hadriel_logs | Event Log: Speak Your Truth

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Event Log: Speak Your Truth

Who: Everyone in the city
What: The event log for the Speak Your Truth
Where: All over the city
When: April 3rd-April 9th
Warnings: None

There's a secret burning in your chest. It's hot behind your ribcage, and you need to let it out or else it might consume you- but who would you tell? Who could even begin to understand what you need to say? Your closest friend? Your significant other? Maybe even someone you don't get along with very well? It's hard to know who to trust and who will even understand, but in a strange way, neither of those things seem to matter- all you can think of is what will cause someone the most pain.

Maybe you're trying to get it out in the open so you can put it behind you. Maybe you just need to come clean because the guilt is eating you alive. Maybe you just really want to hurt someone- regardless of the reason, you're aching to tell someone else your darkest secrets.

Will they understand? There's only one way to find out, and it won't be pleasant for either party involved. Good luck, Hadriel!

► This log covers April 3rd-April 9th.
► 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 secret gets a bit bloody, please let us know here.

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Well, by the time I had my son I had already become indebted. I don't know, there may have been other ways to deal with the problem, but try dissuading a sixteen year old from anything she wants to do and see where it gets you. I did what I did and I don't regret it. It made my life better, and my son's life better.

[Hm, so much for sorrow, but it's still the truth. Depending on one's definition of "better", anyway. For her it meant she had anything she could want or need and it probably saved her and her son's life at some point, even if both ended early. Poverty and illness might have struck either of them down much sooner, in the dark, damp city on the northern sea.]

[she glares, but can't help remembering her mother's efforts to reign her in and how useless they'd been. and Tinya had only been thirteen when she started sneaking out to drink and party with older men at nightclubs. but there's still a huge difference between that and killing people]

How did you become indebted in the first place?

I had a book, stolen from my former captors. It spoke of methods for summoning demons who might grant power and prosperity to the summoner if the right deal was struck. I hadn't eaten in two days. It felt like I was running out of other options, and I considered myself smart enough to work out an arrangement I would benefit from.

[And she had, but in fairness, there wasn't much further down she could sink. Desperation had grasped her when making an honest living felt impossible.]

I was fortunate he didn't just kill me on sight for daring to request a meeting. Foolish of me to aim for one of the most powerful beings listed in the tome, but he must have seen my potential.

[the notion of not eating in two days is completely foreign to Tinya who comes from a place where food and shelter and health care are all completely free, seen as the only humane option for its residents, no matter how low in station they may have been.

and she's begrudgingly impressed. very, very, very begrudgingly]

Why'd you pick him in particular?

The city I was trapped in for most of my childhood had a number of his worshipers there. The leaders of the city made sacrifices to him in return for wealth and powerful armies. He's not quite a god, Amamot, but his powers concern war and strength and that was what they wanted most. So I recognized his symbol in the book. And I thought... well, maybe there was some irony in that. That a girl who had been held captive by worshipers of his could use that strength for herself.

[And though she doesn't remember now, it wouldn't surprise her if she had entertained the notion of using him against them directly, in some sort of teenage desire for rebellion. Naive, if so, because they supplied him with so many mortal souls to feed his own power, but how would she have known how it all worked at the time?]

[still begrudgingly]

...yeah, I guess I can see how that would be a kick in the teeth to them. And how it would be ironic.

[teenage rebellions are much the same, no matter what teen is rebelling where. there's a source of authority present and you want to either seize that authority for yourself or thumb your nose at it]

I always loved finding instances of poetry in life. Irony is one of my favorite inspirations.

[Especially when it results in death and drama and so much violence, because that is truly the thing that drives her writing most. Well, that and love. Irony certainly plays a role in both.]

...you write poetry?

[indeed she knows that not all of the poets of old Terra lived the cleanest of lives, Lord Byron being an example, but she's never thought of poetry and Caedra in the same sentence]

I do. I love a variety of the arts, actually, but poetry is a particular favorite. Words are interesting. They convey so many meanings and can be twisted so elegantly to form new ones. I have an interest in language itself; I'm not sure which came first but they work well together.

[And her studies of many languages show such interesting patterns in the evolution of thought between countries and species. Draconic, with its harsh syllables formed from toothy mouths, has such intricacy and nuance befitting long-lived, intelligent, creative creatures. Abyssal has its multitude of dialects depending on who is speaking and what they want to say and how forceful their personality is. And so on - a topic she could go on endlessly about.

Turns out Caedra is, in fact, kind of a nerd if you nail down her particular favorite subjects.]

[poetry is actually one of Tinya's favorite things. sprock it, why is Caedra making it so hard to dislike her?]

I love poetry. What kinds do you write? Or do you write them all? And I like languages, too. I'm an ambassador's daughter and she had me serve as her assistant. What's the most complicated language you ever learned?

[after the United Planets was formed, most planets switched to one standard language, but she kind of misses it. the blunt, to the point language of Titan, which made sense given that it was a planet of telepaths. the harsh, guttural language of Braal, a planet of miners. the lyrical, sing-song language of Colu, utterly incongruous for a planet that valued intelligence and logic beyond all else]

One question at a time, my goodness! Let's see. What kinds - oh, I don't know that I have a particular regular style other than my own open form, but I've tried out quite a few others. I like to layer meanings on top of others, to find the underlying connections between words and thoughts and events. I'm... not sure I know how to describe it satisfactorily. It does tend to be very visual.

