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 The spires have been replaced by shining skyscrapers, the roads are clear of rubble and paved neatly.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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"Well, that's how I've felt most of the day, actually," Carlisle admits. "Safe and, ah. Cared for. It's only right that I do the same for you."

He has to keep feeling useful in some way, after all. That feeling of having purpose is nice, encouraging. Makes him feel alive for a change.

That gets Glacius to stop in his tracks. He probably realized that in some ways, just from how Carlisle had been acting when he'd allowed himself to be taken out to the ocean, but to hear it stated so openly... well. It allows him to realize the impact that he's actually had on the clergyman's life despite how he sometimes struggles to feel like he's being a proper friend to the humans here that he knows. He's also just extremely grateful to know that his efforts have allowed Carlisle to feel something good enough to give him a respite from the stress of his life here, and his past burdens.

"I'm... so glad, Carlisle," the ice alien speaks up, remembering to move his feet again after his moment of being awestruck fades. "I know that you, ah... struggle, some times, for reasons you don't deserve. Every time your fears and your self-doubt weigh you down, it tugs at my hearts... all I want is to be able to ease those burdens when I can. To know that I've had even a modicum of success in that regard, well... maybe I'm not doing so bad at this whole 'friendship' thing."

Now that they've made their way back over to the towels and the bottles of water, Glacius seats himself neatly, leaving room for Carlisle to join him. Digging into a bag that was likely given to him by one of his other human friends that had introduced him to all of the handy and useful things one should bring with them to a beach, he pulls out another towel--this one dry and not covered in irritating grains of sand-- and holds it out to the clergyman.

"Here--if you are cold, you may use this to dry off. Your usual outfit is here too, of course, if you want to change back into it." Humans do seem to feel a lot better when they're dry and warm, this he has learned well!

Carlisle takes the towel, but declines his clerical garments with a wave of his hand. "I, ah. Probably shouldn't change out here, in the open and whatnot. Not exactly proper, now is it?"

He has a little laugh to himself, only to realize that Glacius probably doesn't know the answer to that. "It's not, by the way. In case you were wondering about that." Drying himself off quickly, he drapes the towel around him like a cape, preferring to leave it on to block the cool night air. His bottle of water is still there, thankfully -- it'll be useful for cleaning the salt out of Glacius' wound.

Edited 2017-01-04 01:45 (UTC)

"O-oh," Glacius blinks, appreciative of but also mildly sheepish for the clarification. "I didn't mean to suggest-- I mean. I could always construct barriers if you desire privacy, but... you probably don't want to get the garments dirty anyways... a-ah, just forget I said anything!"

Trying to pass right over his blunder and act like the exchange isn't a thing that's happening right now, the alien attempts to busy himself by seeing to his old wound. It's... not working very well, given that all he has are his hands, and after a moment he gives up rubbing at it with a ginger hiss, realizing that's not a good idea at all.

Edited 2017-01-04 01:59 (UTC)

As embarrassed as he is for having brought attention to Glacius' faux pas, Carlisle feels even worse when the alien starts picking at the wound on his face in what the clergyman recognizes is him caving to his own nerves.

"Stop stop stop stop," he utters in quick succession following that hiss, dipping to grab the water bottle and pulling off the cap. "Don't do that! Here—"

Conjuring an orb of light into his hand to help him see the injury, he offers it to Glacius. "Hold this so I can see any irritants and wash them out."

Thankfully, he has the alien's complete attention when he conjures up that orb of light. Any cultural missteps or sore, irritated wounds are forgotten as Glacius' eyes light up, and he looks to the clergyman's face with with a mixture of apprehension and eagerness.

"I can--I can hold it? Just like the lights of my people..." he murmurs-- never mind the fact hat Carlisle has already told him that this conjuration is nothing as sacred as the Mote. The otherworldly being accepts the orb readily, cradling it in both of his great big hands as is he's handling a sacred treasure. Sure enough, the light remains, instead of dimming when separated from its source... Glacius considers it almost tenderly for a moment more, then holds it up to the ruined side of his face so that Carlisle can see the mess of scar tissue and cuts the injury has become.

Trying to focus on the task at hand and simply pleased that Glacius stops aggravating his own wound, Carlisle unfortunately misses the reverence with which the alien takes his conjured light. The orb stays bright, and is slightly warm to the touch, but it feels fragile, like delicate glass. Carlisle is used to handling them, but never thought to warn Glacius to hold it with care. Thankfully, the alien does just that without his guidance.

