Event Log: Rage

[hadrielmods]

Who: Everyone participating in the event!
What: The event log for the Rage resurrection event!
Where: All around the city
When: December 26th-January 6th
Warnings: Violence. Angry people. Temper tantrums. Possible death.

On the morning of December 26th, the landscape of the city changes subtly. Rage's temple is restored, glowing with a red light that can be seen from across the river, and at the same time Rage's power begins to influence the city. At first, it will only affect people actually inside Rage's temple, the library, or the colosseum, but over the course of the next week it will grow to blanket the city. By January 2nd, nowhere in the city is safe from this anger except for the temples of Hope and Fear.

Tempers flare. Annoyances become too much to bear. Those already angry find their anger much harder to control, and those who are usually calm find themselves growing angry over things that might otherwise be inconsequential. Sometimes, all you can think about is how much you want to slam your fist into the face of that person who just won't stop talking. Have you wanted to hand out some asskickings for awhile now? Well, the sensible part of your brain that says 'hey, maybe don't punch that guy with the sword' sure is a lot harder to listen to.

On January 4th, the armory appears, not far from Rage's temple. Inside you can find swords, spears, shields, axes, knives, and plenty of other forms of medieval-era weaponry. So now you can be that guy with the sword (if you weren't already), and get to asskicking. You definitely won't regret losing your temper when Rage's effect subsides a couple days later. Surely everyone will understand and no one will hold anything against you. We're all friends here, right?

► This log covers December 26th-January 6th.
► 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!

Comments

[greywaren]

December 27th | Checking out the temple

[Things change in this city from time to time. Ronan remembers the stupid poll of Hope's, the promises that any of the resurrections would bring about some sort of change. An armory, a clinic, a bar- to be honest, he doesn't care what they get, though he's have preferred it not to be the armory. The last thing they all need is to have half of these idiots running around with weapons.

Still, he's not expecting a glowing red light to just appear out of nowhere on the other side of the river. It's ominous as hell, looks dangerous, and Ronan makes a move to check it out without a second thought.

He doesn't ask anyone to go with him- might be safer that way, might be more dangerous- but he grabs his baseball bat all the same, resting it on his shoulder as he makes his way across the rickety bridge toward the light source. Chainsaw, his ever-present raven, flies above him, perching occasionally on a broken down rooftop to rest as Ronan clambers across the rubble that rests in the streets. The Southern half of the city isn't nearly as well-restored as the half that most of the people here live in, and Ronan has to use his baseball bat for leverage a few times on his way to the temple.

It's just a new, magically-glowing red temple to a rage god. What's the worst that could happen?]

Dec 30th-Jan 5th | Fight Club

[Being angry all the time is pretty much Ronan's default state. He doesn't really even notice a difference at first, before he realizes that he's angry about things that... shouldn't normally make him angry. A quick assessment of the past few days makes it clear that other people must be pissed about something as well, though Ronan still isn't entirely sure what could be causing it.

It's really not a big deal, though. He's used to the simmering rage under his skin, and in an odd way, it's comfortable to feel, familiar, like an old friend reminding him of its presence.

So, Ronan doesn't really change anything about his daily routine. He still goes out looking for more food, still shoulders past anyone who seems to be remotely in his way, still snaps at anyone who dares to approach him. Which is why, when he's in one of the local storefronts with food in it, he finds himself turning to the person nearby, all sharpness and barbed wire, as he snaps-]

The fuck are you looking at?

[Are they even in Rage's influence right here? Hard to tell. It's not like Ronan is really acting any differently than normal.]

January 1st | Ravenhouse

[He doesn't know if their house is under the influence of the new god yet. He just knows that he's pissed, and he has more than his fair share of bruises to show for it, and he's pissed about that too. The walls of his room are dented with the blows of his fists, and most of the furniture on the first floor has been kicked or shoved over in the past few days.

Ronan's anger is a consuming thing, a separate beast of its own, and even Chainsaw wants little to do with him when he's like this. Her refusal to put up with his fits of rage only serves to make him more angry, and it's not uncommon to hear him stomping through the house after she blatantly ignores his attempts to take her out of her cage.

Today's tantrum involves the kitchen and a soup can that won't open with their chipped can opener. Ronan swears loudly when the teeth miss the edge of the can again and the handle pops down, overlapping with itself. The can opener at least makes it into the sink, where it clatters with a clanging sound, but the can winds up slamming against the nearby wall where Ronan throws it, splattering a bit of the soup through the hole that he had managed to open against the wall and on the floor where it falls.

There's a good sized dent in the plaster now, but he doesn't care- nor does he give a shit about the noise it caused and the attention it's bound to attract.]

Anything else!

[[Feel free to poke him with anything else! He will mostly be running around the city and trying to fight the world, so have at it c:]]

Ravenhouse

[mintly]

[gansey doesn't like having a temper. he doesn't enjoy losing control, doesn't generally feel fulfilled by it.

usually, anyway. occasional molotov cocktails and tearing into boys named kavinsky notwithstanding.

he's trying to puzzle through the book that adam found at the library for him (making up stories for the illustrations, more like), when the thud of soup can and wall colliding disturbs him. his door slams behind him as he comes down the stairs.]

What's your problem? Can't you even make lunch without throwing something?

home

[unknowable]

[It's more difficult for Adam to leave his room than it should be. Ronan's anger is a familiar thing, but this isn't. He's felt it as well, anger bubbling within him, and Adam hates his own anger, fears it. He's on edge, warier than usual, in tight control of himself but only just.

He thinks he should avoid Ronan. Ronan is angry, and Ronan's anger becomes violence so easily, and Ronan would never hurt him but none of this is normal. Nothing can be predicted, and listening to him throw things and stomp around and hit walls has made Adam angrier, but also made him - tense. Ronan isn't his father, Adam trusts him completely, but it's impossible to unlearn fear so easily. Adam should avoid Ronan, not because he's afraid but because he doesn't want to find out if he could be. He doesn't want it to even be an option.

