hadriel_logs | Event Post: Everyone Chill

Entry tags:

Event Post: Everyone Chill

Who: Everyone participating in the event!
What: The event log for Tranquility's resurrection event!
Where: All around the city
When: December 27th-January 7th
Warnings: Absolutely nothing creepy or weird at all.

The revival of Tranquility on December 27th marks a vast - if temporary, and actually completely fake - change to the city. Upon awakening that morning, the inhabitants of Hadriel will find the city changed from its usual broken-down dour cave self into a sparkling, clean, delightful island city. Instead of being surrounded by hard stone walls, the city is surrounded by warm ocean waters and soft white sand beaches.

Gentle waves lap at the shore, the sky overhead is perfect, wide and open. The spires have been replaced by shining skyscrapers, the roads are clear of rubble and paved neatly. The stores are quaint, windows no longer broken, and the items inside have changed too. Instead of simple canned goods and strange clothing, you might find delicate pastries, cool drinks, fresh fruit, and flowy summer clothes to match the city. How nice! How calming, really. Didn't everyone need a vacation? So throw on some flip-flops, grab one of the mopeds that have been provided, and enjoy yourselves!

As the days go on, though, you might notice one or two odd things. Maybe the pretty sun hat you picked up looked, for just a moment, like a grubby old baseball cap instead. Maybe that beach ball is a little heavier than it should be. Maybe the shining wall of that skyscraper feels more like stone than glass. Maybe - just for an instant - the sky above was solid rock instead of the gentle, calming hues of the sunset.

While there is a mild compulsion toward calmness and tranquility, towards accepting the city for exactly what it seems to be, that can be ignored - and the illusion can be broken, if you choose to try. But do you really want to? Isn't that croissant much nicer than yet another can of beans? Wouldn't you rather relax at the beach than run around, trying to convince all your friends that this is just the gods getting inside their heads again in an even more creepy and all-encompassing way than usual?

Come on. Don't be a buzzkill.

► This log covers December 27th-January 7th.
► 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 you chill out so much you end up dead, please let us know here.

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More than a few. Somehar in particular that I'm thinking of. Somehar named Flick. [Flick might have a fit if he found out Cal enjoyed anything that didn't involve blood. Or sex.]

Might be people know what's good for 'em.

[He skirts the invitation to elaborate. Not a new tactic, nor is it an especially clever one, but its presence gets noted, just like the rest of this conversation.]

Oh, I know Flick! [But for now, she wants to know about that word.]

What does "somehar" mean?

[Of course she knows Flick. Cal only raises an eyebrow at that, then shrugs at her question.]

It means "somehar." Some har not me.

Carlisle had mistaken Glacius' relaxation as a lead for him to do the same, though he finds it so much harder to simply ignore that paranoia ingrained in his very nature, even when in the relative safety of the alien's company. Glacius' reaction, however, is much easier to interpret.

"Wrong? Oh, oh no." He puts up both hands defensively, smiling as he tries to soothe his friend's concerns. "No no, Glacius, it's a turn of the phrase. I'm not dying out here. I mean, not now. I'm not dying now, but if I'm out here for much longer, I might catch something that would be the death of me because of the chill. Not that I think I'd actually die from that. There are lots of other reasons I'll probably not making it past thirty or... so."

He trails off. Yeah, not helping with talk like that.

Glacius huffs out a mighty gust of breath, shaking himself out of what little bit of the trance remains as he pushes himself up to his feet. The bottles of water (now mostly empty), his soggy mauled shirt, and the towels (save for the one the clergyman still has wrapped around his body) all get summarily shoved into the tote bag, and then he's urging Carlisle to pick up his neatly-folded clergy outfit. "Get your things. We are leaving. I'll not lose you--to this, or to... to anything else..."

The ice alien trails off, but the waver to his voice is already detectable--and a surefire sign that the reminder of his friend's expected lifespan has struck him deeply. The wound causes a surge of overprotectiveness in Glacius, the desire to wrap Carlisle up and keep him away from anything that could hurt him... which he realizes belatedly is not an entirely realistic goal, but still. In the very least he can not keep the clergyman out in an unfavorable environment that could potentially be contributing to the problem--he's cursing himself for the blunder, for sitting out here making his friend rinse a mostly-healed wound while his life ticks by.

