ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴅᴛᴇᴀᴍ ᴏғ ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴇʟ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hadrielmods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hadriel_logs2019-01-04 08:53 am
hadrielmods) wrote in hadriel_logs2019-01-04 08:53 am
Entry tags:
- !event,
- agent carolina,
- agent maine,
- caedra nisariel,
- cashmere,
- charles yvry,
- daenerys targaryen,
- fingon,
- franklin delano donut,
- george lass,
- inquisitor trevelyan,
- jo harvelle,
- kelson haldane,
- knock out,
- laura palmer,
- margaery tyrell,
- mariane cousland,
- michael munroe,
- peter parker,
- sanji,
- sansa stark,
- staci pratt,
- starscream,
- terrence ephemera/sharkface,
- the disreputable dog,
- tinya wazzo,
- trafalgar law
Event Log: Is It a Wonderful Life?
Who: All characters participating in the event
What: The event log for Is It A Wonderful Life? event
Where: All over the city
When: Jan 4th-8th
Warnings: None
What: The event log for Is It A Wonderful Life? event
Where: All over the city
When: Jan 4th-8th
Warnings: None
Throughout the next few days, you may find yourself plagued by visions and dreams of back home. The dreams will be lifelike and difficult to tell apart from reality, as the world will be constructed from what you remember of your world. However, unlike usual dreams, you won't be present, and will find yourself unable to be seen or heard by those around you.
The dreams are vivid reminders of what might happen in a world without you: a world in which you disappeared when coming to Hadriel, a world which desperately needs you back for some reason or another. You may see your parents putting up missing posters, your significant other moving onto their next relationship, or even your hated villain finally taking over the world without you there to stop them.
When the vision leaves, you're back here and nothing about the city has changed. Though maybe you have a different outlook on it now...► This log covers January 4th-Januray 8th.
► 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 try a weird solution to make it back home, please let us know here.
Fingon | OTA
And it has been explained, painfully and reluctantly, what happens next: the corruption of a continent, the destruction of his people. Guilty kinsmen, ghosts, others' memories, his own grim imagination brought to life- Hadriel has thoughtfully filled in the details time and time again.
So he's not all surprised when it starts happening again- when he stops in the streets and is suddenly somewhere else, usually in the midst of that place's destruction. The pattern would be almost funny, if it weren't breaking his heart in the process.]
The Hill of the Slain
He was responsible for all of them.
Someone approaches and he turns- the figure is a woman with the dark hair and eyes of the House of Beor. Young, but grey and drained- and with a start, Fingon puts a name to her: Rian, the young bride of one of his own Men. His niece's mother-in-law to be-
"Lady Rian!" Fingon calls out, "go home to your son! Your husband-"
But she's not listening. He goes to her side and pulls at her hand- but it passes quite through. "He would not want this," he tells her instead, shaken. "There is only death, here."
But the poor woman cannot hear, and it is death that her eyes long for as much as her spouse, so Fingon can only witness as she climbs the corpse-mound and prepares herself to leave the world.]
The Chair of the Steadfast
He's working on the skins near the lake when the next vision hits him: a Man, blonde and bearded and all too familiar, chained to a seat high atop a mountain. And beside him a Shadow, menacing and all-too-familiar.
The Shadow limps, Fingon notes, and there some satisfaction to be gained in that. But there's more to mourn: the Man is Hurin, his liegeman, and the Enemy wants information only he holds. Hurin refuses; Fingon knows this, has heard the story from his kin.
But is harder to watch that refusal and its consequences: the Enemy smiles, and curses Hurin's kin with a word, and Hurin is left to watch from afar as his Doomed son wanders and brings havoc wherever he goes.
Fingon had brought this Man to war, separated him from his wife and children- and now as Beleriand burns and Hurin ages from time and mistreatment and horror, all he can say is, "I'm so sorry, my friend. I never intended this for you."
When he comes back to himself and sees Hadriel again, he snarls and throws whatever is at hand with a curse of his own: "This damned city!"]
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The King of Gondolin
The actual recipient of this message, his brother, looks on from a tower window at the city beneath him, wreathed in flames. He's alarmingly still, almost serene, as he calls out from the window, "Great is the victory of the Noldoli!"
"Victory? What victory, you fool? Leave the tower and organize a retreat! You can't stay here!"
On the other hand, perhaps Turgon is on to something- the floor shifts beneath their feet, the work of a siege engine at the base of the fortress. He would need to run, to have any chance. From the expression on his face, Fingon realizes with alarm, he has no intention of doing so.
He's about to try again, to scream at Turgon to have some sense, when the vision ends and he remembers where he is. Frustrated, he leans against a wall with his head in his hands.]
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Drake Holloway | closed & OTA (cw: suicidal ideation)
The last thing Drake remembers of his world is being taken out of it -- he's dead, he knows this for certain, has heard it from the mouth of the person who had to put a bullet in his head because he was no longer himself, he was dead awhile before his body. He knows. And is aware that the world is going on without him, so has been treating Hadriel as his new life, his second chance. He's tried to make his peace with it but there's one lingering regret, one person left who he knows misses him that he can't go home to, that Hadriel keeps reminding him of. Awhile ago he received his mother's photo album of him, the final page being his memorial. No funeral since there wasn't even a casket or urn, no body to dispose of. He was never found. He knows this.
It's another thing to have the dream he's having tonight, where he's back in ma's house. Except he isn't there. He watches his mother sat on the couch turning the pages of that album over and over again, crying, a glass of liquor in her other hand. When it's empty she keeps clutching it, like she needs to be holding on to something as her fingertips trail over his face beneath the plastic protector of the album pages. It's agonizing to watch, and he can't do anything. He can't get her attention, can't move, can't touch her. It's a reminder that he doesn't exist, and there's someone back in his world without him that can't exist, either. There's a pill bottle on the coffee table, and he doesn't know if she took any. Can't see what it is.