But he leaves his room anyway, going to the doorway of the kitchen, looking in at Ronan, wary and careful. Normally Adam would let himself be angry, let himself fight with Ronan because Ronan is safe to fight with and it's so easy. But he's not letting himself, he can't.]

Hey. Let me do it.

[The can is probably done for, but - they have other things.]

Jan 3rd

[unitas]

[ Within the last few days, rage has become a near constant companion. The change had been difficult to place, at first, but as it spread, the pieces fell into place. The new temple, the light, her fucking temper.

By then, she knew better than to leave the dusty apartment she'd settled into, but fire crawled under her skin, eating away at whatever sliver of sanity and calm that remained within her. She wanted—no, needed—out.

Outside, the air was thicker, cooler, and she breathes deep, letting it quell the anxious ache that has settled into her lungs, and chest. She walks, and she breathes, and she tries to ignore how every little thing—mostly inconsequential bullshit—is just adding fuel.

By the time she's loitering near the shops, she's grasping at straws, breathing deep, and slow. Her gaze brushes past him, briefly, and then returns to scrutinize—recognizing him. He snaps, and it's almost physical. Her lips pull back to show teeth. ]

The fuck you think? [ All she wants to do is plant her fist right in the middle of his stupid, fucking face. Sorry, Ronan. ]

Fight Club! Say Dec 31st?

[amos_moses]

Amos's head snaps around at the sharp words, and he backs a step even as he twists to face the threat, both hands thrown up and spread in a surrendering gesture, eyes wide.

"Nothin', nothin', just minding my own business, mister."

He's definitely shorter and lighter than Ronan, his Japanese heritage giving him no advantages. His New Orleans drawl is heavier than usual at the moment, pulled out by the warring alarm and temper. Some wise-ass little punk (oh he can tell Ronan is bad news) gonna snap at him for nothing...but things aren't right and Amos hates to fight.

He'll try to get out of this without a bruise, but looking at Ronan's face, the edge of the tattoo raking dark and cruel at his neck... Amos is pretty sure he's about to have to fight.

First rule of fight club

[murderpotato]

[Gren has always had a temper, and he's never been particularly good at controlling it. And since the whole Rage thing started happening, it's been even harder than usual to keep it in check.]

[He'd thought a walk might help, if he kept it to the quieter places. Scrounge up some supplies, keep himself busy so that he doesn't snap and maybe hurt somebody. It's easy to hurt people around here.]

[And then there's this asshole.]

A fuckin' asshole, apparently.

[There goes his one month chip at anger management or whatever.]

the second rule of fight club is ...

[bekommen]

[Yeah, like Nick's any different either. She doesn't give the anger and irritation she feels much of a second thought; she's baseline angry anyway, and being stuck here with monsters and just narrowly escaping a slow death by freezing hasn't exactly improved her mood. Plus, she's been out of cigarettes for weeks. It's amazing she hasn't ripped someone's eyeballs out with her bare hands yet.

Yet, of course, being the operative word here.]

Oh. It's you again.

[closerift]

december 26 - the temple

[ Another god. She waits just outside of their borrowed home, hand pressed to the threshold. Having left a note - going to survey the temple - Cecily has no guilt in her formulating plan to go off in search of more information, given the brief disagreement she'd had with Cullen after the blizzard. The Inquisitor watches the red light pulsing in the distance for a moment before hurrying off in the direction of the source. Hope's obviously been successful in reviving their (her) god of choice, because if there are three evils to be chosen between, she and Thom had agreed that Rage offered the most benefits. The other two... Now, with her mind dead set on the temple in the distance, she can't remember what their benefits had been.

As usual, there's a bow strapped to her back, but it's got less arrows in its quiver than she'd started with. Though she could recover a few of the ones lodged in Hadriel's many monster foes, she hadn't been able to retrieve all of them. Some broke, some were stuck within still-living beasts who they'd fled from, rather than felled completely. It had been too dangerous to go after them, then, so she'd found herself short by half or more and had also lost a dagger to a Yeti. The armory had made sense.

Over the river and the light only brightens, reflecting in her wary, dark eyes. Cecily flicks her tongue across her lips, concentrating entirely on the temple... and what may come out of it. Historically, their cavern home is more than fond of dropping monsters into their midst, but it's also usually been Fear's business. This is closer to Hope's, and more recently, Rage's, though they have no experience with the reborn god just yet. Maybe that'll change once she enters, but she isn't counting on it.

Maybe she's hoping against it, considering her dwindling weaponry.

The Inquisitor slows when she reaches the base of the temple. It wouldn't be smart to just burst inside and she doesn't plan to stay long, but some brief and distant reconnaissance can't hurt. It's why she takes a few steps upward, slowly and after drawing her bow, hands ready to fire off an arrow at whatever (or whoever) might emerge to threaten. It would be more surprising to find the place perfectly empty and without danger, really. Though... as she glances inside, brows hunched suspiciously, there is something strange in the air... ]



january 4 - the armory

[ It's like an infection she can't diagnose.

The Inquisitor stalks past the temple, Rage's new dwelling, just as she had a week or so ago when she'd first explored the place. Well... 'explored' is a little much, considering she'd barely poked her head in in the name of safety and discretion. Not that those things are important, but she'd dealt with worse, and she could take care of herself, for Andraste's sake. Cecily casts the doors a nasty glare as if they'd personally offended her, stomach buzzing with the same kind of distemper she'd had for the past few days. But, she doesn't go inside again, though she feels compelled to do so, to explore fully and check out the inside from top to bottom, safety and discretion be dammed. No, she's headed past the now-lively structure and toward their so-called gift, the armory that Rage had brought with her when she'd been returned to life.

