addled mind unable to focus on the delicate touch needed to make something as beautiful and graceful as his trade to Margaery needs to be. Beyond the flowers are small wooden ducks of varying sizes and designs. Some of them look like they could be the duck-version of people he knows. Some have elegant, intricate feathers, some aren't even finished.

Magnus is sitting in the middle of the sea of carvings with a crown of those shitty, half-finished roses on his head. He has some fabric, a needle, and some thread in hand and it looks like he's attempting embroidery. Even from a distance, it's obviously a very, very shitty attempt. It doesn't matter to him, though, because it's okay to be shitty at this. Unlike the decades he's been carving, this is a new skill. Which means he should be able to stop thinking and focus.

Basically, he's trying and failing to keep himself distracted, trying and failing to keep his mind from falling further into this weird, paranoia-filled rabbit hole he's stuck in. He thought moving to the park for a little while, away from everyone, would maybe help. Or at the very least, it would be best for them, give them a little space. They wouldn't have to pity him then, wouldn't have to pretend. Because Magnus is pretty sure he's making the already questionable state of things around Tres Horny House worse. Or at least slightly less-than-ideal for his family.

And so here he is, hoboing-it-up in the park, muttering to himself as he tries to empty his mind and sew a straight goddamn line. If he hears anyone approach he panics and tries to hurriedly sweep the massive amounts of wooden trinkets out of the way. It's...not very effective. ]

S-sorry. Uh, just let me get out of--Sorry!

Edited 2018-03-31 06:52 (UTC)

[ Magnus had been vaguely aware of the monsters from the previous arrivals and came to scope out the place, maybe find some more (hopefully non-monster) wooden objects to squirrel away and anxiously carve into (you guessed it) a bunch of ducks. He's been trying to keep a blank mind, reach some sort of zen through woodcarving, stop worrying, but this paranoia has wormed its way through him.

He doesn't even realize Taako is there until the wizard speaks, his mind so focused on trying not to focus. He spins around to look at his friend and then kind of just...looks around like he's trying to find an escape. ]

I-I won't! Sorry, I'll just. I can go?

I only exist because he's an idiot who talks to himself Caranthir's memory growls, and Maglor nods, eyes slipping slowly closed.

"I'm so tired, Curvo."

Aha! So he was right.

He does so enjoy being right. His wanderings have also given him enough time to burn off the worst of his nasty temper, so he's what might unfortunately pass for him as friendly when he comes to an unsteady stop and shrugs. "Ivar the Boneless." He has found that calling himself the son of Ragnar Lothbrok elicits precisely no reaction here, and he finds that disconcerting enough that he's stopped saying it. As long as he's been alive, his father has been the most famous man in the land, and the sudden change is... strange. He hasn't entirely decided how he feels about it yet.

"You are the smith?" Maglor had mentioned him by name when they were talking about his very fine knife, after all.

You're here. That's reason enough.

[ She laughs, and it's the sweetest sound he's ever heard -- he hasn't heard that in years, so many years, and he reaches up to touch her cheek briefly, thumb brushing over her cheekbone as he watches the joy in her eyes.

To think that he had lost her, and now she's here again, very much alive and smiling and looking like he'd somehow hung the sun and stars in her sky, and he can't help but press his forehead to hers, desperate for touch, for the assurance that she won't slip from his fingers if he lets her go. She's right; she's not the only one feeling overwhelmed and happy, she's not the only one revelling in the fact that she can reach out to touch him. ]

Yeah. [ He manages, at a loss of what to say. ] I just -- anytime. You can touch me anytime.

[ He grimaces, oh -- that came out wrong. ]

"So you're blaming me now?" That is not what happened, the more rational part of his brain said, but he had long ago stopped listening to it. It wasn't currently loud enough to hear over the rest of it that kept telling him that Seel was plotting. He was always plotting.

And yet we're forced to depend on them and even fight their battles for them.

You've all been so kind to me, I feel as though it's the least I can do. And I thank you for--for pulling me out of my delusion. It's just that I can't help fearing that one month, Cersei will arrive and my safety will be in danger. I suppose such a fear made me easy prey for the so-called gods.

[she blushes faintly] I thank you for saying so. I'll do my best to continue to be.

[the Elfhouse makes her feel safer than anywhere else in Hadriel. its protections and wards never feel confining, not like the steady presence of guards and protections she had at the Red Keep used to feel. and water would be heavenly, given her fever and her throat, sore from coughing]

[her blush intensifies]

I--thank you. I'll always be there for you.

