hadriel_logs | Event Log: Dead Ringers

Entry tags:

Event Log: Dead Ringers

Who: Everyone participating in the event!
What: The event log for the Dead Ringers event!
Where: All around the city
When: January 16th-January 25th
Warnings: Evil doubles, so we can assume manipulation, violence, murder, and maybe some nasty words

Everything seems normal on the morning of the 16th - actually, everything seems normal about the city for the entirety of this event. Nothing is strange, nothing is obviously wrong. Well, except that the population has mysteriously doubled, and the new residents each look exactly like one of the old residents. So weird! Definitely not ominous at all.

At least until your new double gets down to business. After all, their only goal is to ruin your life, and that can take any form. Smashing your favorite coffee cup? Telling your worst enemy they're right? Kissing someone else in front of your girlfriend? Brutally murdering you and then hiding your body in a closet so they can more effectively destroy your life? The possibilities are truly endless, and the only way to protect yourself is to kill your double first. They're not really open to negotiation, after all - but they sure might pretend to be in order to trick you.

So watch your back, and try to make sure that really is your best friend and not an evil clone masquerading as them. Boy, that would be awkward. If you can stick it out until January 25th, good for you! But if you didn't manage to and your double survives until the end - well, just as a final 'fuck you', there's a chance you'll come back to life and remember every awful thing your double did. Hey, at least that'll make it easier to fix, right?

► This log covers January 16th-January 25th.
► 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 your evil clone happens to take you out, please let us know here, and remember that you will not revive until the event is over.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It's not so much of what you've done," the double says, averting his eyes with feigned shame, "as what you are."

He sighs, sidling past the alien to his room to gather some of his things. He'll dump them into the river later, or perhaps light them on fire. That'll warm them up after their time in the frosty apartment.

"Remember what you said to me? About Emily's party and how others might view the company she keeps?"

And just like that, those bubbling fears reach a roiling boil, burning the alien painfully in his chest. His breath comes in short--a sharp, pained gasp is all that filters into his gills before they catch and tuck inward against his neck--and his expression crumbles a little further.

"Y-yes, but you said... you told me..." Makers, he can't talk, he can barely even think against the thudding in his chest, so tight and painful it feels like it's going to smash his ribs apart. He's never felt this way before. Why is he feeling this? Why does the measure of this lone, singular human matter so much when he'd always been perfectly content to operate on his own before?

He can't focus on that--it hurts too much, and he can't make heads or tails of it. All he can hope to do is to get to the bottom of this, to try and salvage something that feels like it's breaking into countless pieces in his hands. "... You told me those fears were... unfounded. You've always told me that. So... what... changed?"

"You saw the way people looked at us, didn't you?" he cuts back as he opens the door, a bit sharper in tone. The rabbit makes his way out of the room, and the false Carlisle gives it an equal look of disgust.

Carlisle's room is kept relatively neat: bottles of ink on the shelves, another jar on the desk where his papers are, various plants lining every corner. Knowing he can't carry everything in one load, the double attempts to asses what would be the most damaging thing to go. The journals, definitely. "As it turns out, my advice to you was misguided. People now believe that there's more to the two of us than just friendship."

And by 'people,' he means 'Emily,' but close enough.

Edited 2017-01-17 03:27 (UTC)

"W-well, yes, but I--wait." That remark is at least shocking enough to confound the alien, which is a much less damaging emotion than the unidentifiable pain he'd been feeling before. It's still present, of course, but less overwhelming now that this new distraction has cropped up. "What?? 'More'? That doesn't make any sense, how can there be more, it--it's not quantifiable in that manner..."

Just because his confusion is less hurtful doesn't mean it's easy to work through; there's only one other meaning Glacius can come up with, but... surely that's not what is friend is referring to, correct? They were close, of course, that's not surprising after everything they've been through together... but surely no human, onlooker or otherwise... would view him in such a way?

"Yes, Glacius," the double barks, irritation rising in him as he fights to urge to just stuff the notes carelessly into a bag. He has to make this look at least a little believable. "More."

The rabbit meanders back into the bedroom and clambers his way onto the bed to pick at some of the coiler on the nightstand. Wondering if Armand would drink an animal's blood, the double keeps moving, tossing some of his original's journals into a box to take with him.

"And that's preposterous," he continues once he's got enough, hefting the box and taking it into the den with him to start getting some plants. "I may be grateful for your help, but I'll not have people believing something like you could you possibly have that much meaning to a human like me. It's disgusting."