"Good. Now just stay still a moment."

With one hand holding the bottle, he places the other just below Glacius' jaw, the touch of his fingertips gentle as he nudges Glacius' face a little higher. The wound has healed well, but the salt water has done him no favors -- he pours a little of the fresh water onto the injury, clearing away the obvious bits of sand that have flecked onto his scarring underbody. There's another moment of scrutiny, then more pouring, and after another repetition, he decides that it's as clean as they're going to get it for the moment.

"There," he says softly, setting the bottle down and using both hands to maneuver the alien's face so the light can reach the various nooks and crannies of his jawline and the spot where his missing mandible should be. Though trying to be absolutely thorough, Carlisle is conscientious with how much pressure he uses to prompt Glacius to turn his head this way and that, not wanting to overstep is boundaries. They have done this sort of inspection over and over again throughout their injured days together, and he knows well enough that the alien wouldn't let just anyone handle him like this, but he cannot help that feeling that he's going to ruin this camaraderie they have between them.

And given how said camaraderie has made him feel, he would do nearly anything to keep it. That, too, is new for him.

Normally, Glacius would not tolerate someone feeling around his jaw and attepting to nudge his face this way and that--he would have given a huff of warning before extricating himself from the situation. With Carlisle, however, things are decidedly different... the clergyman has proven himself to be able to handle these interactions with care and respect, and so the ice alien responds very well to his gentle directions. To an outsider looking in, it might seem rather impressive to see the human taking the lead for once and giving direction to the alien... but Glacius isn't thinking about that right now. Rather, he's just going with it, enjoying the flow of cool water whenever Carlisle pours a little bit over his cuts and playing along with the whole thing rather nicely...

... At least until the clergyman announces he's more or less finished with the treatment. Clearly the alien appreciates the careful attention and the relief he's been provided from the stinging of the wound, because as Carlisle holds his face between his hands, Glacius finally interrupts the process of his own accord: he actually tilts his head down to gratefully--and gently, very important when you have icy armor and don't want to give your more fragile human friend a concussion--butts his forehead against his friend's.

"Well..? How am I looking?"

Glacius' head connects with Carlisle's, and the clergyman feels a tremor run through his chest and to his hands, his fingers curling slightly as he pulls in half a breath in surprise. The alien's appreciation stirs that feeling in his gut, that deep-seated need to prove himself useful, that hope so seemingly out of place in his defeatist demeanor. It's a good sensation, but one he's not sure he deserves.

Despite that, he can't help but be a little greedy, wanting to savor that moment like a fine drink. A smile pulls at him as he closes his eyes behind his glasses, his hands relaxing as they find their way into the curves of Glacius' jaw once more. He knows the lay of it, having examined the alien's maw time and time again, surveying the way his muscles pull against his neck. Carlisle has taken note of how the anatomy around the wound has changed to accommodate for Glacius' injury, how the alien worries about that missing part, how concerned he is that the scar paints him as a bloodthirsty monster rather than a benevolent protector.

Carlisle returns the pressure against his forehead with just a little of his own, hoping Glacius understands just how much the gesture means to him -- how much his friendship means. He keeps his words light in tone.

"You'll survive this time," he says through his smile, his voice hushed so the false gods won't hear them.

When Glacius had initiated the contact, he had meant it in a playful manner--but now, feeling Carlisle return the gesture and reach his hands up to his jaw line, something changes. The alien stills, and his expression dims as he feels contact around the sight of that injury... but he's not sad. He's touched. The scarring and the remnants of the wound are still so gruesome, and yet it hasn't changed the clergyman's perception of him at all... he still values his friendship, still thinks he's the one that needs to prove himself to the alien. Right there in this moment, it strikes Glacius that what he's being given is complete acceptance--and given how much he struggles to feel like he belongs here, that is no small thing.

"With you here with me... I feel like I'm doing more than just surviving," and he should know--that was all he felt like he was doing for a damn long time after Emily's death, just barely holding on because the people around him still somehow saw worth in him. "I feel... good. Good enough to enjoy things like the sun and the sea and the sky again. Thank you for... giving me that, in a place like this. I... I think I needed it."