This can't be real, can it? It might as well be, though. Him back home, a ghost. Then she looks up and he thinks she's finally looking at him, finally noticed him, until he realizes she's looking at something past him. A little shrine set up on the end table, a photo and candle and his black belt and police cap, some of his medals. God, ma. She saved everything. She saved everything but her son.
The dream fades out on her tear-stained face, more grief in it than Drake's ever seen before, and he wakes up back in Hadriel with a start and ragged gasp. He's breathing hard, can feel his heart pounding and -- well, it's slow, but fast for him. His head spins and he considers trying to get up, to flee the bed like it'll get the dream out of his head, but he's frozen there. And against his will, he can feel the tears starting. Ephemera will wake to find him sitting up with a white-knuckled grip on his knees, struggling not to cry. It wasn't real. It can't be that bad. It can't... but he never asked Liv if she went back and checked on his mother after that first time. Figured she hadn't. Will he ever know?
Fuck. He's crying now.
but life here goes on - OTA
Drake moves like a ghost for the next few days, the dreams still haunting him. Never quite the same but all viable scenarios in which his mother can't live without him. Sometimes the news is on in the background and he sees that Mr Boss is running free, or there's an ad for Blaine's funeral home, that Max Rager is still on the market, or something like that. All the evil he didn't stop is still out in the world and his poor ma, wanting to end it because she can't live without her son. He's already sort of weak from his December ordeal and this makes it feel like he's not sleeping at all, leaves him looking more like a zombie than usual even without the white hair and pale skin.
He goes on patrol but looks tired and haunted. Afterwards he'll wind up at the speakeasy because there's no coffee left in Hadriel right now but there is alcohol, and he needs to not feel like this. Needs to not think about this. Company would be greatly appreciated, any distraction from terrible images he can't get out of his head. The ache of grief in his chest.
it is not a wonderful life
The movement at his side does get him up.
"Drake?"
Ephemera pushes himself up, blinking. He doesn't see a threat and Drake isn't going for a weapon. But something is wrong.
Okay. He's awake now.
"Hey. Hey, what's wrong?" Ephemera bumps their shoulders together, trying to get Drake to look at him.
no it is not!!!
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sad lads on patrol
He'd meant to catch Drake and actually, like, meet him when he'd first joined the guard, but since Nick just had him go right back to doing his usual patrolling routine and then all the wacky shit happened and blah blah, schedules hand't meshed and who even knows. But here was Drake now, and here also was Peter who was on the look out for distractions, so badabing badaboom Peter just drops off a fucking building and lands close to Drake. This is normal.
"Roofs are clear! Which. Probably isn't that big of a shocker. Hi, by the way."
Smooth. Goofy. Yes, good, he sounds like Spider-Man and not a very sad guy, he can still fake it like a pro.
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but life here goes on
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and on and on
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Speakeasy
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Speakeasy
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Caedra | OTA
"Mother?"
Caedra looks up from her writing as if jolted awake. Around her, what ought to be a forever-broad expanse of white, brushed by distant mountains and unfamiliar ruins, is instead suddenly and intensely familiar. The walled garden surrounds her, seated where she is at the little iron-wrought table with her book, and striding through the courtyard is her dear beloved son, with those sweet dark eyes of his.
Finally, she's home! With a startled gasp, a half-sob of joy, she holds one hand to her mouth in shock as she reaches for the young man with the stunted horns. And as he strides past, she stands, casting aside the book to call to his retreating back as he searches.
"Virion! Virion, I'm right here."
But he can't see her, and as he turns he snarls a question at Ifiet who lies curled up at the foot of a hedge and cares not for his sudden temper. Where has the mistress gone? Who knows. The jarilith minds the garden, not the caretaker. Virion slashes clawed nails through the vines that cascade toward him and they retreat in fear, and no amount of screaming makes any of them aware of Caedra's presence. She is a ghost in her own home.
[Around, including outside the city, Jan. 5-8]
Quickly, Caedra learns the visions are just illusions. She's seen plenty in her time and they are no more real than the ones she herself can conjure. It's the false gods again, for she has grown accustomed to their tricks and is intent on ignoring them.
Which is remarkably hard to do when their work causes her to slip in and out of the illusions without warning. One moment she's stalking down Hadriel's streets, looking more dour than usual; the next, she's at Ironhold. The arches and courtyards of the grand palace stretch ahead and behind her, and couriers scurry to and fro, delivering news of the war in Lionde, of enemy movements, of the treasure and sacrifices and slaves provided at the City of Circles to keep the lord appeased.
Over the course of a year, she fades in and out of that world. Her son grows worried. Malthus wonders for a time and then moves on, more focused on his rivalry with the gnome that once he called a friend, now a mortal enemy. Iria laughs with that tinkling laugh of hers and offers to take over the scrying until the missing warlock, or a substitute, is found.
If she is missed, she does not know. Amamot, ever inscrutable, keeps things moving forward at his breakneck pace. The machine grinds onward, devouring all in its path. Caedra is one tiny little gear. She goes missing, and she is replaced. It happens all the time, she hears whispered between advisors in hallways. They find better offers from other lords. They leave for new layers, new planes, eager to seize power for themselves. Or they die in the endless struggles demons pick with each other, always looking to supplant, to supersede, to rise above and subjugate the rest.