The ice alien flinches back as Carlisle snaps at him, but the words that follow are even worse still. The man speaks of doubts and worries that Glacius has always had about himself, except now instead of that voice staving them off it is reinforcing them--driving them home like a hot spike cracking apart his icy armor. Not even treating him like a person or even a sentient creature, but calling him a thing--steadily stripping him of the value that he'd felt had been building up in the clergyman's eyes.

What was it he had said before? He shouldn't worry about other humans when he has the finest one staunchly at his side? What does that mean for him, now that same human is forsaking him?

Shaking, Glacius hangs his head, feeling a sort of devastation the likes of which he has never experienced before. He doesn't know what to say--what can one say, when a close friendship that you've been building up for months has been torn out form underneath you and your worth is being devalued? He can't get his footing. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't know... I was just trying to be a good friend to you, Carlisle. I only wanted you to be happy..."

But it seems he's failed in that, too, just like he's failed so many other people that are important to him in this cave. Perhaps this is what he deserves.

He lets out a sigh, the kind of long-suffering one Carlisle has often. "Don't be so dramatic, Glacius. I'm never happy, but I'll be far closer to it once people stop getting the wrong impression about us."

He tosses his box on the couch, collecting a few of his knickknacks and setting them inside. "I must have been delusional when I said such things. You're not a monster, no, but you certainly look enough like one that people will talk. And you know what I've had plenty of? People talking."

"You--you were, though," Glacius attempts to fight, not wanting to give up yet despite the despair he can feel threatening to drag him down once and for all. "Happy, I mean. You told me, and I saw it in your face and in your eyes, and I know--what we felt was real. I don't know what it was, Carlisle, and maybe I've been slow in figuring it out... but I do know that much."

"Then perhaps you're as delusional as I was," the double replies flatly, tossing a bottle that looks a bit like a bird into the box. It clinks loudly against a jar in there, cracking, and the double lets out another sigh.

"Fantastic. Now I've broken something in my haste to get out of here."

He beelines for the box and picks up the cracked bottle, scrutinizing it before turning to the icy alien, his eyes narrowing with derision. "I'll have you know I gave this to someone who is now gone from this place. She, much like you, didn't understand my need for solitude. What kind of friend forces another one to stay out on some godforsaken beach? To swim in some water where who knows what is living in it?"

He holds the jar up, thrusting it in Glacius' direction in an accusatory manner. "I wanted to go home, you preferred the illusion conjured up by the deities who would hold you here."

The ice alien frowns again, whatever scraps of resolved he was scrounging for beginning to fall apart as he crumbles over the double's constant stream of abuse. Now not only is his perception of himself being horrendously damaged, but memories that he cherished and turned to for comfort in times of difficulty are being tarnished.

"I'm--I'm sorry. I just wanted so badly to be with you... and I thought that despite your fears, you wanted to spend time with me, too. You put forth such an effort on my behalf after all--and I was so sure that you could overcome the things you were afraid of! I believed in you..." Glacius attempts to rationalize things, but ends up hanging his head again. "But you... did tell me at the beginning, when you first called me, that you were planning on heading back. I... I never should have pushed you. I'm sorry... but please... don't do this. I... you've been here for me for so long now, Carlisle."

"So long?" the double questions, his nose wrinkling. "I only moved in a month ago. Desth, have you always been like this? Did I just not see how weak you are before?"

He shakes his head, turning away from the alien. "I should have come to my senses sooner, but I let my fears dominate me. I thought you could protect me. I have led myself astray, clearly." Into the kitchen he goes to find whichever mug he deems as his counterpart's favorite. Maybe he'll turn the oven on full blast when he leaves, just to warm the place up.

"I don't know why it took me so long to realize all this," he continues prattling on to himself. "I guess my mind was clouded, living in this place, but now I'm starting to wonder what else it is you've been keeping from me, what you've kept me from. Was it on purpose? Did you hope to trap me here? Were you that desperate for companionship?"

And as he prattles on, filling the silence with words as damning as he can muster, Glacius' phone buzzes.

Edited 2017-01-17 05:17 (UTC)

"Relying on someone doesn't make you weak," Glacius attempts to rally, trying to bolster himself with words he'd shared with Carlisle himself in the past... but under the full brunt of those scathing remarks, his voice falters and breaks. He can't even properly respond to the accusations, a few weak protests and promises that he only meant the best for the clergyman crawling from his gills...