Carlisle remains there another moment, reveling in all that's he's experiencing in that second, his mind working tirelessly as it tries to discern exactly why it feels so impossibly freeing. Perhaps it's the beating of his own pulse, so heavy that it resonates into his hands, fighting back the numbness that so often rests there; maybe it's the warmth emanating from his chest, so strong and sudden that it seems to keep the cold of the night air at bay.

Or maybe it's because he feels significant, substantial. He feels like, for perhaps the first time in his life, that he can do more than he ever believed. Earlier that very day, he'd struggled to even leave their apartment, and now, he's standing on an open beach after having explored the waves of a vast ocean.

Well, a small fraction of a vast ocean, but that was still monumental for him. He couldn't have done it without Glacius, but he can't help but wonder now how much more he can do with the alien's encouragement. Despite working his entire life toward redemption for his curse, Carlisle never really believed he could do it -- it was ultimately just denial keeping him going, fear fueling his refusal more than actual determination.

But in that moment, he truly feels like he could do anything with the right set of tools and guidance. He only needed to be bold enough to look for such things rather than cowering behind his insecurities.

It will take more time for him to reconcile such (relatively) daring concepts, but for the moment, he takes in what he can. Such moments of true peace are so rare and fleeting for him, after all.

"I... admit that I feel good, too," he says with a laugh, one filled with trepidation rather than mirth. "Back home, I had my church. Had a family name to live up to. I've neither of those things here, and have only been trying to make amends to my goddess, and to those I've wronged. I teach magic, and make trinkets, but anyone could do those things. Others could do them so easily, I'm sure."

His head remains in contact with Glacius', but dips as his expression falls. "And- and perhaps others could offer you the same support I have, but better. They'd know more about modern medicine, or help you defend others, or be braver than I am. Anyone can do that last one, but... but..."

With the onset of his nerves slips away that moment of solace that he'd so coveted. His hands shake against Glacius' jaw, hesitation pulling him back.

Edited 2017-01-04 12:08 (UTC)

"But it's you that I have grown closest to," Glacius responds without missing a beat, absolutely not going to allow Carlisle to fill in the blanks with any more self-doubt. "Perhaps there are others than can do what you do--I know there are other members of my species that posses my talents. Do you think I am the only warrior or peacekeeper of my kind? It is not what we can do that makes us unique, but what we choose to do with those abilities. And all you have ever done with yours is try to make amends and help others... to try and help me, time and time again, even after I failed you."

The alien brings his hands up to rest over Carlisle's, trying to still their shaking. Even though the human has lowered his head, Glacius still gives him a reassuring smile. "So stop comparing yourself to everyone else, and just be you. Just be Carlisle--a compassionate man of faith, a capable healer, and an understanding friend--one of my closest friends. What more could I ask for?"

Glacius steps in before Carlisle can vocalize more of his self-deprecating thoughts, but his mind fills in the blanks well enough for him. There are other icy warriors like Glacius out there, but none within Hadriel; meanwhile, Carlisle knows there are others in the city who can do what he can but better, whether it's healing, glyphcrafting, and probably even dealing with alien beings in need of support. And while Glacius believes all he has done is use his abilities to try to help others, he hasn't seen the true extent of what he can do -- what he did to AJ, to Shadow, to Kate, to Chris.

His hands quake, but Glacius rests his own over them, shielding them from rising doubts as he encourages Carlisle to simply be himself. That'd be a much easier task if the clergyman had any confidence in himself at all, especially regarding his consistent feelings of inadequacy.

So he puts his confidence with someone he knows he can trust instead, taking in a deep breath and pressing his head against Glacius' once more, and with more effort this time. "I can think of many things you could ask for, but... I will try, Glacius. I promise you that."

Glacius may be the only icy warrior in Hadriel, but he is certainly not the only warrior, period. Moreover there are other beings with destructive powers and capabilities that even he struggled to stand up against that have been brought to this city on occasion, so he wouldn't consider that a point for himself; the incident of demonic possession continues to plague him. As for Carlisle's fears about what the ice alien may think if he knew about his compulsion, Glacius is already fully aware that he has used it on others--he'd learned after hearing one of the reasons Algidus had to be angry on him. What matters to the otherworldly being is that the clergyman making an active effort to turn away from it, now. To make something better of himself. That's not easy to do.

In short, he's prepared to overturn any misgivings his friend may have about himself, should he ever voice them.