[All her examples are at her house, but she could probably write one on the fly if the girl is truly that interested, she decides. Not that it would be as nice as a finished work, but it would do as an example of what she means.]

[she blushes faintly] Sorry, sorry! Mother always did accuse me of being overeager. [but she listens attentively] Well, if you can't describe it? And it's visual? Could I maybe see it?

[she's genuinely curious. poetry is becoming a dying art in the 30th century, with everyone so devoted to logic and reason and science]

Hm. I could write up a quick example.

[Caedra is not in the habit of doing favors for people. But this is a subject she enjoys, and most mortals will never see for themselves the beauty of poetry in a language far more complex than the tongues they speak - for their vocal structure cannot make the sort of sounds required for much of the Abyssal tongue, and their writing, for those educated enough to write, can certainly reflect that complex structure.

She doesn't have paper or pen on hand, but the ground they're standing on will do. The plants around Caedra's location have slowly withered and died and blackened, and as she reaches out her hand to summon her sword, she sweeps it in an arc across what vegetation remains, burning it with a wave of sickly green flame that trails in the wake of the point. The rapier becomes a writing implement - its material is magic, and soil will not blunt it, as she knows well - and so Caedra begins to write. The words spiral outward as she turns to fill the space, and then she writes a second layer over the top of the spiral in harsh, vertical lines. All the writing should look foreign, runic, and strange but Hadriel being Hadriel, and with Caedra not focusing on the writing being untranslatable, some meaning will still come across for Tinya. The poem - or at least, the short fragmentary phrases - speaks of an outward burst of life from the center of the universe, and how it will grow unbounded by those who wish to constrain it.]

See? It's meaning in both structure and in words.

[she waits and watches as the poem takes shape, as it reveals its layers and its beauty to her. and she's overwhelmed for a moment, taking it in fully. but something continues to nag at her]

...it's beautiful. It really is. But. [she bites her lower lip] If you can create such beauty, why do you . . . choose to create ugliness? Like Will. I know he never would have done anything to you. But you killed him anyway. Why?

[because she loves him and doesn't everybody who loses someone they love wonder why?]

Because violence is also beautiful. It's an expression of raw emotion and destruction. It comes in so many forms. Rebellion, injustice, persecution - your people in particular, humankind, you've found so many different reasons to be violent! Against each other, against other races, against your very own world. It inspires awe. And I know my people aren't the only ones impressed, it's yours too who write songs and performances and poems. War itself is an art, is it not?

[The girl is young, and perhaps still very idealistic. Caedra has certainly known some her age who reveled in the glory of violence. How many young people wish to become knights, after all? To slay the monsters at the edge of civilization, to defend their countries, or to become hunters in the wilderness. Predators in their own right. It's not just humans, it's elves and orcs and gnolls and so many mortals who pass down weapons as heirlooms and sing bardic tales of old battles. It runs in their blood. As it should.]

[as steadily as she can]

There's a difference between war--something that may or may not be justified, I've seen both--and the slaughter of an innocent man. One I happen to love very much.

[and she comes from a very different culture. on Bgztl, before the unification of the planet under one queen--Tinya's great-great-however many times grandmother--all wars were cold wars, fought with words and sanctions and the isolation of others to the benefit of someone else. the glorification of war and violence as something beautiful never happened in Bgztlian culture. it was an aberration. something to be condemned and avoided at any cost. fear of other planets' glorification of war caused them to stay hidden in their dimension until the 28th century]

Of course. Your personal feelings are the difference. To me, it's all the same, just on different scales. All beautiful to me.

[So have a shrug, and a smile. Violence in all forms she supports with joy and enthusiasm. If blood is spilled and souls destroyed, if pain and anguish ripple through communities and continents, then it's all good by her.]

[disbelievingly]

So my grief over Will's death was beautiful to you?

[because she mourned. she mourned and kicked herself for not being there just a little bit earlier and the worst part was that she couldn't even tell anyone that she was grieving due to the age difference between herself and Will. she knew they'd never understand]

In abstract. Grief itself isn't my particular favorite and I wouldn't care to sit and watch you cry. But there's something to be said for the drama of it all, and the effects it can lead to.

[It comes out a little too easily. She could tell for a moment, Tinya could at least see part of what she wanted her to see, back when she had written out that fragment of poetry. But now, as before, she feels compelled to speak the truth rather than continue to phrase her words more carefully, less honestly, and instead she forces herself to stop speaking. She's losing her audience in her earnesty, but she simply has no capacity for sympathizing with the sorrow Tinya must have felt. Still seems to feel.]

I didn't cry. I raged.

[and wanted to seek retribution, but knew that she had no chance in a fair fight. and she doesn't trust the aliens to approach them for an edge. so she was stuck, wandering Will's apartment, waiting for his return]

That's a little better, then. Still, my favorite is when things happen on a much grander scale.

[But oh well. There are repercussions to acting here the way she would like to, and the others have probably found that out themselves in their various ways. The gods have robbed them of so much precious freedom.]

In any case, death doesn't last here. Nothing to be sad or angry about now. He's back, isn't he? Or he will be soon.

Yeah, I've heard rumors about what you did after killing the seamstress.

[and yet, she hasn't done anything similar since then. it makes her wonder why, since she apparently killed more than one person during that particular rampage]

He's back.

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Event Log: Speak Your Truth

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