... And then he hears his phone buzz. The ice alien flinches and reaches to shut the device off, not only because he certainly doesn't feel like talking to anyone now, but because he doesn't want to risk further angering his friend--no, make that former friend now, Carlisle has made that quite clear--with the interruption. Holding the phone in one big hand, he prepares to hit the power... but as he lifts it he reads the number, and he realizes it's one he knows.

It's Carlisle's. How is that..?

Suddenly realizing that something is amiss, remembering a warning that had struggled from a bloodied Maketh's throat, Glacius hefts the phone to the slight depression in the side of his skull where his ear lays... and then, regarding the man in the room with him with wide eyes, answers the call.

"H...hello?"

From the other end of the line comes a shaky gasp, and then:

"G- Glacius..." It is indeed Carlisle's voice, one choked and desperate, but very much his own. He stifles a cough, but the fact that something comes up is audible even through the phone. "Th- there is a m- man who looks like me, Glacius," he rasps, holding back his initial urge to ask if the alien is all right. He has bigger things to worry about at the moment, namely:

a. that he has shears stuck in him
b. the fact he might have lodged said shears even further in when he, unable to handle the descent from the roof when in excruciating pain, collapsed down the stairs
c. the bloody trail he left leading to, at the bottom of, and wandering away from the aforementioned stairs
d. the part where he is keeping himself alive on magic and willpower alone
e. the shears

He cycles his own energy through himself, desperate to keep his body working until he can get the tool removed from his back; however, there's only so much he can do with the blades still impaling him. He hisses, continuing quietly: "He said he was coming for you. He- he looks like me."

He already established that, but he has a lot of distractions. His double has distractions of his own.

"Relying on people doesn't make me weak," he corrects as he finally decides to just take both mugs and leave the pieces for his counterpart to find when he is resurrected. No cursed abomination like the original Carlisle deserves anything nice, not even a coffee mug. "But you? You are a warrior, albeit one with a few failures under his proverbial belt. You tried to tell me, and I'll admit that I didn't listen, so that's on me."

The pain and fright comes through Carlisle's voice clear as day, and Glacius feel his already battered hearts clench up as he is struck by the notion that something is very wrong. He has countless questions of his own--how can he be sure that the man talking to him over the phone isn't the double? What if this is some sort of trap? Does he really feel that way about him? What if he comes to this Carlisle's aid only to be abandoned all over again? -- but everything gets tamped down because the way the clergyman over the communications device is speaking to him and still trying to help him despite his own pain is familiar, while the way the one standing before him is not.

He has to act quickly, not only because the person who used to be one of his closest friends could be in danger, but because he doesn't want to give this double a chance to realize that his cover has been effectively blown.

"Carlisle and I are... having some trouble... but I will be there shortly," Glacius responds, unable to keep the waver from his voice, but wanting the real Carlisle to know that his warning has been received without alerting his double that he's been found out. "He appears to be on his way out. Just give me one moment and do not hang up." He places the communications device on an end table, then turns to face the other clergyman, hanging his head despondently--and he's still hurt enough over what has been said that it's not an act--as he approaches.

"Very well, then. No more groveling. Your decision has been made... but let me at least see you off."

And with that he closes the distance, snatches the double up by the front of his tabard and shirt, and slams him with considerable force against a nearby wall.

The panic that picks up in the Carlisle on the other end of the phone is absolutely audible. "He's there, isn't he? Glacius, no! No no no c- come back! Co—"

He's cut off as he starts hacking, gasping painfully for air. Though the double can't hear what's going on, he does eye Glacius as the alien sets down the phone. There's a flash of suspicion that crosses him, but he shrugs it off easily enough, sure that the original clergyman couldn't have been rescued so quickly. And he certainly didn't reach his own phone to make a call -- if there is anyone who knows just how frail and easily defeated Carlisle is, it's his copy.

But his double is blinded by that arrogance, and doesn't take into account that he is a twin of a man with a long line of failures to his name, including "didn't die when he was supposed to." That is the reason he's cursed, after all.

Though a little wary of the alien as he approaches, the double decides to rub salt in the wounds he's opened and grace Glacius' scarred face with a hand as he gets close, a slight perversion of the gesture of solidarity his original has so often shared with the icy giant. He doesn't get the chance: rather than accepting his touch, the alien has a touch for him of his own, and it is not a gentle one. Though the twin may be calculating and fulll of malice for the original man, he is no sturdier than him -- the blow against the wall dazes him thoroughly, but his hands come up to wrap around the alien's wrist.