[shhh about the garbage they're making the best of this situation]

Close enough for Hadriel, I guess. It's not going to get much better than this.

[ok, that's fair though. it's way better than it has been. he gives her a little smile. it's not even that begrudging!!]

Guess the gods can do something useful every once and awhile.

She smiles, small, but genuine. Words can go unsaid between them and not hang like ropes waiting to choke her. Instead it's just a gentle understanding, a knowledge of things that they don't have to worry about explaining.

She doesn't remember if they were ever this close, before. Maybe it's because here she has little else to turn to. It just reminds her that Sans doesn't have to do this. He has his brother. And yet he invited her to their home. Talked to her over a page of symbols in the kitchen. Jokes about pets and puns and siracha instead of ketchup.

For the first time, in a long time, she doesn't feel quite so alone.

"I never, uhm, s-studied star patterns." She looks back towards the sky. "So, uhm, I wouldn't know w-which ones aren't ours. Or, uhm, maybe this is what this sky looks like. In this w-world. We could be, m-millions of light years away, in a far off galaxy, and all the stars are moved."

Or the sky could barely exist at all, and is little more than an illusion superimposed on their collective consciousness, like a big ol' portable projector. At this rate it'll take more effort for him to maintain the illusion for himself than not.

Reality and the lack thereof can be a pesky little thing, can't it?

"Ain't like either of us got a real reliable metric." He chuckles. He never had any star patterns memories. That kinda thing - it don't really stick, does it? Still, he steps back and offers the telescope to her, if she'd like to take a peak of her own.

"There's a pair of 'em up there. Binary stars, they're called."

Stars, after all, can come in pairs.

[She jumps a little bit at a voice greeting her, snapping her out of her daze, and-- oh no. It's a cute girl oh no she's sitting down oh no oh no oh no.]

Oh, uhm, it's-- it's f-fine! Super fine. I'm just, uhm, sitting, and uh, not doing anything! So there'd be no reason why you couldn't, uh, also sit here.

[Smooth. So smooth.]

Are you, uhm... e-enjoying the scenery?

[She smiles, and Alphys is almost certain her blush is visible, but praying it isn't, shrugging a bit as Rose turns so she can sink her neck into her torso and maybe hide her face a little. Too bad she's not a turtle. But Rose addresses her again and she pops back out, looking towards her and maybe a little more bewildered than she should be.]

Oh, uhm, I mean, if y-you want! I've, uh, never really made a sand castle before, but uhm, I'm sure it's not, uh. Incredibly difficult. I mean, uh, if you want me to help, I can t-try!

[She is so bad at this dear god. But Alphys stands, brushes sand off her pants, and approaches the castle, looking at the structure.]

Did you, uhm, h-have an idea for how you wanted it to look, or are you just, uhm, building it? I mean, uh, without a plan. Which is also okay!

Alphys is in a constant state of looking starstruck around anyone with biceps at Rey's level, so there's an incredibly small chance she'll ever see her in a state other than this, unless it's pure panic. She taps her small claws together just to ground herself, but at least Rey is talking and she has something to respond to and she can pretend she is not feeling like she should turn on her heel and run like hell to avoid embarrassing herself further.

Instead, she talks, which is guaranteed to make her look more like a complete idiot.

"I think t-they would look nice on you." Oh god, why did she say that. Out loud even. Fuck. "I mean, uhm, if, y-you wanted, but uh, I'm sure this other person would, uhm, also l-look nice too! Are they... uh, h-here?" She kicks herself a little bit more in her head for that one, buuut it's out there now, so there's no taking that back, and now they're having an Actual Conversation She Can't Back Out Of. Goodness. Why is she so hopeless.

[She looks over when she's spoken to, sees the kids arriving. They look awfully similar now that she sees them together. Maybe it's the haircut.

Has she ever seen them together before? She... doesn't remember. Hm. But she's being addressed, so, she should say something.]

Uhm, I g-guess so! I mean, it's nice to work with newer technology, even if it, uh... d-doesn't operate the way I thought it would.

[That's the understatement of the year, considering she finally found the battery pack and it seems to be filled with uncooked macaroni.]

Are you two, uhm, e-enjoying using them? And, uh, I guess, the whole, scenery thing?