As real as this feels, she know it isn't real. It still hurts. Approach her with caution, for there is none of the teasing laughter she often employs, and that rapier is always in hand. Still, there are moments when she pauses and stares into the distance as if about to speak, looking like she desperately wants to before she remembers herself. And if she catches you staring?
"What are you looking at?"
randomly the 6th whatever wildcard I do what I want
"What."
It's not a question.
wow u dare
ye I do
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Inside the City 1/05
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jan 5;
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Jan 5th
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Terrence Ephemera | ota
[ It's been a long fucking month. To Ephemera's great surprise, the coming one is off to a better start. For him, if no one else.
He's sitting on the ground in front of the spires, helmet off, and smoking. Giving Drake some space. Every once and a while he'll blow a smoke ring. It's a trick. ]
Are you going to start crying?
[ It's asked warily. Ephemera isn't very good with other people's emotion. ]
Wildcard
[ Hit me! ]
Around the City
He's been tidying his range, trying to get it back in order after the stampede, but he could use some more scraps. So he's heading around the shops to see what he can scrounge that won't be detrimental to anyone else. His range isn't more important than people's wellbeing after all.
He still has Ephemera's shield generator strapped to his wrist, because this thing is awesome and he figures Connor will eventually come back for it at some point. Which he's a little sad about. It was loads of fun to play with.]
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smoking
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smoking
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Peter Parker ; OTA (emeto warning, death, all the bad shit)
[Troubling dreams are nothing new to Peter. From the day he had arrived to now, his sleep was being interrupted on a near nightly basis by horrible nightmares, memories of his own final moments replaying in his head in way more detail than he would have liked. He'd grown accustomed to it though, had even gotten to the point where he could reassure himself that he's okay. He's alive, and he'll be fine as long as he keeps his head in the game, and by now the dreams were little more than an annoyance. He wasn't over what had happened, but he was managing.
Unfortunately, pointedly trying to avoid thinking about everything else that had been bugging him since his arrival was about to bite him right in the ass. He simply wasn't prepared for these new dreams, for these visions of a world in which he no longer existed. A world where half the life in the universe no longer existed, because they'd failed. He'd failed. Logically, he knew that he couldn't claim sole responsibility for the epic beefin' it that was the battle with Thanos. There had been a lot more players in that game than just him, and all things considered, he'd done pretty well. When the main focus of these dreams he'd abruptly started having was his aunt and his friends trying to just live their lives after losing so many people, though, it was hard not to be overwhelmed with guilt, irrational as it may be.
The dreams of his Aunt May alone in their apartment fucked him up more than anything. She'd lost her husband already, but she and Peter had been there for each other. It had been rough, but they'd made it through. Now, she didn't even have her nephew anymore. May's entire family had been stolen from her, she was alone, it wasn't fucking fair, and there wasn't a goddamn thing Peter could do to fix it. God, how he wished he could fix it. These dreams were just fucking with him, she was right there and she couldn't even hear him. No matter how many times he tried to talk to her, no matter how many times he said "I'm right here", I'm sorry", "please, God, just look at me, May", she couldn't hear a word he said.
He had never felt so powerless before.]
1: Housemates/guests/who are you and why are you in my house in the middle of the night???? idk he's met lots of people (emeto warning)
[No stranger to restless nights, waking up startled is something that Peter is all too used to these days. This time is different, though. The dream had been worse, so much worse, and it had felt so real. He woke with a start, his head feeling like it was spinning while he tried to process just where the fuck his was, and separate it from where the fuck he actually wasn't.
The good...ish news? He wasn't a spooky ghost in his old apartment, haunting his aunt or whatever. He was in Hadriel, in his stupid, cold-ass bed. His hands were shaking, his throat and stomach hurt, his face was wet with either tears or drool. Tears were more likely, he decided, since they were still coming out of his face. The only reason he didn't just sit there in bed overwhelmed with grief was the whole stomach thing. Anxiety, guilt, worry, whatever the reason for it, he threw his blanket off and made a beeline for the bathroom to introduce the toilet to whatever he'd had for dinner. Kneeling before the porcelain throne isn't really the most dignified position to be found in, but sometimes that's just where your journey through life takes you. Just. Sitting on the bathroom floor and crying at the toilet.]
2: Out and about: totally healthy coping habits!!
[By "totally healthy coping habits" I obviously mean "throwing yourself at your work until you can no longer feel feelings and/or your fingers". Spidey's out on patrol in the middle of the night, because of course he is. His suit hasn't been repaired after the mammoth stampede thing yet, so he's just out in whatever clothes he snagged out of his closet, but you bet your ass he at least still has his mask on. Why? Because he won't have to explain why he looks like absolute shit this way, duh.
When he's not swinging around doing spider junk, he can be found at the lab trying to distract himself with SCIENCE, or trying to repair parts of his suit, or at the speakeasy for once because he's never really been in there, and again, DISTRACTIONS. Or maybe even at Pratt's super neato firing range where he's probably just shooting webs at shit out of boredom.]
1.
so she hears Peter knocking about in his own room next to hers. she's hesitant to go to him in light of what he's revealed to her, but it seems as though hesitation isn't an option.
at least going by what she hears in the bathroom.
so she heads to the bathroom, reaching up to snag a washcloth and soak it full of cool water before wringing it out and offering it to him, to what? be placed on his head? that's the way she's seen it, anyway.
she does reach out hesitantly to clasp his shoulder]
Hey. Hey. You're not alone. Promise.
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2, firing range!
YEAAAAAAA
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2.