And she hadn't left a note at home. Had felt strong vindicated in her having not done so.

There are a few others coming and going from the armory which, again, makes her stomach prickle with irritation. People who have no training are walking out of the place, arms laden with weaponry. Sweet Maker, they'll try for the monsters and kill the rest of us. It isn't difficult to imagine some of the others who'd shown their faces on the 'network' trying to swing a sword or wield a knife or shoot a bow and take off their own fingers, or someone else's eye. Meanwhile, they have gods and hellish creatures to deal with, never mind the threat that armed and untrained civilians will pose.

... Still, better armed than not. Now that there are three gods in Hadriel, they have to be more wary than ever. That bastard Hope would revive one of his friends no matter how they cast their vote, Void take him and Rage and Fear, all. The pair had bickered endlessly without the presence of a third. How many so-called deities would have to be returned before they could find a way back to Thedas? What would the consequences be of letting them return?

Her mind is dark with bitterness as she enters, sweeping her gaze over the room and almost (almost) lighting up at the sight. Finally, something half-decent; the armory is well-stocked and exactly what they'd hoped for, filled with everything they could possibly need. She immediately hones in on a new bow and quiver, slipping them on her back with the old ones, sighing with a tiny shred of relief as she does. It isn't much longer before she spots a few knives and daggers, slipping them into the pouch at her hip. Briefly, she notes the presence of larger weapons, swords, wonders if Cullen had come by yet to arm himself after arriving without one of his own. She's reminded then, again, of her purposeful not leaving any indication of where she'd gone earlier in the day.

Fixated, she stares back at the blade where a ray or two of the red light from the nearby temple gleams almost menacingly. Distantly, she thinks she hasn't felt so smothered, so vengeful since she's been in the city, even considering all they've been through.

Distantly. Mostly, she reflects on the rage pooling in the pit of her belly. ]

armory

[pighead]

[Speaking of fools with no training picking up weapons.

Josh hasn't investigated all that much in the city, not yet. He knows there are monsters out there, and he doesn't have anything to protect himself with. A gun would be nice, but really - anything halfway decent that'll keep him from getting eaten. So when the armory appeared, Josh headed out to get something. Anything.

That's not the only reason, of course. There's also the anger. There's always that. His friends - supposed friends - are, of course, the main target. And why wouldn't they be? Josh doesn't entirely comprehend how this timeline stuff is supposed to work, but what he does know is that they haven't paid for what they've done. He didn't see it happen, so it didn't. No one's paid for Hannah and Beth, and that - that infuriates him.

So he leaves the house without telling anyone, going to the armory, looking through the weapons. He picks up a sword, swings it.]

What the hell is this supposed to be, Braveheart?

[He glances at Cecily, from her appearance the sort of person who's familiar with this stuff.]

Hey. They can't seriously expect us to use this stuff.

Armory

[unitas]

[ The first, and shittiest thing Sharon notes about the armory is the total lack of modern day weaponry: the things she's more capable with. She's gotten by with a kitchen blade, and, even on the rare occasion, her abilities, but... Fuck.

It's a disappointment, a major blow to the small amount of calm she's held on to. She feels sick to her stomach with rage, an illness that threatens to smother her. She sucks in air desperately before the sword rack nearest to her is suddenly thrust into the wall, sharply clattering and echoing within the enclosed space. The noise snaps her into the present, and her breathing slows, but her expression remains tense. ]

This is bullshit. [ No guns. She clenches her fists, opening and closing them in a rhythmic pattern. She needs to be careful. She needs to remain in control. ] I can't use any of this shit.

arya | open

[whichend]

december 27.
[ Arya saw the light last night, red and ominous. It reminds her of the Lord of the Light, and his disciples. She thinks they would have liked the red light, or have thought of it as some kind of omen. Arya agrees about the omen part -- lights don't appear from the sky for no reason. She's not sure if it's a good omen, though, and she decides to wait a bit before exploring. It's probably not safe to investigate right away.

The next day, her curiosity outstrips her fear. She bundles up in the large leather jacket and the scarf Adam gave her. She's got Needle out and ready to go in case it gets dangerous. She heads to the source of the light, determined to get to the bottom of it.

Eventually, she reaches Rage's temple. She stares up at it from the entrance, debating on whether or not she should go in. ]

january 3.
[ Dunsen, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei. Valar morghulis; all men must die.

Since the red light came, Arya's become more and more aware that she's been getting soft. She's let Steve and Cash take her in, spilled secrets to Adam and Bruce, and have made tentative alliances with other inhabitants of the city, including its gods. She's been too trusting, too foolish. She'd forgotten what happened to her family and friends, but she remembers with clarity now. They were killed.

The thought makes her angry, and the realization that she hasn't done anything in months about it makes it even worse. She'd let herself become a child again, and that's unacceptable. The anger makes her restless. She'll pace the house for hours on end, and when she can't take that anymore, she goes outside to practice with Needle.

By January third, her practice is nearly never ending. She takes small breaks to eat and sleep, but the remainder of her time is devoted to the sword. Strokes, stance, agility -- she doesn't let any aspect of fighting go unpracticed. Fear may cut deeper than swords, but right now, she just wants to cut.

She hears someone approach her from behind, and all she can think is how this person would make an excellent living target. She wheels around, and thrusts her sword at them. ]

What do you want?

january 5.
[ Arya could live in the armory, if it was allowed. There's so much in here -- daggers, bows, axes, broadswords, maces, chains -- every weapon Arya's ever heard of, and then some. She wanders through the armory like a kid in a candy shop, where all the candy is free.