She shrugs a little bit at his comment, because honestly, making clothes is hard and she sure knows nothing about it, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out when something looks absolutely dreadful. Besides, the gods deal in emotions- they probably just want big reactions out of whatever it is they make.

In the meantime, he introduces himself, formally, and she adjusts her glasses before taking his hand. "Oh, uhm, I-I'm Alphys. Dr. Alphys, actually, but uh, j-just Alphys is fine. I haven't been here very long." She's still not used to the way human hands feel- all squishy and sometimes rough in places where they're worn and used. Alphys', on the other hand, are warm, but feel more like lizard scales, with small dull claws on the end of each finger. They'd probably be sharper if she didn't chew on them when she was nervous- her teeth are sharper in the back but dull in the front where the front two poke out, just as dull as a human's. Otherwise, she... sure does look like a five or so foot tall lizard person, tail and all. Frankly, to her, it's odder to see so many humans milling about.

Is that so? Do you haunt this world, then? [That... does explain a thing or two, anyway.] Well, I'm hardly an expert on ghosts... but... I still thought it looked real enough.

[He glances up forlornly at the sky, upset by the deception. Now it just doesn't feel the same.]

I do not sound like that! [Or does he? Kain hadn't realized quite how gloomy that had really sounded until Rydia pointed it out.] Well... perhaps somewhat.

Now that's an effective method... and it already fries them a little as well. It seems that yours would work fastest. I'm... I haven't done much fishing before, but it can't be much different than jabbing things in the sky right? [Water is all wrong to him in ways, it's too heavy, and thus he doesn't like moving around in it the same as he does the air... but sometimes one has to make do with whatever's most available.] We could take a look and see if there's anything out there?

A shiver runs through Carlisle as that frosty mist is forced from Glacius' gills, the gust so strong that it challenges the chill of the night air and easily wins. "G- Glacius wait, I—!"

He sighs and quiets down, frustration etching into his features. It's no use. He recognizes that tone far too well; he's heard it before, that defiance so characteristic of Algidus making itself known in Glacius instead. It's aimed not at the clergyman himself, but at some intangible force the alien cannot hope to defeat... and yet, Carlisle knows that he will try. That much might as well be an absolute fact.

As he had done with Algidus, Carlisle falls in line without another word of protest, more content to follow along behind Glacius than to bicker. While not eager to speed himself toward an early death, hence his general sense of dread regarding everything, he long ago accepted the fact that his life will be relatively short, even compared to the rest of his bloodline, who lived far more daring and dangerous lives than he ever has. That's just how it is with the twice-cursed, even one who does his best to avoid using the dark gifts granted to him by his accidental passage into the Land Beyond Living. He's had that knowledge for years now; Glacius, on the other hand, just found out only a short time ago. He cannot yet accept it.

His determination is so like his greener kinsman, Carlisle's friend -- former friend, he reminds himself -- yet different somehow. That same conviction is there, sheer willpower pushing him forward when logic should dictate otherwise; however, it is redirected in some way that is familiar, but Carlisle can't quite put it together. His brow furrows -- he's seen Algidus get worked up in this way before, but when was it? And what had it been over?

With another quiet sigh, he adjusts his glasses and pulls his makeshift cape closer around him, his outfit held tightly to him as his eyes remain on the ground. He doesn't want to think about the turmoil he's just put Glacius through, or about the cold, and certainly not about the buildings they're going to have to pass to get home. He's ruined the night enough already.

Curufiin doesn't recognize the term soap opera, but he does get the explanation. "Oh, yes! In Middle-earth, there were companies of actors who traveled and presented street-theatre in town and countryside. The plays were either very funny or very melodramatic, or sometimes a little of both." He chuckled. "My family could have written the scripts for them. And you're right, the unceasing melodrama was exhausting."

And he listens with a quizzical expression, and without interrupting, to Yukari's exposition of the art of BDSM.

"So you think Beren maybe had a different agenda than I did?" he wonders, humorously. "Well, if that's what he had in mind, then it's no wonder I wanted to murder him." He starts to laugh. He can't help it. The picture is so funny.

And he gives this matter of the price of an unknown future favor some thought. Probably not enough thought, but then, he has a concussion, and that will have to do for an excuse.