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2 lab
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1 - roomie time
aw yis
\o\
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Franklin D. Donut
By the time the third day arrives, he's looking haggard. He's no longer in armor, too depressed. He hasn't eaten in a while, hasn't taken a shower and he keeps being hit with visions of his loved ones happy because he isn't there to ruin their happiness. In the latest vision, everyone's happy because Tex never died. Church never went off to go look for her. The guys never get seperated. Instead, they get to stay in Blood Gulch, facing off against each other, playing wargames and having a good time. ]
It's not fair. She tried to kill me first.
[ He sniffs, tears welling up, distorting his vision and then the scene transforms. This time they're all celebrating. Their ship went down on Chorus but they managed to get a message out despite Locus and Felix's attempts to keep them grounded. The message gets through, but this time he's not there to screw it up. They send help. Ships from the UNSC land on Chorus and just like that, a civil war is stopped. All because he wasn't there.
This time, there's no comeback, too busy wiping at the tears beginning to fall until they become an unbroken stream that won't be swayed. Keep in the hurt. Don't let them get to you. Yet, despite his words of courage, a stuttered cry escapes him and he bites his lip, pressing his palms harder against his eyes begging the tears to stop just like he'd done back in middle school and just like then, they don't. ]
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It's not like she dislikes him or anything like that. He just... goes about things in his own way. If anything, he and Caboose seemingly share a kindred spirit in their view of the world, in that they are both certainly unique. Rather, it is that high-strung energy that Carolina simply isn't that used to. Not even York had been that intense. Yet it is that sob that catches her attention, those green eyes casually searching for the source, not expecting it to be someone she knows.
She's not warm and fuzzy. Maybe it's not even in her genetic make-up to be. But that doesn't stop her from pausing, lingering in that spot, before dropping her shoulders and approaching. Others would certainly be better to deal with this, but at the moment, she is the only one here. There is concern, as if someone has bothered him Carolina certainly would chew their ass out, more, perhaps.]
... Donut?
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Knock Out | OTA
The final battle happens, and Earth burns. Not right away, but the Autobots are defeated, Megatron takes control of the planet, and Unicron makes himself known once again. The humans don't stand much of a chance anymore than they had the first time around, overwhelmed by natural disasters and unstoppable constructs en force. In desperation, some even try to band with the Decepticons for survival, but that goes as well as can be expected. Now their war has consumed two planets, and Knock Out bleakly thinks it probably won't stop there.
No one appears to notice he's not present anymore. At some point someone takes a roll call of any surviving officers, and his name does come up, but he's written away as "deserter" just as quickly. He protests -- he's right here, it's not his fault they're not seeing him -- but he can only muster a modicum of offense that they decide that was his fate with barely a spare thought.
Vision Scenario - II.
The final battle happens, and Earth is saved. The Decepticons lose control of the Nemesis and the Omega Lock, and Cybertron is restored. The Well of Allsparks blazes to life once again, and soon there will be new Cybertronians for the first time in millions of years. It's something he had wanted to see, but not like this -- not a phantom, an intangible glitch. Nothing he does gets him noticed, and the rebuilding begins all around him. Bulkhead takes charge of the Vehicons for construction projects, and he wonders what Breakdown would think of that.
The Decepticons that are left are either imprisoned, exiled, or executed. The list of surviving officers is depressingly short, and he balks when it mistakenly lists Shockwave as the CMO in addition to CSO. They can't even find Soundwave, but at least they make the effort. Does no one at all even care that he's disappeared? Everything moves on, a happy ending, his lack of presence leaving not even a ripple.
Around the City - III.
Knock Out's visions aren't nearly as traumatizing as some, and he's quiet about them in any case. Rather than seeming upset, he carries a mantle of weary resign about him, like whatever he sees is somehow expected and yet he can't quite shake it off completely.
Lacking much else to do, he can be found sitting outside with his energon prod in a state of partial disassembly across his lap, one of his digits transformed into a micro-welder, bending over the tiny filaments and conduits that run the interior of the shaft, repairing them. The weapon had never been quite the same since Silas had broken it in half, and he takes his downtime to work on getting it back to top shape.
Plus, the fine detail work is a good distraction.
iii
Go away!
[ He yells behind him as he scrubs at his eyes. They're red and puffy and definitely point so some recent tears. He hurries on, trying to get away from the visions that have been plaguing him when he runs into -- ]
Lopez?
[ He stops in his tracks, the vision of his robot friend overlapping with the guy fixing a weapon just like Lopez always used to do. But then, the vision dissipates and it's not Lopez but another red guy and his shoulders drop in disappointment. ]
You're not Lopez.
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iii.
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III
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Lavernius Tucker | OTA
Tucker was fine with this, confident and strong. Red Team (minus Donut) could watch Caboose like they had before when he was in the desert, a newly stable Chorus would give them a place to live, and it'd be fine, he was sure of it. And sure, Wash and Carolina were here, too, but maybe that would mean that the guys back home would be even safer; most of their drama came from Freelancer bullshit anyway.
And it was fine, a mood he had wrapped himself in; Tucker wasn't worried. Hadn't been. Wouldn't be.
But then the dream came, the dream of one crying alien boy as some high ranking official told him that his father, one Captain Lavernius Tucker, the Chorus War Hero, the ambassador, was most likely dead and that the search for his body was cut off. This hulking child had the blarghs and honks of a grief so deep that one didn't need to know the language to understand the well of this mourning.
Tucker yelled, because of course he wasn't fucking dead; he was right here! How could anyone miss this beacon of greatness? Come on, just look! Just--
But no one heard him, no one saw him, and his son, his alien son just wept. Large shoulders shook, and he covered his face to hide the mandibles opening and closing in sobs--
Tucker woke up, gasping, shaking. His son's face was branded in his memory, guilt wrapped around his stomach like a fist. He was sweating, chilled, skin of his arms covered in goosebumps. Uncurling from bed, he went to find some water to splash on his face.
