hadriel_logs | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's why I asked you here.

[ That truth comes spilling out before Nate can help it, and he swallows uncomfortably even if the burden he's carrying suddenly feels a little lighter. Rubbing the pad of his thumb against his lower lip, Nate sucks it between his teeth and tries to work out a way to word this that doesn't make it sound as crappy as it is.

No dice. It'll sound crappy no matter what. ]

I know how it happened.

[ He says, against his better judgment. Despite the effects of the event and knowing how much less heavy he'll feel, he can't shake the sensation that this is very, very bad. It escapes him before he can stop it. ]

I was there. I asked them to do it.

[There's a visible, and vivid, transformation that occurs as Caedra's curiosity is piqued, her eyebrows lift as if about to ask how - and then it all comes burning down in clear and sharp rage. Her sword forms in her palm, but in those few seconds it takes, her other hand reaches for his chest and grabs hard at his shirt to keep him from trying to bolt, to stall him just long enough for her to thrust the rapier through his chest and pin him to the soil like the insect he is.]

Why? Tell me!

[She snarls the question but the answer doesn't really matter. If he gives one, great. If not, she's still fully set on releasing every scrap of his viscera to the plants that surround them.]

[ He was prepared for a violent response. Maybe not prepared for the speed of the response in question, but prepared all the same. Nate considers himself a man with excellent reflexes, with swift reaction time, but Caedra moves so impossibly fast that Nate barely has the split second to grab at her wrist where it meets the fist in his shirt before she throws him to the ground like a rag doll.

Distantly, he feels like the impetus of their being here was fairly noble in nature, but it's a little difficult to feel like a weight has been lifted off his chest when there's a sword through it.

Stuck in the dirt like a cockroach on some nineteenth century entomologist's board Nate can feel steel - or some demonic version of it - scraping his ribs, can taste blood in the back of his mouth. He doesn't know what she punctured. Something important, probably, it's like his insides are on fire. His other hand grips the blade as if that might stop its advance, the edges slicing into the meat of his palm. ]

You know, I don't say this very often. [ He says shallowly, conversational, knees drawing up. ] But you can be kind of a bitch.

[ Arching his back is agony but Nate uses the unique leverage to kick out full-force at her stomach, even if it's just an attempt at prolonging the inevitable. ]

[Not expecting to get into a fight at this particular moment, Caedra hadn't had the opportunity to pre-cast her Foresight yet. She doesn't expect the kick, and while she reacts quickly, it's not enough to fully get out of the way as he catches her with heels against her abdomen and sends her crashing to the ground.

It's hardly a problem. Her blade is a lifedrinker; the decay will spread slowly through his flesh just by her having pierced right through him even if she's been kicked down briefly. And she's quick to roll to her feet, too, for one little kick from some human is hardly a concern, even if it hurts more than it ought to. That very fact is his fault and she will end him for it.]

You deserve nothing. Let them see the mistake you've made.

[Why waste time prolonging his torture? She gets no real enjoyment from that, she only wants to reduce him to blood and ash and splinters. Once on her feet she reaches forward to take hold of the hilt of her sword again, but rather than unpinning him she reaches a hand forward to fire, nearly point-blank, a bolt of black energy toward his face, the magical equivalent of being punched in the nose with searing, agonizing force.]

[ Ever the opportunist, Nate uses his scant time wisely.

He doesn't care that the sword is tearing his hands to shreds as he drags it out of himself, he doesn't even care that the chill he feels permeating his insides like some kind of festering rot is spreading as he does so - the adrenaline has already kicked like a mule and Nathan Drake is nothing if not stubborn about dying.

Caedra is on her feet again, reaching for the rapier's hilt when Nate jerks it out of his chest, flinging it to one side as he rolls to the other with a pained grunt. A quick glance at the sizzling darkness where his head had been only moments prior tells him her doesn't want to get hit with whatever she's wielding if he can avoid it. Wasn't this the whole fucking point of neutering her powers in the first place? To keep people from getting atomized?

One hand pressed to the hole in him - as if it could stem the flow - Nate stumbles back to his feet, and stumbles again, trying to gain some distance. The shiver that wracks him feels like claws from the inside-out and he grits his teeth, gun already drawn. ]

See, it's this attitude that made me go to the gods in the first place.

[ He takes aim and squeezes the trigger. ]

[Missing at that short distance? He really is quick. But so is she, and as he tears her sword from his body and throws it, she reaches out a hand and it seems to fly to her palm as if drawn there magnetically. The most basic underlying feature of that pact she formed with Amamot all those decades ago is illustrated neatly - for the blade is hers, formed of her own ichor, and it cannot truly be separated from her for long.

With it, she begins to trace a pattern in the air with the rapier's tip, but is interrupted as he raises the gun and she decides probably ducking out of the way is better than letting herself get shot. Such a mundane weapon shouldn't be trouble for her at all, and yet it is, and it's all Nate's fault. She still hasn't quite learned how to judge the speed of a bullet, either, for they truly are lightning-quick, and fur from the collar of her hood around her shoulders blows into the air as Nate misses, but only narrowly. The shot echoes in her ears as she quickly raises her arm to cast again, and with a twirl of the black blade and a few muttered words in the harsh tongue of the lowest of planes, she places the hex on him and uses it to pulse his mind with a searing, brief moment of pain.]

I don't need gods to do what you've done.

[The words are snarled, practically spat out, and she prepares to strike with the rapier once more, hoping his very own body will soon begin to fail him now that the curse to weaken him has been placed.]

[ Nate is light on his feet but heavy when he falls. Watching Caedra's fingers flick out and call the sword back to her makes his stomach drop but at least she isn't so fast as to completely avoid gunfire. He wouldn't put it past he to backflip away from harm as if doing so was second nature. While she fumbles he puts more distance between them - worse comes to worst he can run and die elsewhere, rather than by her immediate hand. Then she speaks.

The pain is excruciating.

It feels like a spike is being driven into his skull, like something electric touched a bundle of nerves and sent the sensation shooting along every piece of his body, arresting it. He doubles over in agony and just as quickly it recedes, leaving him shivering, breathing erratic and taking a knee.

Her lunge isn't avoidable: Nate throws up his left arm to block the blow and feels her sword slice into his muscle, digging deep. ]

I liked you better when you were frozen in a block of ice.

[ Using his own forearm as leverage Nate twists the rapier to knock it to the side, throwing a wild haymaker with his other fist at her face. ]

Event Log: Speak Your Truth

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