"W- what are you doing?!"

Edited 2017-01-17 16:22 (UTC)

Given that the double share's Carlisle's memories and past, he might find himself suddenly taken back to a moment he's been fearing for a long time now: pinned helplessly with a massive ice alien bristling before him, anger and betrayal having turned the otherworldly being against him. In that moment, Glacius' visage looks far too much like Algidus, those green eyes blazing with a cold rage... but that is not all there is. There's hurt, too, the double's words having left their mark just like they were intended to... it has wounded him so deeply to know that someone who seems so much like his friend in so many ways could think that about him.

His spirit is already wavering; he can't afford to listen to anything else the double has to say--and he still has to act quickly, lest the real Carlisle's condition worsen any further. The ice alien draws his free hand back, but it's not a razor-sharp lance or a serrated blade that forms. Despite everything that's been said, Glacius is still a gentle being, one marked by the lives he's had to take. He doesn't want to have to resort to that now, especially not against someone that still looks so much like the man that used to be his closest friend... he knows that any pain he causes here, he will see and remember each time he looks upon Carlisle's face.

So in the end the double is lucky enough to receive a mercy he does not deserve--though he's not going to be allowed to go freely, he is going to be left with his life intact. The alien's closed fist collides with forceful precision against his skull once to render him unconscious, then twice for good measure (and due to lingering anger)... then tosses the human to the side and finally collapses as the weight of the abusive words Carlise's doubled had liberally heaped upon him beats him to his hands and knees. Despair burns in his chest, hot and painful, threatening to incapacitate him... but the knowledge that the real clergyman still needs him pushes him forward. He fumbles for his communication device, picks it up in one fumbling hand.

"Carlisle. I need your location."

The double may have been full of lies, but the fear that crosses him just before Glacius knocks him out is absolutely authentic. As for the real Carlisle, he sounds relieved beyond measure when the alien returns to the phone.

"Glacius," he answers. His voice is hoarse, weaker than it was before, as though the comfort he feels from knowing his dear friend is safe sucked the fight out of him. "Thank the Clarity that he- he didn't—"

A choked sound escapes him, one laden with the torment he feels both physically and mentally. The shears impaling him are bad enough, but the thought the double might have compelled Glacius to hurt himself was a torture more than he could bear.

Glacius would have honestly preferred that--physical wounds were so much easier to cope with and recover from than emotional wounds, after all, and what he's just suffered in that regard is grievous indeed. Even now, little pangs of doubt rock against the inside of his aching ribcage; the concern that Carlisle expresses for him should be a comfort, and yet he can't help but wonder if he's only expressing such because he didn't know who else to call to come to his aid...

"Your location," Glacius replies again, not wanting Carisle to pass out before he can gain this vital bit of information. Despite everything, he's still powerfully concerned for the clergyman's wellbeing, and doesn't want him to suffer any more than he already has... even as the double's words still resonate painfully in his mind. "Shall I come for you, or send one of your fellow humans instead?"

There's another strangled noise, something between a sob and a cough; it's wet, painful, and leaves him even quieter than before.

"My- my garden," he finally answers, his voice shaking from both the agony and a sudden cold that washes over him. "Please be- be c- careful, my f- friend."

The garden--of course. Glacius doesn't respond, still feeling too torn up and conflicted to know what to say--he wants to offer reassurances but no longer knows how the clergyman will take those--but instead rises to his feet and goes to snag up the double's prone form in one big white hand. There's no way the alien is leaving him in the apartment to continue wreaking havoc, and he certainly doesn't want him lurking about when he comes back. He takes the keys, locks the door to ensure that the double will stay out, then drags him unceremoniously down the stairs by the long collar of his undershirt--not particularly caring that the troublemaker will be feeling each and every bump when he wakes up--and leaves him outside the spire as he heads on his way to the garden. He doesn't have the time to deal with him any more thoroughly than that, given how precarious the real Carlisle's state had sounded... hopefully the beating he took will be enough to discourage him from coming after either of them again.