He didn't sleep again that night.
If you find him wandering around town and he seemed a little down, a little less flirtatious, a little less...him, feel free to talk to him. He needed it. ]
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When he spots the other man wandering he veers off course slightly, moving to intercept his friend. Someone he still thinks of as a friend, anyway, despite their last conversation not going fantastically. And that feels more recent to Drake, having missed the past 30 days completely, on ice. ]
Hey, Tucker.
[ He doesn't bother asking how the soldier's doing, because he thinks he can tell. Still, maybe conversation will be a welcome distraction for them both. ]
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lmk if any of this doesn't work!
I hope this is okay, too!!
yesss \o/
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cecily trevelyan ; ota
The Inquisitor vanished.
That wasn't what was supposed to happen, of course, but the Door had other plans. After being drawn back into Hadriel, Cecily had assumed, based on...well, what everyone has always said, that her world would stop while she spent time in this place. That time would be at a standstill until she was returned again.
Apparently, that isn't the case. She sees it now in a sort of waking dream, a vision of Thedas. Skyhold is...oddly quiet, and though there are no missing posters or indications that anything is wrong, there is clearly something going on. The numbers are sparse, with just a few scouts and workers passing by the courtyard every so often. Within the War Room, Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine are gathered, but tired. The discussions that they have are still focused, working to do what they can to stop Solas' plan, but there's a certain strength to their voices that is missing now.
The quarters that belonged to the Inquisitor, once, are dusty. Cold.
"There's been no word. No sign of her." Leliana looks into the eyes of the other two advisors, face grave. "If the Inquisitor is still with us, she has hidden herself from even my spies."
Or, her body has been erased thoroughly, they think, but don't voice. Cecily, present as a phantom, shouts that she's there, that she would never abandon the Inquisition, never abandon all of them. Of course, they don't take notice, and Cole isn't present to, perhaps, be the one to notice her. Not while he's in Hadriel, too.
When she returns to herself, Cecily climbs to the top of one of the Guard towers and just shouts, her yells carrying far in the empty air of this world. ]
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she really hadn't expected her father to carry on with his grief as though he had no idea that he was the one who killed her.
she hears Cecily's shout and is startled out of her own thoughts, setting out for what she thinks might be the source of the yelling. she climbs the ladder up to the top of the watchtower and pokes her head up before fully joining the other woman]
Hey. I'd ask if something's wrong, but I'm guessing that the answer is yes.
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poison. | ota
There are efforts, of course, to quickly find another human to draw into the Phaerie Realms and set up in the position of the Hierophant. Poison can only watch as Fleet and the other Archivists are sent out into the already crumbling Realm of Man, but they could never be fast enough. She watches Aelthar, Asinastra, Pariasa and all the other Realm's leaders come together as the walls around them become steadily more translucent and they grow sickly and weak. She watches Peppercorn crying on Bram's shoulder, while he assures her that there's no way, no chance that Poison would have simply left them like this.
That they'll find her. They'll find her.
But they don't find her, and without her, everything begins to end.
A world without Poison does not end on a bang, or even a whimper, but a slow, desperate fading like a painting left too long in the sun. It bleaches out to a white canvas, a nothingness with no end, and when Poison snaps back into Hadriel's scenery it's with little more than a softly indrawn breath of shock.
She doesn't move from where she is for a long while, dropped to her knees in the middle of a cold, empty street, her face pale and her wide eyes shining with unshed tears.]
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He drops down from the roof he was on (because of course he was on a goddamn roof) and cautiously approaches the girl in the street. She looks really shaken up. Not wanting to startle her, he calls out softly before he approaches and kneels next to her.]
H-hey. Can you get up?
[He was going to ask "are you okay" but let's be real, not many people are right now.]
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Trafalgar Law - OPEN
It's upsetting, at first, but Law quickly catches on what's happening to him and to others. So, even though there's a lingering touch of doubt in the back of his mind, an uncertainty whether this is his own worries being used against him or possibly more real due to the recent visitors who came through the Door, he isn't sad. Oh, sure, maybe dreaming about Bepo missing him is a tad bit heartbreaking, if his heart wasn't completely stone, but mostly, Law is just angry. Frustrated, annoyed, occasionally really pissed as he finds himself waking up yet again from the same scenario. All flavors.
He spends nearly all of his time for the first few days in the clinic, nose buried in his work. Research, medications, notes. He'll still treat anyone who needs it but beware the hair trigger temper. After the 6th, though, he's briefly in the shops, raiding them for supplies with an uncommon urgency. After that? Sorry, Trafalgar Law is not available, please leave a message.]
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Go away.