Once she's done a thorough survey of the place, she starts stocking up. She takes a dagger for each boot; a bow and quiver of arrows is now strapped to her back. She's got longer knives in the inside of her coat, and a larger sword on the opposite hip as Needle. Now, she'll be able to saw through bone, too. She almost looks forward to it.

Arya is armed to the teeth now -- no more little girl with a little sword. And she's ready to fight. When she leaves the armory, she feels taller, and slightly more powerful than she did before. ]

january 3

[unknowable]

[Adam raises his hands, showing that of course he has no weapon. He feels a surge of anger - that she would threaten him, that everyone here is so damn untrustworthy - but he's been dealing with this for days now, and he leashes it tightly, swallowing hard as he does his best not to let it dictate his action.

The anger is easy. Far more difficult is the terror that he'll hurt someone, someone who doesn't deserve it. Logically, Arya can take care of herself, she has nothing to fear from him. But it's never that easy.]

Nothing. Just to - say hello.

[See if she's all right. Distract himself from everything that's gone wrong, a little.]

january 5.

[smited]

[ this. this is why cullen was willing to vote in hope's terrible poll. an armory filled with things he can use. satisfaction mingles with the anger that's been hovering under his skin for days now as he walks the length of it and finds something acceptable. a sword and a shield. they don't fit as comfortably in his hands as the ones he left back home, but cullen can recognize that it's mostly sentimentality that has him thinking that.

he steps out of the armory to give the sword a few swings. tests it as he moves through some basic maneuvers against an invisible opponent. maker, but it feels good to be armed again.

and apparently he's not the only one to feel that way. he gives arya a skeptical look as she leaves the armory. the girl seems to be the very definition of armed to the teeth. it makes the anger bubble up inside him again. no child should have to carry around that much weaponry. damn the gods and whoever else has made her feel like she needs that. ]

Do you know how to use those? [ he gestures to, well. all of her. ]

dorian pavus | open

[sparkler]

a: library, december 27th

[Dorian is generally not all that quick-tempered. Oh, he gets angry, and he can be free with a sharp word or two when annoyed, but it's no more common than it would be for anyone. But he's been spending time at the library fairly often ever since he arrived here, trying to discover some kind of rhyme or reason to the books there, and recently he's found it more and more difficult to control his temper.

He's alone there, usually, so he hasn't taken it out on anyone. But the books - well. Dorian would never destroy them, that's simply not in his nature, but he has shouted at them now and again, as they continue to give him absolutely nothing.

And then, finally, it's all too much. With a sharp Tevene curse, Dorian hurls a book at the nearest wall, anger coursing through him. It impacts with a loud bang, and it doesn't lessen his rage at all.]

Useless! You're all utterly useless!

b: armory, january 4th

[He's not any less mad, but the appearance of a new building piques Dorian's interest. He assumes it's the armory that Hope mentioned, in which case it isn't very useful to him - being a mage - but could nonetheless be useful to others. Unless it's full of monsters or horrible traps or something, which is always unfortunately a possibility.

So he's investigating. There's nothing inside that startles or confuses him, really. Somehow that in itself is a surprise. He recognizes these weapons, knows how they're used, even if he doesn't use them himself. Surely there should be something strange or uncanny, something he'd have no idea how to use? But there isn't. Just swords and axes and the sorts of things he's seen warriors swinging for years.

Dorian looks up at a sound, watchful. With the shortness of tempers recently, he is always ready for a fight. His hand tightens on his staff.]

Who's there?

library.

[smited]

[ irritation is nothing new. no, it's been simmering under cullen's skin for a while now, though he's generally been good at keeping it under wraps. small fight with cecily aside, that is. and since then, he's been trying to make sure it doesn't happen again. especially since the new god will be coming back from the dead--or whatever it is "gods" do--soon.

yes, he voted for rage in hopes of getting an armory. but that doesn't mean he actually wants to give the god power if he can help it.

despite all that, when he stumbles across dorian in the library, tossing books and snarling, he can't help but snap back. ]

Yes, let's destroy the books. That will help things immensely.

boss | open

[camouflage]

28 DEC | temple.

When the sinister red glow blooms in the distance, what comes to John's mind immediately is Bikini Atoll. He hasn't thought about the hydrogen bomb tests they had forced him to take part in for years. Not since the late 60s anyway. Images of those white plumes and blooming, miniature suns in the kill zone when the bombs went off flood over his thoughts. It's like he's standing on one of those decommissioned battleships again, watching something bone-deep terrifying happening right in front of him.

The brass and eggheads had told them not to look at the explosions, but they all did. How could you look away from something so awe-inspiring and dreadful?

Honestly, he just hopes that light in the distance doesn't infect him with some otherworldly radiation. Suffering through rad-sickness once was enough for several lifetimes. It's the sense of wrong that's settled in the pit of his stomach that keeps him from investigating for a few days. When he doesn't get ill or hear of anyone dying two days after the event, he figures getting close must be safe enough. You know, considering the situation. The hike out there is, thankfully, uneventful and when he arrives, John beholds the new temple. Obviously the one they had all asked to be brought back.

He doesn't step past the threshold immediately, overcome with a surge of anger, vile and hot. Well, at least the name of this so-called 'god' is apt.

02 JAN - 04 JAN | general.

One thing John thought he had mastered after all these years was his anger. Out in the field, rage could save you or kill you. There was never any in between and too far times where it actually helped. A useless emotion to have amongst the crackle of gunfire and machinations of battle. In his younger years, John had let his emotions get a little out of control, but with time brought experience, hard-taught lessons on focus.

And, okay, he wasn't perfect. Apparently upon waking up from his nine-year coma, the aura from his pent-up rage had caused an old enemy of his hundreds of miles away to come back from the dead. Small things.

