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

"This is not fine, Carlisle--you are in pain, you can barely move!" Glacius rumbles out, absolutely not buying into the clergyman's attempts to downplay his condition for once. The otherworldly being is about to ask him for an actual explanation of what is wrong when he turns his face--still streaked in blood and ink--to face him, the alien finds himself taken aback that somehow, despite his injuries and his exhaustion, he's the one that the human is concerned over.

It's enough that Glacius feels himself blush the tiniest bit as he looks down at his bare hands. "Y-yes. It has to be this way for me to continue treatment. Plus, you already have a hard enough time staying warm as is... I did not want to worsen your discomfort..."

Edited 2017-01-19 20:57 (UTC)

Aware he should trust Glacius knows what he's doing, Carlisle nods, a sigh rattling through him. "Just be careful, please. I... worry about you. About burdening you. About- about losing you." And he doesn't want to lose Glacius any more than the alien wants to lose him.

He relaxes once more as best as he can. He'd suggest that a shower would be far easier, but he's not sure he could manage standing on his own for long enough to take one. Some enchanted tea would help stave off the stiffness of his limbs, but he expects he'll need at least a day of rest to recover from what he's been through. It might be even longer before Glacius recovers from his ordeal... if he recovers at all.

Carlisle's eyes close again as he bites back frustration, Glacius' trust in him so obviously hindered by what the double had said. He can't say he blames Glacius for his doubt -- the alien has been through so much, been betrayed by his kind before. Carlisle can't say he'd trust himself, either. Who would trust a twice-cursed, those who bring misfortune upon everyone they meet?

That extends to other worlds as well, it seems. He tries not to give in to his paranoia, but he's so sure that this friendship will one day end, possibly messily.

Both of them are afraid that their friendship may one day end, but Carlisle is helping more than he knows when he confesses his worries to the alien. Every since his clone had suggested they go their separate ways, Glacius had wondered how long it would be until his original shared those thoughts, if he wasn't having inklings already... to hear that his presence is still so important to the clergyman is... not only touching, but settling as well.

He draws the washcloth away--it's already been stained through with blood and needs to be rinsed, anyways--and then places his hand to his friend's shoulder once more. The contact feels novel all over again, given that he's never touched a human skin to the skin of his underbody before... the ice alien sighs in a contemplative manner, then turns his attention to Carlisle's face.

"I don't want to lose you, either... why do you think the double's words shook me as badly as they did?" Glacius asks, beginning to unconsciously run his hand over the clergyman's back again--the physical contact has become such a sign of solidarity and comfort that he's not even really thinking of it right now. "For so long now, you've been here with me in this cave, offering me kindness and understanding and support... if I lost that... if I lost you, I... I don't know what I would do." The alien pauses again, his hand stalling as he fights to find a better way to describe feelings that he's not sure he's ever felt before. Finding that words fail him, he goes with something succinct but meaningful, something that he figures the clergyman should probably hear.

"You're my closest friend too... you're important to me, greatly so. Thus, I will renew my promise to you: as long as you will have me, I will stay by your side, Carlisle. I could never forsake you, no matter what happens."

Physical contact is a strange thing for Carlisle: even before he was cursed, he more or less had an aversion to it, having never been the rough-and-tumble sort the rest of his family was. Once he started studying magic, he donned more layers so as not to accidentally expel magic when he ought not, to not release a channel into some unsuspecting person due to a lack of control on his part. Given how panic-stricken he can be, that seemed like a reasonable choice. After they discovered his affliction, he donned even more layers. The vestments of his order not only hide the mark of his curse, but act as a barrier between him and everyone else. Some would call them stifling, but to him, they are protection.

And so he doesn't shed them often, and almost never in front of others. Glacius is a rare exception to this rule. It had been out of necessity at first, as the alien would only allow him to examine his wounds if Carlisle would grant him the same courtesy. It is out of necessity now that so much of him is bare, as Glacius was right -- if they'd allowed the ink and blood to set in, the stains would never come out of the fabric.

And yet, he doesn't feel completely out of his element, doesn't feel unsafe to have so much of him exposed -- not with Glacius right there, checking on his wounds, shielding him, as always. The icy giant continues to be his stalwart protector, no matter how much Carlisle feels he doesn't deserve one. He offers Glacius a weak smile, absolutely grateful.