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clinic whee
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clinic;
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Cashmere, OTA
[ Cashmere's not really expecting any visions of home, even after people start talking about it. she's already dead at home, nothing could change. it turns out that she's wrong.
she finds herself standing in the center of District One, the city square filled with faces that she recognizes. what she's not expecting is seeing the Peacekeeper building in flames and two Peacekeepers on the ground, practically being torn to shreds by a mob. outside the building there's a growing bonfire as residents of One pile up the goods that would normally be shipped to the Capitol. resentment has been building in One for a long time, and she suspects that the death of Gloss and herself were the final spark need to bring on the revolution. she can't help but smile when she spots a childhood friend of her's arriving with a crate of empty wine bottles and set to work at the far end of the square, assembling all the bits for homemade firebombs. the Capitol's army of Peacekeepers hasn't arrived yet, but it won't be long and District One is ready to burn themselves to the ground if it hurts the Capitol. ]
Jan 7
[ Panem's a very different place after Snow's death and the new government takes hold. the Capitol's changed, and Cashmere hardly recognizes it. she never guessed her parents would find their way to the Capitol, but everything becomes clear when they approach a monument that stands where the Hunger Games Training Center once did. there's a pillar for each District, bearing the names of every tribute to every represent that district. her parents find her name and Gloss's on the pillar, tracing the engraved letters with their fingers. her mother place two bouquets of flowers at the foot of the pillar.
it feels good to not be forgotten. ]
around Hadriel - various days
[ not everyone is happy with what they've seen, but Cashmere can't hide her smile. home has never been easy for her, always a burden in some ways. she's wondered about what became of One and Panem, and now she knows, feeling much more settled. her people fought back against the Capitol, and she was remembered. if she's got to be dead, perhaps that's the best she can ask for. she can be found in all her usual locations, going through a run in the mornings and spending the evenings at the speakeasy. go ahead, ask her why she's smiling. you know she wants you to. ]
speakeasy
Hey. You look like you're in a good mood.
Re: speakeasy
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Jan 7th
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daenerys targaryen ; ota
The setting is...unclear. Westeros, most likely, but only someone very familiar with the landscape would know it to have been Kings Landing, once. Now, it has been destroyed. The capital city that one sat the hill in the South has been razed, its homes and shops and keeps all crumbled to rubble. There are no citizens here...unless you count the dead, who shamble around seemingly without purpose, eyes staring and unseeing. They are the only things that move in this place. The army of the dead had marched beyond the Wall and slowly consumed the Seven Kingdoms, bringing with it an eternal winter and the end of any other war that had come before it.
Dany searches the skies for her dragons, out of habit, but they are long gone. When she had disappeared from that ship, and when she hadn't returned, even after they landed on Dragonstone, the three creatures had eventually taken off. Without their mother, they had no ties to that place. Once they took flight from Dragonstone, they hadn't come back.
She doesn't know what to say, in the face of this nightmare. It comes and goes, forcing itself before her eyes like a plague. Dany has to brace herself against any nearby structure when it does, digging her nails into her palms and willing the visions to end.
Time couldn't really be proceeding with them here, in Hadriel. She had always been told that it wouldn't. This has to be another curse set upon them by the gods.
...Doesn't it? ]
no subject
she's been keeping to her room for the most part, ever since Maglor left. she'll leave her room to pick at food occasionally, but then she retreats inwardly again, trying to stop a well of tears which seems to have no end.
she's ventured out of her room to fetch a glass of water when she sees Daenerys lean against the wall of the house they share, an expression of pain on her face. Margaery's own face is likely pained, but she can't ignore her friend]
Daenerys, may I--may I ask what is wrong?
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Kelson Haldane | OTA
He found himself in his uncle Nigel's study, signing papers with his Aunt Meraude standing over him, trying to reason with him as he signed his name with a P for Princeps instead of Rex.
"Meraude. It hasn't been a full year yet. He came back to us before." Arguing that it had almost been a full year was not getting them anywhere. She crossed her arms over her breasts and looked at Kelson's former Champion and General as he entered.
"Maybe you can reason with him."
Kelson watched his uncle. Did he look older? Greyer? Almost like when his father died, except this time, Nigel was king, not Kelson. He had to get back. Nigel never wanted to be king.
"Morgan, God help me. I don't dare but part of me wants to abdicate in favor of my fourteen year old son. As if I'd even be allowed. Find Kelson. At the very least find the body. I know you don't think he's dead. So find him. It's not like he got bodily assumed into heaven."
Kelson bit his lip, wanting to shout and scream and reach out to Morgan with all his powers, but the old war horse couldn't sense him at all. He had to get back. Before the strain of being king in all but name killed Nigel.
Kelson fingered the ring of Fire on his finger, playing with the one object they would not be able to reproduce back home. How to crown a new king of Gwynedd when the old one had all the regalia? Damn. He closed his eyes for a brief moment to pray, the only thing he could do.
(cw: suicide)
she knows.
she knows
but truth be told, she's barely had the will to mourn her own lack of significance in the grand scheme of things.
no, all of her grief is for Maglor, loved, but never told. and now gone from her forever.
so when she sees Kelson seemingly at prayer, she keeps a respectful distance apart until he seems to come out of it]
May I ask. . . what you saw?
Re: (cw: suicide)
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Sal Fisher | open!
Sal and nightmares were nothing new. They were so integral that sometimes they even blended with reality and he would wake up confused, wondering if he were actually awake or still dreaming. Sometimes he knew what they were about — what insecurities and fears they were playing off of, and sometimes they made absolutely no sense. Lately, since arriving in Hadriel, his dreams were full of ogres and giant monsters chasing him down a long hallway or an empty street. Their eyes would always glow red and for some reason he would be calling out to them with the names of various friends from both here and back home.
Tonight though, things were a little different. More intense than usual. They started off fairly simple, but saddening. He would see his friends wondering where he was. "Have you seen Sally Face?", Larry would ask the others. "Not since last night," Todd would reply. Their faces would crease with worry and wonder if the cult had gotten to him. They would argue and try to come up with some sort of plan. Then he would see his father wondering where he was, his usually tired eyes afflicted with worry. He would sit on his bed in his room, staring at pictures; of his mother, himself, all of them together. Time would pass and the apartment would feel...different. There was always something that felt off about it but it was stronger than ever now, even in this dream. Everyone's eyes were so dull and barely there. They moved lethargically and with no purpose. Everyone seemed...older.