For the most part, he always thought he had a good grasp of his more turbulent emotions. Then that temple had sprung up. Constant anger feels a little like heartburn, like a physical creature trying to claw its way out of your throat. John tries to tampt it down, but it's useless. He doesn't have any alcohol to wash back the bile of rage or any cigars left to focus on nicotine in his veins. For the most part, he's irritable, even just carrying out every day tasks.

If people talk to him, he tries to keep his words clipped and short. Tries to just stay out of the way. Because, honestly, if anyone gives him the slightest excuse, he'd probably jump right into a fight.

05 JAN | arrows & you.

News of an armory had been the first bit of news since Rage's revival to make him feel some relief. The simmering urge to drive his knife through someone's heart was still there, not even below the surface so much as right underneath his skin. There was no one here that deserved such behavior, rationally he knew this, but at the same time that was the problem. With nowhere to direct his anger, it just bubbled and boiled in his gut. Annoyed that he couldn't control his own damn emotions, annoyed over his current situation, annoyed with his situation back home, annoyed that his only ally in this hellhole was acting like a petulant child.

The list went on. John felt a little like an oroboros -- a little ironic, given his old codename. So he goes to the armory, expecting to see the familiar and comforting form of a firearm. Something with steel, springs, and gears. Bullets. But it's never that easy.

Which is how he ends up with bows and arrows, the only other weapon he has any training in, at the park. During survival training, he had to make a crude bow and arrow, was even a decent shot. Firing off arrows into a tree for target practice gives him something to do besides be pissed off. It'll have to do.

temple

[sparkler]

Of course Dorian would take it upon himself to investigate the new building. Oh, he's sure that others have as well, but hearing of their findings isn't quite the same as looking himself, and Dorian still has some faint hope that he might find a clue. Something to point the way home, or at least something to give it all some context.

It's not likely. But it's not impossible.

He's rather interrupted in his mission by a man standing at the doorway of the temple, not yet inside. Dorian feels a flash of irritation - why not simply go in, really? - and discards it. A silly thing to be annoyed by.

"Is there something quite horrible in there, ser?"

[theresolve]

December 26th

[Rainier had the unfortunate luck of setting up shop more or less next to the Colosseum for his wood working. It's out of the way of normal foot traffic and lets him keep an eye on the place in case of new arrivals. The irritation seeps into him like a living thing, leaving him short-tempered and ill equipped to focus on anything.

The first day isn't that bad, because taking a walk is the go-to for Rainier's dealing with his anger, and that actually works. He takes a lot of walks that day, breathing deeply, letting the annoyance at every little wrongdoing fade.]

January 5th
[Time goes on and taking a walk doesn't even make things better. They've got a new temple (which he is steering clear of, the Inquisitor is welcome to figure that one out on her own if she wants to fuck around with powerful otherworldly forces) but more importantly it seems like the armory they were promised has appeared. Rainier is fairly certain people will flock to it on the first day, so he waits, sleeps on his stewing anger and tries to go early in what passes for morning the day after.

He's got a sword, a shield, but he wants to know what others will have available to them. Deep breaths and avoiding people is the name of the game, as well as intentionally leaving his sword and shield back at Skyhold Mark 2. He had to learn to control his temper after he went on the run, but this is absurd.

It works, mostly, as long as he's alone he can turn his anger inward. His knuckles are bloody from a few stone walls. The awful thing about going out and about though is even if he's aiming to isolate himself, there's no guarantee he won't cross someone's path accidentally.]

[zen_en_vert]

[On December 26th, while exploring the city in general, Bruce comes by to see the new temple. Fortunately for the both of them, he doesn't go in yet, where the effects will be most intense- instead, he stops at Ranier's little shop, which he has never been by before. But any kind of Hadriel infrastructure is good news to him, so he knocks politely on the frame before stepping through the door to see.]

Hello?

[fuwatokurage]

January 2nd | Ragebot

Something felt wrong. Clear didn't know what it was, but it was all wrong. Everything was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong!

Clear has never really experienced "waking up on the wrong side of the bed" a.k.a being pissed at the world for no reason. All of his emotions generally came from a reaction to something happening around him which left him generally chipper.

But not this time. He was pissed and he had no idea why.

After getting frustrated from tripping over his own boot then throwing it into the wall and making a small dent, he decided to take a walk outside to cool his head. Maybe that's what it was. He was too cooped up in his house.

So now, on edge, Clear starts walking around with his hands in his coat pocket and childishly irritated that there is no real sky in this world and he can't look at clouds.

[casperdisaster]

"Clear-?" Noah called softly.

It was difficult to manage to be a person if he felt too strongly about anything negative, but anger was easier than sadness (while consequently Noah naturally gravitated more towards sadness than anger). Low-key irritation had him mostly poltergiesting around the house. Going out seemed like a good idea to him too, so there he was, currently passing for as alive as he got.

It was a strange thing to see Clear annoyed. The robot had always been so chipper and unflappable.

adam parrish | open

[unknowable]

[a: hope's temple, january 1st]

[Adam is not comfortable with his anger. He never has been, though he always carries it with him. Even without - whatever is going on, Adam has enough things to be angry about in his life, and when it surges, it's all-consuming. It upsets him, it even frightens him, and is that any kind of surprise? Adam has been shaped by someone else's anger. You don't spend most of your life being an angry man's punching bag without learning to fear not only his anger, but your own, because maybe you're destined to be just like him. Adam has already lost his temper more than once, throwing things in his room, stalking through the streets.

And on top of it all, the anger and the fear, Gansey is gone. He's gone and there isn't anything Adam can do about it, so on top of everything else, there's loss, there's despair. He can't let himself be angry right now. Not when he has to be the one to keep things together. He knows that, the task falls to him, Noah is a ghost and Ronan is Ronan so their survival is on Adam's shoulders and it will be his fault if anything happens.