Seel was really trying to be patient. Call it Maglor's training, or the fact that he didn't want to sleep on the couch. But he couldn't resist an eye roll.

"Fine, who else should I blame? Is it my fault your acting like an ass?"

"I'm an ass? You locked me in a room!" He could hear his voice rising, even as he couldn't quite stop it. He shouldn't have been yelling. "What else are you going to do to me? You're plotting something. You always are. So what is it?!"

Yes! Curufin is one of Maglor's younger brothers.

And he would understand that problem of being the son of a famous man. Fëanor was a warrior of unparalleled power, skill, and ferocity, and he was also the Leonardo di Vinci of the Elvish world -- a scientist, an artist, and a craftsman who invented practically everything the Elves used later on. The telescope, the palantir, the Elven script letters, and moreover he furthered the arts of metallurgy and gemcutting beyond even the skill of the gods. It was rather strange for Curufin when he left his own world and no one knew who his father was, let alone himself. But he got used to it.

"I'm a smith, yes. So is my son Celebrimbor, and he is here in Hadriel as well."

"And what is your vocation, Ivar?" For Ivar certainly looked like a man who had one, with those piercing eyes and that manner of utter determination.

I want to believe you, but-

[And god, he actually does. Michael likes Lance, he helped him deal with some serious shit, but right now none of that matters. He can't even follow that thought thread to its end because of the insistent pain and noise. The constant refrain that he wants to hurt you. Everyone does.]

I can't. I don't trust you. I don't trust any of you. You got me sick so I'd be weak so you could get me easier.

[He is very much retreating into his own head. It's easier, it's safer.]

You all hate me, and you have a good reason, but that doesn't mean I'm just going to let you do what you want.

[He looks unsteady on his feet, and it's not just because of the sickness. Michael sinks down hard onto his knees, still holding his head. He doesn't want to deal with this anymore, he's too scared and it hurts. But he likes Lance. Which is why he gets a small gesture of mercy.]

I'll give you a head start.

[That's not ominous at all.]

[After that whole incident with Law, Kain had unfortunately carried on with the sickness and into the paranoia stage. He hadn't done much damage or anything himself, before he'd returned to normal himself. But... it's been very weird, walking around without a heart. Fortunately, he could hide it well enough. So when he'd seen Atem, he'd just tried to act as normal as he could, while lacking a major organ.]

[When Law approaches them, he's... pretty surprised, himself.]

Do you mean...? He took yours, as well?

[Kain now turns toward Law, expression darkening a little.]

You shouldn't have taken it in the first place, you realize. I was using it.

[The Visitor, not particularly intelligent, is easily led in a wild goose chase by Law's constant movements. The rubble doesn't hurt it much, beyond chipping a rib here or there, but it is rather annoying.

The creature is mid-leap when Law swaps out for Michael, causing it to twist itself so that its massive front paws land on either side of him instead of on him. It roars and sort of bunches itself up before simply launching itself at Law in a long jump, rather than running at him first. Think fast.]

Indeed!

Nobody can survive this place alone or any of the events that occur here alone. I helped you out of your delusion; maybe sometime you'll help me out of mine. And from the way you describe this Cersei, I don't blame you for being afraid. The appearance in Hadriel of a real enemy from one's own world is an emergency. I hope it never happens, but if it does, you must let us know immediately. We will surround you with a circle of protection. And the gods take advantage of the fears of every one of us. There is no shame in this being so.

[ Still smiling. ] And we will continue to try to make you feel welcome.

[ He gets up and goes to the kitchen and brings back a couple of glasses of water, and hands her one. He sits back down. ] Drink this, it's pure water from one of the pools, and it's been doubly purified.

[ He lifts his glass as though in a toast. ]

Edited 2018-04-01 07:33 (UTC)

Curufin smiles, almost as though he can hear the imaginary Caranthir growling his caustic comment.

"I know, dear brother. Why don't you lie down and sleep for a while? I'll hold you, and I won't go away. You'll wake and I'll still be here."

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Page 22 of 37

Event Log: Flu Season

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Magnus Burnsides | The Adventure Zone

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Shall we wrap this one? These two can catch up to each other in a future thread.

Want to wrap this one? They'll soon be getting all murdery together over Margaery's death. XD