"What's the point of anything?"
When Sal finally woke up his face was covered in sweat and tears, thick ropes of his hair sticking to his marred face. As is the usual routine, he looked around his room to get a sense of where he was. A flash of purple from the corner of his eyes as Edward comes into view, the featureless butterfly like creature settling on his covers and gurgling as if in comfort. It's then when Sal remembers where he is. It happens so often, he wakes up and forgets that Hadriel even happened, fear rushes through him when his room seems so unfamiliar. Then he remembers and he feels an odd sense of relief even though he's not home.
a. just outside the city
Sal was used to having visions. That's probably what made this so hard for him to swallow. These could be real, as far as he was concerned. What if time suddenly began to flow again while he was here, and everything he saw in his dream came to fruition? He didn't really know where to go or what to do so he sat just outside the city, back against one of the guard towers as he stared out into the expanse.
He was bundled up as much as he could be, and his hair wasn't in the usual pigtails. Instead the blue strands just hung haphazardly over his mask, some entangled around the straps and buckles along the back. His arms hug around his knees which are pulled to his chest as Edward remain perched atop his head, sometimes flapping its purple wings and making little gurgling sounds.
"Nah, no more sleep for me," he commented casually, his raspy voice just slightly more hoarse. "The cold is kinda nice out here." Mostly because it's keeping him wide awake.
b. Speakeasy
Sal wasn't a drinker so he certainly didn't come here for that. In fact, he was honestly afraid of touching any alcohol. He came here because people tended to gather here and while he was merely sitting at a table by himself, casually doodling stick figures on a piece of paper, Edward just chillin out on the surface as if to watch him — he took comfort in the fact that there were people around.
It's later in the day and he still hasn't bothered to fix his hair, but hey, he feels a little better now than he did earlier, and it's the little things like that that he decides to cling to.
(ooc: i will match format, btw! feel free to hit me up at
B.
it's not like she can get drunk, but she enjoys the taste. the false sense of camaraderie.
anything's better than what she's been seeing, a world where she didn't matter at all. her parents still on the verge of divorce, her little sister still weird and closed off to the world around her, the other Reapers still doing their jobs as though nothing had changed.
if anything was supposed to emphasize her sense of unimportance in the world, this was it.
but camaraderie. . .
...maybe not so false. she sees Sal sitting at a table by himself and approaches him (she's already snagged her usual whiskey sour)]
Hey. I'd ask how you're feeling, but lemme guess. The answer is "shitty." Right?
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Jake | ota
Oh my god, you guys don’t know how much I missed you!
[ Except Holt doesn’t seem to hear him, no one does. The whiteboard has a picture of Jake taped to the whiteboard along with rows of notes and leads in Amy’s perfect handwriting. ”It has been six months and ten days since Peralta went missing. I know that you have all been working tirelessly looking for any leads on his whereabouts but the truth is there has been nothing.” Holt’s monotone is the same as ever but his robotic expression is definitely tilting towards grim rather than his usual pleasant emotionless neutral. ]
What are you talking about? I’m right here! Ames, tell the Captain-
[ Jake reaches for her and watches as his hand goes right through her. Oh no. Jake can only watch helplessly as Holt tells the precinct that word has come down from on high that they need to scale back the resources they’ve been using to look for him, though Holt reassures them that this does not mean they’re giving up hope. Except even Jake knows that once someone has been missing a certain amount of time the likelihood that they’ll be found goes down exponentially. He’s left standing motionless as the vision ends with his heart in his throat. They think he’s gone and they’re still looking for him. When the vision fades Jake is stock still, blinking rapidly as the precinct is once again replaced with the sight of the ice planet. ]
Cool. Cool, cool, cool. That’s just great.
[ More visions strike as the days go by, usually catching him unawares and leaving him just as wrecked as the first time. Visions of Amy working herself to the bone and sometimes catching herself midway through the act of turning to tell Jake something. Of Charles and Rosa chasing down dead end leads and getting more frustrated. Jake can be found around Hadriel, trying to keep active even with each vision making him more unhappy and distracted as time goes on. ]
no subject
He politely waits for it to end before approaching, not bothering to put his poker face back on. He looks about as miserable as Jake feels as he come up to him with a half-hearted wave. ]
Do you need to talk about it or just want to pretend this isn't happening? Because it's bullshit, you know. It's not real.
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Angus McDonald | OTA!
[ Everything is going... not well exactly, but they have a plan. Angus and Davenport are off to search the moonbase for The Director, Magnus and Merle go to check on the Voidfish, and Taako, Lup and Barry head planetside to do... something. Angus isn't sure what they're up to, but Lup seems pretty confident, and Davenport is a very commanding presence now that his mental faculties have returned.
... Only then Hadriel happens, and Angus, Taako, Lup and Barry (as well as Kravitz, but Angus doesn't know him yet) disappear. Without them, everything starts to come apart at the seams. As far as the others can tell, the twins and Barry just never return from their ground mission, and Davenport has no explanation for Angus disappearing into thin air, even though he's standing next to the gnome, waving at him, yelling 'I'm here! I'm right here!', increasingly desperate to get his attention. There's no time to mount a search, and things quickly devolve into a furious argument between all the remaining parties. Before the ship can be found, before The Director can cast her barrier, the Hunger comes pouring down over the world in a rush of oily, apocalyptic darkness, and everything is lost.
Angus jerks awake with a scream and just sits there for a few moments, breathing raggedly with tears streaming down his face. He's had nightmares before, about fighting the Hunger, old murder cases, boarding school, and it takes a hell of a lot to really scare him, but... gods, this has done it. ]
Afterwards - around town!