He doesn't want to face anyone right now, and he doesn't want to struggle with his anger. So he's searched out one of the few spots that seems safe, that calms the itchy fury pulsing through him. Hope's temple doesn't seem to be making him any more hopeful - maybe it's got too much to work against - but at least it's keeping him from feeling that sourceless anger.

He wants to be alone, but he looks up at the sound of a footstep, torn between politeness and pretending no one is there. Politeness wins, this time.]

Hello.

[b: armory, january 5th]

[He can't hide in his room - or in Hope's temple - forever. But nothing's better, actually things are just worse, and it's all weighing on Adam. He doesn't particularly care what's in the armory, the most he'll take for himself is a knife, but he thinks it's best to know what other people might have, now. Just in case. Most of the people here can't be trusted. Not because they've proven themselves to be untrustworthy, but just because - well, Adam doesn't trust anyone who hasn't shown that they deserve it.

And he's angry. Of course he is. It can't be avoided now, much as he is afraid of taking it out on someone. But what if he did? Would that be so awful? He's far better at words than fists, and right now he'd like nothing more than to tear into someone.

Which is another reason he's not at home.

He enters the armory, looking around, taking it in. Reaching out, Adam picks up a sword. It doesn't suit him at all, and he sets it down again with a bitter, tight smile.]

Figures there'd be no guns.

A

[amos_moses]

"Hey friend." Amos's smile is friendly as ever, even if he's feeling a little itchy and unsettled himself.... But it's a little easier here to regain his mental footing, ease himself back into his own skin a little more.

"Just looking around...I don't mean to intrude."

Though this isn't exactly an institute for worship, Amos doesn't want to give offense. (Tempers everywhere are flaring.) He's here to look around again, ask some questions...because of the so-called-deities to align himself with, the ones more interested in his continued living are the ones he'll chose, thank you.

He doubts Hope will appear and give him answers, but it's worth a shot.

vaiz | open

[dragonbite]

«« general »»
[ Vaiz is a very composed guy, but that is mainly because he's so damn lazy. He's not exactly going to be easy to anger, and even if he does get angry, it's such an effort to act on it.

You won't be too popular if you get in the way of his food scavenging, though. At least if there's something sweet on the line. He will even glare if you try to take the food he was aiming for (with a much darker glare if it's something with lots of sugar in it). ]

«« random »»
[ Then there are some people who are able to fall asleep even when they're angry, because being angry tires a person out, right?

Which is why, Vaiz can be found taking naps in the most inconvenient places. Let's hope you don't trip on him or something. ]

[zen_en_vert]

[They come upon the same food cache box one afternoon, and when Bruce glances up and sees that scowl he immediately gives him a nod, dragging the thing out of the open a little and towards better cover, announcing;]

I don't need much, let's split the haul and you take the lion's share.

Jinbee Tsukishima | OTA

[imobouzu]

«« rage's temple »»
[ You have to pay your respects to gods, right? And Jinbee is a great believer in paying respect to others, be they human or not, or his gods or not.

So there he is, actually clapping his hands together thrice, to offer up a prayer. ]

«« hope's temple »»
[ Once Jinbee recalls that someone mentioned that you could get calm and hopeful by going to Hope's temple, that's where he's off to.

This means that at random times throughout the whole period of time this weird anger lays over town, Jinbee will go pay visits to said temple, and he can be found during various (mostly failing) stages of meditation. ]

«« armory »»
[ He might already have a katana that he holds dear and is skilled at using, but he at least has to check out this new building, right? Because he is a curious teenager, who can't resist.

And he's amazed at the amount of weapons that he sees. ]

Ooh! I have not seen this many weapons in one place before!

armory

[dangerous_dog]

It worries me.

[Bob agrees, with his statement. He doesn't expand more than that, touching his hands to one of the short sharp swords.

This many weapons in one place, with people feeling the way they have been, it worries him.]

Amos Kamiya | Open!

[amos_moses]

Dec. 28th: Lights: Amos had seen it when Rage's temple had first lit up, but he'd kept his distance from caution. But curiosity has killed more than cats, and Amos does indeed eventually give in and goes to see about this new light across the river. He noses about outside before actually crossing the threshold.

He's visited both Hope and Fear's temples by now, and it doesn't take him long before he retreats, heading back out to the river. He stops for a long moment on the bridge, staring down at the water with his lips thin and tight, his dark eyes pensive. Well. This is an interesting change, and his instincts are telling him to get hell out of Dodge.

Unfortunately, fleeing town on the next flight out is an impossibility.

He's got a very bad feeling about this.

Jan 3rd: Keep it Zen: Irritation and temper make Amos feel unsettled in his own skin. He doesn't like feeling wound up, itchy with the pressing rage, and caught without escape when his instincts have already told him to skip town. Amos doesn't like conflict. He prefers it when everything's easy, calm, when people get along. It feels unsafe right now, walking the half-abandoned streets and knowing how little it'll take to set off a temper: all his practise with pretty words and friendly smiles won't keep things as Zen as he likes.

Still, he'll try, wearing his easy smile and keeping his voice a little quiet than usual, soft and easy. All is well, all is calm. He's willing to try to break up any fights that haven't escalated into outright violence...

But he knows he probably won't be able to keep his cool if he gets hit. He just hopes he can keep himself in check and not kill anyone by accident. Or worse, on purpose.

Got another opener idea? hit me, baby.

[dangerous_dog]

As of January 3rd, Bob is trying the same thing. He would probably vanish inside entirely if Rocco didn't need to be walked periodically, but the puppy brings him out into the snowy roads, carefully avoiding both monster and man, since the other residents are just as dangerous around now.

He catches sight of Amos, and something about his posture suggests enough calm that Bob feels comfortable nodding, and moving towards him when Rocco pulls on the lead to come see.