"All right," he agrees, cheerfully. Of course, he can always renege on the deal. He is Curufin, after all. . . Curufin the Crafty. But he won't, unless the favor is totally unpalatable. He'd prefer to keep a promise.

He sniffs the air as the odor of cooking rises from the stove. "I love fried fish. And I'm sure you're a marvelous cook. Again, I thank you. This is real hospitality."

Because it's too easy not to. Maketh drops her hand, still smiling. "I'm sure Emily could make you one. You should suggest it. I think she'd like the challenge."

[Maketh blinks, surprised by the question.] A little more than a year. I was brought on after Governor Pryce's requested additional staff, someone to handle the administrative side. She was my superior.

[It's been a while since she's thought of Pryce. Maketh's smile fades a little.]

I--hadn't seen her for some time. Her duties took her offworld for extended periods of time. I suppose I took over her position in her absence.

Flick honestly doesn't consider himself anything special. But, Flick had a bit of a self confidence issue. And every hara was pretty, he'd seen plenty of others prettier and far more imposing and put together than him to even consider himself something special. It was definitely something he needed to work on.

Flick missed the simple beauty of the cable farms, when he'd thought that himself and makeshift family was safe. Before things turned bad, and they'd realized safety was a myth you tell to small children. And before he'd ended up in Hadriel. Still, this was nice. It reminded him a bit of being back on the boat, moving from place to place, never staying more than a day or two somewhere. Just in case. Could be dangerous. Don't call attention to yourself. They'd even gone as far as not to bathe for weeks and cover themselves in dirt and rags. Yukari would not have thought any of them were pretty then.

"Flick. My name is Flick." Flick grumbled, pulling out a vague memory of a language he hadn't used or heard in fifty years. "I cook." He smiled. "You don't want to eat my chesnari's cooking. It's not edible." Actually, it was charred bits of lump.

"The only thing Lor can be trusted to do is chop. Under supervision."

Glacius wouldn't consider the night ruined even though his mood has certainly plummeted... but even that is only partially Carlise's fault, rather than the complete blame the clergyman is inclined to pile upon himself. True, not referring to his death in such an offhand matter would help, but the root of the problem is that the ice alien just doesn't know how to accept the knowledge. Humans already live such short lives... only getting a few more years is so much worse still. Glacius doesn't want to lose one of his best friends and doesn't know how to cope with the thought, hence the surge of bitter defiance and not entirely realistic overprotectiveness.

He steps up next to Carlisle, fully intending to shield him from the buildings on the walk back like he did on their way down to the beach... and though he hesitates to wrap his arm around his friend now for fear of making his chill worse, he does want to be close to him. It's a foreign feeling to the alien, but his desire to make the most of whatever time he does have with his friend means that he doesn't question it as strongly. "Is there... nothing at all that can be done?" the icy being asks quietly, his voice somber, some of that bitterness ebbing into quiet sadness the more he thinks about it.

"That's a good way of thinking about it. Pell and his endless optimism. It changes people. Makes you want to believe in him."

Maybe that was why Thiede had chosen him? Orien had seen something in Pellaz that day, something he'd communicated to Thiede, Flick was sure of it. Especially after the endless dinner fights he'd witnessed between Seel, Orien and Cal. It was a fight that no one would have won, until someone ended up dead. And then someone did.

"Do you think its permanent? Do you think that the qualities another har brings out in you is forever?"

Carlisle is silent a second or two after Glacius speaks. Though he knows what answers he has aren't encouraging, he offers his friend a reassuring smile.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Most twice-cursed are executed or murdered, making the average lifespan for them that much shorter. Many are driven mad by their abilities and by the pressures their condition puts upon them."

Despite the cold, he sidles closer to Glacius, feeling the buildings looming around him, scrutinizing his every move, judging what he says and how he acts and how, even now, he is tainting his camaraderie.

"Even those not killed by others may- may be lost by their own hands."

He pauses there, knowing Glacius can likely understand the implication of that. He's heard Carlisle in the depths of his despair, knows he sometimes thinks it'd be better for everyone around him if he hadn't survived. It's during those times he thinks of that ever-flowing river; no one would find him, and maybe that'd be best.

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Event Post: Everyone Chill

Re: B!

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Re: B!

Re: B!

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one big cup o' suffer

diet suffer

gasp omg bae

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Re: Around the city

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Re: Calanthe | OTA + Closed

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