[ On one hand, Angus has been reassured several times over that what he saw wasn't real; that it was just the Gods fucking with everybody's heads again. He gets that. It fits in with their methods, and besides, the twins are both further ahead in the timeline, and have seen the fight against the Hunger for themselves. They won. Everybody back home is fine, the world will be saved, and almost everyone is alive and well and thriving.
... On the other hand, they're still in Hadriel, and Angus is having a hard time shaking off that nightmare. The best solution he's found so far is to simply not go back to sleep, which means that he's been staying up way too late reading, and spending most of the days outdoors. He looks like a trainwreck; the newsboy cap pulled down low over his head can't hide the deep circles under his eyes, or the way he kind of teeters on his feet and occasionally bumps into things (and people!).
He can usually be found in the shops, going through the inventory again (and again, and again), investigating the pond, or walking the family
varrendog, Peanut. She's mostly tame! Sort of! Come say hi! ]afterwards (cw: drug mention)
all in all, it seems like the world would have been better if she'd never lived.
she finds Angus walking . . . something. something she's never seen before]
Hi, Angus. How's your--pet? Where'd it come from?
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home!!!
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hey did you think i forgot? because i did. im sorry
NO DUDE IT'S OK, you have like a million threads going!
BUT I WANT A MILLION AND ONE
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Jo Harvelle | OTA; around, throughout the event
Ash had been dead long before she died at Carthage. Her mom went with her. Four people knew about the explosion, actually three and an angel, maybe a few more saw it but didn't know what was happening.
Hunters didn't always get funerals and people knowing about what took place. Jo always knew that. It had happened for others, she knew it would happen for her. Dean and Sam had moved on. Even though it might have taken time, she knew it had happened. Jo had heard that from Dean when he was here the first time.
Still, it does make her think about what she missed. Her trips through the city tend to go longer after a dream while she hopes for a distraction. Jo doesn't usually keep an eye out for people to talk to, but that's what's happening this week.]
Hey. Have you found anything good since some of the gods got back?
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Uh. No. I haven't exactly been looking? How 'bout you?
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Sansa Stark | OTA
(There is never any warning for these sorts of things. Sansa feels nauseated to stand in the court of King's Landing, but it is only going to get worse. Before her is a scene she knows all too well - except, in her place, there is Arya. She is in a dress - what is left of it - and she is being hit and ridiculed. Yet, unlike her sister, she doesn't know when to lay low.
"I hate you! I hate you!"
Her sister strains against the guards, her eyes blazing with all the rage Sansa still feels, deep in her heart.
"Dog."
Joffrey's command is given in a bored drawl and though she races to intervene, Arya is struck, harder than ever, and left motionless on the floor. Except it isn't the Hound who strikes her. No, he has too much honor for that - though he would say otherwise.)
Arya... You shouldn't be here. (Her voice echoes - like that of a ghost - and she realizes she cannot be seen. A cold smile curls her lips and she gathers her skirt in one hand and mounts the steps to the Iron Throne. Once she reaches Joffrey, she spits in his face since her hand can't make contact with his cheek.)
(Without you, time runs out.)
(She is then transported to Theon, held in Bolton's grasp because of the grievous torture he had endured. Ramsay has married no one and so he has no reason to fight him for his freedom. Sansa watches all that is good leave him, the shadows in his eyes growing stronger. Eventually, she knows, he will succumb to his depression and his grief.
However time doesn't stand still. Once again, it lurches forward and she is witnessing Jon in battle. But this isn't a battle for Winterfell; no, this is a battle against Wights. The army of the dead is horrifying and Sansa screams when she sees rotten faces that she recognizes.)
Stop it!
(Aftermath)
(Sansa is noticeably shaken after her dreams and she walks stiffly, her eyes somewhat unfocused. She isn't sure which world is the reality and which the dream. Her attire isn't entirely substantial for the cold weather, but she finds the winds bracing and she breathes as deeply as she can - even when her lungs ache.)
aftermath
she knows that her life amounted to next to nothing.
it's a difficult thing to swallow after she spent all her life aiming to make her mark on the world.
she encounters Sansa on her way back from the Sewing Shop. Margaery's own eyes are somewhat unfocused, still mourning the loss of Maglor, who she loved but never told him, but she can't ignore Sansa]
...Sansa? Are you well?
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time runs out
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Delmar | OTA | Will Match Format
Delmar has always taken a small pride in keeping a neat, welcoming home. Well-swept steps, trimmed bushes, fresh paint...but now his house looks almost menacing. The windows dark and coated with dust, weeds beginning to eat away at the stairs leading to the front door... and a now rusting 'for sale' sign on the front lawn. Comparatively everything else on the street, Catherine's house next door....the Stephenson's house across the street....they all look just how he remembers them. Well loved. Looked after..... So...so why is his house....?
Delmar is suddenly in a panic and he tries to rush up the stairs to his home but no sooner has his foot touched the front step then he is back in Hadriel. Hands, now shaking very visibly, still holding a broom handle, before one lets go to come up and try and steady the pounding in his chest, clutching the fabric of his sweater.
'oh dear...oh....oh no....' he murmurs under his breath, not even aware he's speaking]
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she can't decide if that's a good thing or not.
she also sees her father carrying on with his grief, as though he didn't know he was the one who killed her.
she's helping Delmar keep the bakery tidy, even though there aren't any supplies anymore. eventually, there will be.
she looks up when she sees Delmar go still and start to murmur under his breath]
Hey. [she hesitantly reaches up to touch his shoulder] You okay?
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