"Trying is all that can be asked of anyone," Glacius murmurs, rubbing the smooth curve of his forehead gently against Carlisle's--it's meant to be a soothing gesture, and is certainly one only share among people that are close in his culture. "I know it isn't easy. But that just makes me all the more appreciative of your efforts."

Carlisle lets out a quiet sigh as Glacius returns the gesture. Despite the comfort he feels in that moment, the solidarity between them that's unlike anything he's had before, he cannot help but worry that Glacius will one day regret wasting so much time and effort on him. He is cursed, after all, but perhaps he'll meet his end before the alien gets dragged down by the misfortune he brings. Following the old superstitions can only stave it off for so long, after all.

That's not exactly a welcome thought, so Carlisle tries to push it out of mind by focusing on the here and now rather than the what will be. It's a difficult task all on its own, given his proclivity to worry about everything that has yet to and probably will not happen, but one that's made easier with the alien there -- his roommate, his friend, someone who manages to make his life seem important, even without his lineage and his abilities. That means a lot to him, and he isn't sure how to fully express that.

So he lets his head linger there another moment, feeling the coolness of Glacius' icy frame against him, the deep crevices of his muscular neck beneath his delicate hands. He finally pulls back when he feels himself start to shiver again -- the towel can only do so much when his legs are still bare.

"As much as I am not looking forward to walking toward the spires again," he says, that nervous smile reappearing, his eyes flicking to Glacius for only a moment before lodging themselves somewhere in the sand, "we- we should probably head back before I catch my death out here."

Sorry Carlisle--Glacius does not mean to neglect your needs, but his concentration is not at its best right now. He'd been so focused on trying to hoist the human out of the murky depths of his own self doubt, as his friend had done so reliably for him in the past... so when he feels the clergyman's hand gloss down the long strips of muscle in his neck, it takes him completely off guard. Giving that they're sitting forehead to forehead, Carlisle will be able to feel when the ice alien slumps more heavily, his body language becoming more relaxed.

"Hmm... what was that, I..." the alien's tone is much more sedate when he speaks up, realizing that the human has just said something he caught not a word of. Well... alright, maybe one sticks--after a very delayed reaction, Glacius shudders heavily, blinks then furrows his brows something fierce, and then finally shakes his head to try and bring himself around. "Death--Carlisle!! What is--what is wrong?!"

Edited 2017-01-05 02:47 (UTC)

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.

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.

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.

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.

"No one will lay a finger on you," Glacius begins to growl, relieved to feel protective instincts that he can actually realize--but the alien goes silent as Carlisle hints at a foe more insidious than any outside force. It's true, he's seen the depths of the clergyman's despair, and moreover he's gained some firsthand knowledge in regards to just how tricky and difficult such thoughts can be to deal with, given how he almost getting towed under by his own despondency not so long ago. Who's to say he wouldn't still be wasting away, if he didn't have his friends to help him claw his way out of the dark pit that he had fallen into after ending Emily's life...?

But that just makes him all the more adamant to stand by his friend, to return that compassion that he has been given so steadfastly whenever the human finds himself in need of it. It's the least he can do. "Carlisle... I know the road that you tread is a difficult one, and the burdens you carry with you are heavy. But you don't have to bear them alone any more... I am right here beside you, ready to help however I can, and I know there are others in the city who value your presence as well. So please... don't give up. Don't lose hope."

Carlisle's brow knits, but that smile remains: it is laced with uncertainty and doubt, clearly more of a brave face than a true reflection of how he feels. Still, he knows Glacius is right -- he has friends in the city, people who want to help. The question he cannot answer is whether or not they should. Carlisle knows how he would answer, and it doesn't paint a very charitable picture of him. Perhaps he isn't very fit for the Longinmouth name after all, curse or not.

He rubs idly at his old scars, pushing a sigh through his nose. "I will try, Glacius."

And trying is all that anyone can do. Glacius has said it time and time again, and will likely have say it again in the future... so for right now, he won't wear the clergyman out with repetition. Instead the ice alien gives a nod and finally decides to loop an arm around his friend despite the cold--they'll be back soon at the apartments anyways, and he's feeling too saddened by this train of conversation to not try and initiate some fort of contact. Regardless of what the future may hold, for now he'll take just have to take solace from the good memories of the day, and from actually having his friend close by. They've come to mean a lot together, and even if that makes this issue a whole lot harder, it's something that the alien wouldn't change for anything.

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Event Post: Everyone Chill

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