"I will try not... to disappoint you and force you to reconsider," he replies softly. "I... admit I worry sometimes" —a lot of the time— "that I will make a mistake with... this."

He's not entirely sure what this is, so he makes the barest of gestures with his hand, something vague that is supposed to encompass everything around them -- what they're doing, where they are, them.

"Perhaps if I'd been better at telling you such things, you'd... have had no reason to doubt me at all, or to believe the lies you were told by a creature wearing my face." Though there's another apology on his tongue, he holds it back.

Edited 2017-01-19 23:00 (UTC)

Physical contact is tricky for Glacius as well, given how nuanced it is in his culture. His people, being beings that liked their space, usually only initiated it in this manner when they were rather close--of course little touches of support or solidarity were fine, but the frequency and length of the contact that the ice alien and the human have come to share are a step beyond that now. Glacius and Carlisle have managed to jump right over that hurdle, given how often they had to see to each other's physical injuries... and that giving of themselves out of necessity, as Carlisle has viewed it, had helped the transition feel a bit more natural.

And then there's the contact he had initiated now, which involved his underbody... that was decidedly more intimate than even regular physical contact, and yet Glacius doesn't feel uncomfortable about it either--physically, yes, the exposure to the warm air around him hurts, but emotionally... he is doing what he needs to do to see to someone he cares about. He's glad to see that his attempts are paying off... he's fairly certain that grateful smile is the first positive expression he's seen to grace the clergyman's face tonight and it does a lot to refresh his hearts, to dull some of the pain he'd been feeling every since his double first laid into him.

"As long as you are trying, you could never disappoint me," the ice alien assures him, shifting a little closer. "And... I appreciate you... saying all this. I... I do not mean to seem weak, or needed, but I... I needed to hear it, after what happened." Glacius exhales quietly as he gets that admission out--it hadn't been easy, then looks into Carlisle's eyes again. "From here on out, if anyone attempts to undermine our friendship, I will believe in the strength of what we have forged. I... I won't do you the disservice of doubting you again."

Carlisle meets Glacius' eyes, relief washing over him once more. He'd first felt relief at his warning having reached Glacius before any physical harm came to him; after that came relief from the alien's rescue. Now, he feels relief that his double hasn't thoroughly ruined what they have, didn't manage to undo all their time together in a single day.

And as someone who has lived through that kind of occurrence once already, that degree of trust means more to Carlisle than he can express. He does try, though.

"You aren't weak," he starts, unknowingly a sharp contrast to his twin, "nor do you do me a disservice. After everything you've been through, you are still kinder to me than I deserve, even in light of... of what I have done, and what I have the potential to do. Even now, you- you grace me with something I know is not common for your people."

He flicks his eyes toward Glacius' hand, his muscles too worn and his joints too rigid for a full gesture. The close contact and all it entails has not gone unnoticed.

"It..." Color sears into him, so light along his cheekbones; it's vibrant against his pale hue, even more so than usual. "It means a lot to me, having your trust. I suppose that... that we all need to hear it sometimes, don't we? Actually say what- what we mean rather than hiding. I'm... better at hiding than, ah."

He loses his train of thought somewhere, his nose wrinkling as he tries to flex his fingers, feeling that wave of numbness creeping through him.

Edited 2017-01-20 02:56 (UTC)

Glacius can't help but flinch slightly as Carlisle provides that sharp contrast to his double that he so desperately needed to hear, the shock of relief he feels at the notion that the man doesn't look down on him for any of this enough to move him physically. It is also enough to finally elicit a familiar expression from the alien: a tentative but fond grin seems to finally lift his features, which had been weighed down by sorrow and hurt for so long now. "Yes, I suppose we do. So I will do my best to remind you often that you are valued and cared for, and..."

The otherworldly being trails off at the same time that the clergyman does, watching him try to flex his fingers, taking note of the way his expression tightens. That's right--wasn't he having difficulty with his hands before? Glacius gives a soft warble, moving one of his own down to touch his fingertips to the back of the human's. "Carlisle... what is wrong? Are you experiencing pain again? There's ink here, too..." Which he can't recall if he's ever seen before--coming up out of his mouth, yes, but seeing it well up from underneath his fingertips is new and alarming.