[murderpotato]

Dec 30- Jan 2nd

[Clearly, what a ragemonster like Gren's always needed is for Rage to be the asshole of the month that shows up around here. It's not like he doesn't already have a problem with anger management or anything, or that he's stupidly strong and in close proximity to a whole bunch of people who can't take the kind of beating that Fables can.]

[It also doesn't help that he hasn't had really anything to drink in way too long. Alcohol is his good friend and he misses it dearly.]

[He recognizes a recipe for disaster when he sees it brewing right in front of him, though. But he can't just shut himself inside his apartment and try to ride it out; not if he still wants to, like, eat. So he goes out at odd hours when he can to pick through the stores, to minimize contact with the population. If only his carrying capacity wasn't such shit because of his missing arm; than he wouldn't have to make so many trips.]

[Or drop a whole bunch of shit, like he just did.]

Fuckin' son of a bitch.

[He'd tried to tie some fabric at the four corners to make sort of a sling bag to put over his shoulder, but it'd come untied and now his feet and the ground around him are covered in shit he was going to eat at some point. And there had been eggs in there, too, and now they're on his shoes instead, and have you ever tried to get yolk off of leather? Fuckin' nightmare.]

Jan 4th

[There's an armory in town. Gren doesn't have a hell of a lot of use for weapons, since he can generally just deal with whatever comes after him with his bare hand, but a gun or something might be useful around here. Just in case.]

[He doesn't expect to see a freaking historical collection when he goes in, though.]

The fuck is this shit?

[It's not that he doesn't recognize the stuff, or even not know how to use it, it's just that he's not planning on running around like fucking King Arthur or some shit. Plus? Not real big on swords.]

[There's one, though, hanging on a rack with a few others, that looks like something he remembers. A long time ago, his mother used to keep a sword on the wall of her home that looked like that one; she'd always told him that it was enchanted to be able to cut through anything. It had cut through her neck well enough, so he supposes it might have been true.]

[This probably wasn't that sword, not really, but it looked like it and that was close enough for Gren. It should have been his by birthright, or whatever the fuck humans reckoned these things with.]

[He picks it up and holds it; it looks sharp, and even the light that reflects off of it seems sharp too.]

[He kind of wants to break it.]

[It's an armory, maybe there's an anvil nearby that he can just beat it off of until it shatters. He's strong and steel is only steel, and he doubts that there's any enchantment to keep the blade whole. The hilt might be harder to deal with, but where there's a will, there's a way. And he has plenty of will.]

[But he kind of wants to keep it, too.]

[whichend]

[ Rage has made Arya restless, and when she's not attempting to train the anger away, she scavengers. She might as well make herself useful, after all. She goes out late at night, because sleep is a lost cause most nights anyway, and when it isn't her dreams are bloody and disgusting, and she just wakes up angrier.

The lack of sleep isn't helping the anger either, so really, she's just caught in a irritated kind of vicious cycle. ]

Shut up. You swear too loud.

[ She hisses at the other man. He's going to attract something nasty, she just knows it. Hadriel is full of monsters, and clearly, this man is too stupid to know how to deal with them. People like him put everyone else's lives at risk, and right now, Arya doesn't have the patience for it. ]

the Alcohol Demon | Open + 1 closed to Nick

[notjustinthemirror]

January 2 | The Streets of Hadriel | OPEN
[The Demon is always pissy and all his fights so far have ended terribly, he either got horribly injured, or they got broken up and so far all he's killed are some bears and yeti's and various monsters. Which is somewhat unfullfilling. He's used to a steady diet of insane crackheads. Not that he's normally fighting them, but Ethan is and he gets to watch and that's almost the same thing.

But now there's people here he's supposed to get along with? Stuff he's supposed to do? Be a helpful member of society?

Well fuck that.

Holding a baseball bat in one hand he douses it with alcohol and then sets that shit on fire. It catches part of his arm on fire too but who cares, he's got better things to do. Mainly bash in the face of the first person he finds with fiery death.]

((OOC:The Demon has powers. Lots of them and he does not fight fair. See his powers here but mainly he can teleport, has telekinesis and can summon endless baseball bats. ))

January 4 | Armory | Open

[The Demon has broken a lot of shit. If he didn't have an endless supply of alcohol and baseball bats he'd have been pummeling buildings down with his bare hands to get at the rebar inside. Assuming these things are even made of concrete, he has no idea.

He's leaving a trail of fire and broken bottles in his wake, along with chunks of buildings and shit he's kicked over. If the city was much smaller there wouldn't be much left.

Currently he's headed for the new building near the ominous red light. Might as well see what it is before he douses it in alcohol and tries to set it on fire. It's probably best he's stopped before he trades in the baseball bat for something sharp and pointy.]

January 5 | CLOSED to Nick bekommen

[It's been the best few days the Demon has had in a really long time. If he had the capacity to be happy he'd be fucking overjoyed right now. But instead he's still cranky as all hell. He wants to kill something, wants to stain the snow with blood and tar.

There's plenty of people he hasn't fought yet. In fact there's ones he hasn't even seen before. Like this one.

He's not even trying to be stealthy, throwing a bottle at Nick's head to get her to turn around. He wants to fight afterall, not just run up and take someone by surprise.]

beautiful <3

[bekommen]

[Nick's had her share of aggressively bad days - hell, every day since she's been here falls somewhere on that scale. You'd think surviving the blizzard that had her convinced she'd die of hypothermia would leave her feeling elated, put a spring in her step and a smile on her face, but no. No, Nick has been increasingly irritated and angry, a powder keg set dangerously close to an open flame. She hasn't felt this ready to throw punches at anyone who so much as looks at her the wrong way since she met first met Kennedy, and that was hate at first sight.