From there he picks up the pace. Always a slow and steady creature, Glacius only tends to run when things really feel like they're going to hell--and the absolute agony and fright in Carlisle's voice qualified. His feet pound against the beaten street as he dashes for the clergyman's storetop garden, terrified of what he might come across... and as he spots the human's listless body and the considerable trails of blood he's left everywhere, he realizes his worry was completely founded. The sight stops him up short, steals his breath and clutches tightly at his chest... and then concern thunders through him, powerful enough to beat out whatever conflicting emotions he may be feeling and push him towards the fallen human.

"Carlisle!" Glacius calls out, praying he's still conscious as he collapses to his knees by his friend. His mind is racing, trying to figure out what can be done. Despite everything that he's just endured, and no matter what Carlisle may or may no longer feel for him, the fact of the matter is that Glacius still cares deeply for the clergyman and isn't about to leave him to suffer. If he gets spurned for the open concern he's displaying or his efforts to remain by the human's side, then so be it. They can go their separate ways later when he's not bleeding out slowly and painfully.

The double may have taken a far more brutal beating, but it's the real Carlisle who looks like death warmed over by the time Glacius reaches him. He's lying in a crumpled heap around one corner of the building, a trail of blood leading all the way from the door to where he collapsed; his phone is nearby, the screen cracked from the impact when it hit the ground, red and black fingerprints all over it from his outstretched hand. As for Carlisle himself, his skin is even more colorless than usual, save for what's covered in his own blood and ink, both of which have obviously been pouring from his mouth and pooling beneath him. Protruding from his back are the handles to the shears, the point of the long blades pushing against the skin of his chest from the inside out.

The clergyman barely stirs as Glacius calls out to him, his chest rattling with every breath, what strength he had having been sapped away from the journey to the street and the wait for his savior to arrive. He's muttering something, but Glacius might not be able to discern what it is he's saying until he leans closer: "Pull it out."

"If I do--" Glacius begins, finding his words catching in his throat again as he takes in all the grisly details around him. Up close, Carlisle looks even worse, his body beginning to curl up defeatedly, his skin drained of its already slight color. His gills flutter and he forces himself to continue on. "--Can you heal the wound? Otherwise I must leave them in until I can take you somewhere to be stabilized, so as not to cause any greater blood loss." He's already clearly had more than enough of that as is.

He repeats himself, his hand curling on the pavement, his fingers stained from the ink seeping beneath his nails. His entire body trembles as he struggles to put emphasis on his decision. "Pull. It. Out."

Carlisle isn't worried about the blood loss so much as the energy he's expending, which is getting worse the more his body tries to give up on him. The shears in his back prevent him from fully healing himself -- his energy hits the foreign object and balks back the way it does against a construct or a golem limb. He can't keep himself alive forever; his double knew that well, even if he did misjudge his counterpart's tenacity. Desperation can push a man to his limits, and when it came to keeping Glacius safe from someone who looked like him, and presumably compel people in the same way, Carlisle was definitely desperate.

Glacius growls with indecision--this would be much easier if he actually understood what was happening to Carlisle right now. He doesn't realize that the man's energy is constantly cycling, he just assumes that it can't properly flow until the foreign object has been removed... but if it can't flow to begin with thanks to his waning strength, then he'll have created an open wound in the man's back for nothing. He has to trust the clergyman on this one... but trust is not exactly something he's feeling for the human as freely as he used to. Instead, the sharp tone reminds him too much of the one his double had taken, and the alien's face tightens unhappily.

"I hope you know what you are doing," the ice alien rumbles... and with that his hand grasps the shears and effortlessly yanks them clean from Carlisle's flesh.

The blades come out easily with Glacius' strength pulling against them. Carlisle cries out in anguish, his face contorting from the pain that rips through him as the shears are removed, but surely enough, he did know what he was doing: after a few seconds, the wound in his back mends itself, flesh coming together like fibers knitted into a piece of cloth. Despite the fact that he is healed, he continues to writhe on the ground, his chest heaving as he takes in a few labored breaths.

"Thank- thank you," he manages finally, trying to push himself off the ground as more ink trails from the corners of his mouth. It coats the side of his face and glasses from where he was lying in the puddle, trails down onto his bloodied tabard -- he wipes at it with his hand, his entire body trembling, eyes struggling to focus on the face of his friend.

Edited 2017-01-18 02:05 (UTC)

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Coughing up nasty fluid? Yep that's Carlisle

You can tell he's the real one because he's probably crying over there.

CHILD NO it's gonna be okay... eventually.....

Glacius, baby. ;^;

He's got too many feelings right now, none of them good!

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