Working in a bar comes with its share of hazards, and the occasional bottle being flung at her is one of them. So this isn't the first time she's felt glass impact on her skull, but it's still unpleasant, to put it mildly.

Except there's nothing mild about Nick on a good day, and this? This is not a good day. She spins around to glare murder behind her at whoever had the fucking nerve to throw that at her.]

What the actual fuck, you asshole!

[miscreant]

Fear's Temple (early event)

[The dark and foreboding nature of Fear's temple feels more like home than most other areas of the new world she found herself in. She spends most of her idle time there when she isn't exploring, whether it was on foot or horseback.

Fear was a curious beast, she's found. He was willing to converse with her, which was meritable enough in its own right. Surely staying in the good side of a god could only real benefits, and the majority of people she had come in contact with wanted nothing to do with them.

An advantage. For once.

Most of her time is spent near Fear's temple as a result, sharpening her blades, pacing, of weaving ice in idle boredom. But as time passes, she takes to people watching. Her dreadplate makes her look more like a stone gargoyle than an animate creature, and her gaze doesn't flinch when she happens to lock eyes with another person.

And if the person in the other end holds her gaze for longer than a minute, she will dip her chin and make an inviting gesture with one black and rotting finger.]


Everywhere else (later -- violence guaranteed)

[The arrival of rage coaxes her hunger. In reality, its not a difficult thing to do. Death Knights were agents of the Scourge's rage and might, and Seviilia is naturally an easy person to anger and frustrate. Havoc does not accompany her these days -- she twitches too much, her head hurts, and her blood roars with the need to strike something. To kill.

A cloud of frost precedes her appearance, rolling from her face not unlike a dragon's smoke. Her stare is focused and very clearly hungry, fingers wound tightly over her axes as she searches for a target. She just has to hit something, make them bleed, make them scream--

To an outsider, she looks like a hound on the hunt, suddenly turning this way and that whenever she is pinged by a heartbeat or a sharp inhale of fear. Rotting ears twitch, and eventually she might post herself against a wall to try and close her eyes to focus.

Maybe you shouldn't approach her.]

i chickened out were doing the first one

[cowed]

[ it's been years, but merodach still gets a brief chill anytime he locks eyes with the dead, even the familiar ones. her invitation is what makes him uncomfortable enough to break eye contact, though. his ears flick back and he wavers in place, weighing his options. not that there's any point in an extended deliberation, really-- the decision was made as soon as he saw her at all.

head bowed, he slinks nearer, taking care to stay out of immediate arm's reach. just in case. ] Your new home? Seems-- fitting.

lloyd irving | open

[fervence]

jan 03; out and about

[lloyd isn't completely oblivious, whatever people might think of him (or more so, it's a very selective sort of obliviousness that seems to settle mostly around books and dating, and the rest of it is just exorbitant willfulness really) and it takes him less than a day to figure out something is wrong and even work out roughly what the cause could be.

he honestly would have preferred figuring things out before he started yelling at zelos about things he had already decided to wait for zelos to be comfortable bringing up himself but.

this feeling, it was strange. almost like when someone he was fighting cast a confusion spell, only... different. he had never felt particularly angry when he was forced to attack his friends, at least not until he had managed to wrest control back again, and aside from mostly managing to tamp down on the urge to throw soft things like pillows at zelos or go track down a monster to punch in the face a couple dozen times, he wasn't feeling any real drive to attack people now.

hope had mentioned someone named rage, and the fact that he couldn't seem to calm down right now seemed easy enough to blame on them. he really didn't like feeling in control of himself, and if everyone else in the city was experiencing even half the effects that lloyd was, he was sure that nobody else was especially happy right now either. and he didn't know how to help them, didn't know enough, and that frustrated him more than anything else right now.

he works himself up into such a tizzy thinking about the whole thing, that the first person he comes across while walking around outside is treated almost instantly to a rather fervent look from lloyd before being rushed at and...

hugged?]

jan 04; fear's temple

[lloyd had more or less ignored the temples up until now because he was still trying to work out exactly how he felt about these people claiming to be gods. temples could be dangerous things if you didn't know what you were getting into with them.

he still doesn't know much about them now, aside from the fact that he doesn't think he likes them all that much but he's honestly started to exhaust himself with being constantly riled up, and by the third days he's noticed that moving further away from the new temple and closer to one of the old ones seems to limit the effects of whatever it is that's making him feel like this. it isn't really a decision that makes him choose fear's temple over hopes, aside from perhaps some sort of subconscious reaction to the fact that he's actually had a conversation with the fear guy where he... actually seemed to listen to lloyd a little bit?

a few small hairs stand up on the back of lloyd's neck when he first steps into the temple, and it feels almost like the static electricity that had been thrumming through him consistently in volt's temple, only colder. mostly though, he just notices the way the anger and frustration seems to melt from his mind, from his shoulders, until he's leaning back against one wall with a sigh and rubbing at him temples with a gloved hand.

he only takes a moment, a handful of breaths to steady himself and make sure the rage is really and truly gone, before he's back off of the wall and nosing curiously around the temple, seemingly unaffected by the temple's own particular aura.

lloyd's never really had a problem with fear anyway.]

jan 3

[64th]

[ Cashmere's not happy. no one can really be happy with rage rolling across the city. but she does feel more settled, safer, even more powerful. rage kept her alive in the arena and when she's had nothing else to keep her going, it's been her anger that's carried her. the feeling's familiar, and she's glad for it even if she can't quiet name why she feels so angry.

well, until now.

the surprise hug is not welcome, and Cashmere screams loudly to voice her displeasure. really loudly. it's kind of impressively loud. if that doesn't get the point across, her swift movement to wriggle out of the hug will. ]

Do that again and you'll be on the ground.