"It happens... sometimes," Carlisle utters, unease in his voice. "More and more these days." Ink seeping from under his fingernails is more of a rarity, a surefire sign he has overdone it. He tries to explain so as not to worry Glacius further. "After expending a lot of energy, I feel... not just exhausted, but- but frozen. Pe- petrified for a time. Stiffened, like..."

Like a corpse. That thought has always made him nervous, especially given his perception of the undead, some of Armand's comments toward him, and of course, the old superstitions about the twice-cursed.

"I- I need only rest," he assures the alien. "It's more of- of an inconvenience than anything, trust me."

Glacius listens intently, that familiar sorrow for his friend's condition gnawing away at his hearts again. This doesn't sound good at all... and it explains just how listless Carlisle has been looking this past hour or so. His intact mandible clicks--the motion of the ruined bone causes him to flinch, as always, but he doesn't let it break his concentration as he tries to think of what can be done to aid the clergyman.

"Rest. Right. Alright. You just... lay here, and try to do that, and I'll be right back," the alien tells him. He resists the urge to bump his forehead against Calrise's in a bid of comfort, too aware of the suffering he's enduring to move him even the littlest bit. Instead he rises, plucking up the clergyman's clothing so that he can set it to soak in cold water as he gets to work on that pain-relieving brew he was taught how to enchant not all that long ago. Depending on whether or not he manages to stay conscious, Carlisle can probably hear him moving things around in the kitchen, setting up the kettle to boil some water and procuring some papers on which to draw the proper glyph. He's actually drawn one a long time ago that he never activated, which he'd been using more as reference in his studies... it makes it easier to scrawl the magical instructions quickly, and given the urgency he's feeling to provide care to the listless human, that's something he needs right now. That same urgency also means that he allows his energies to flow more freely into the glyph, unaware of how even his regulated levels had affected the human.

When everything is all done, the towering ice alien returns to sit on the floor by the couch where Carlisle is laying. Just in case he has managed to fall asleep, Glacius reaches out with one hand and shakes him very gently. "Here. I brought you your tea to drink." There's a brief pause, then the ice alien seems to remember that he can't just absorb fluids... and being horizontal seems like it would make it much easier to ingest anything. "...Do you... require my assistance to sit up?"

Happy to just lie there a moment while Glacius wanders off, Carlisle closes his eyes again, trying to relax and focus on what energy he has running through him. One advantage to being so attuned with the flow of magic through his own body is he can tell just where injuries still lie, and redistribute his energy accordingly. He is indeed still bruised where the shears had gone into his back, but that will heal on its own -- more worrying is that stiffness in his limbs, about which his magic can do nothing. Using any more would actually exacerbate his condition.

But Glacius has a plan, one he can hear from the couch. He doesn't need to sit up to know the alien is in the kitchen somewhere, and he privately hopes Glacius might be making him tea. He'd have suggested it himself if he weren't so busy considering how much of a burden he is at the moment, troubling his alien friend with carrying him home, tending to his wounds, and even cleaning him of blood and ink. To be fair, he did get stabbed with a pair of shears by a man who looks just like him. It's been quite a day for both of them.

He nods off for a moment, but the chill of his body keeps him from resting for too long -- it reminds him too much of his nightmares. Thankfully, Glacius returns only moments after he stirs, and he does indeed bring tea.

"Please," Carlisle hisses as he tries to sit up himself, only for his limbs to refuse to bend very far. He's back to trembling again, though it might be from the cold rather than his fatigue. He is missing most of his clothing, and is slightly more aware of it than he'd like.

Glacius nods wordlessly, carefully placing the mug on the ground with a good bit of space between it and himself so that he won't knock it over when he rises to his knees to assist Carlisle. He had to reform the ice around his hands to protect himself while he boiled the water and brewed the tea, so the clergyman is going to have to put up with a bit more cold as he is helped up... but the good news is that the ice alien fully intends to move him into his bed where there are blankets aplenty under which he can bury himself when he'd done cleaning up his friend and tending to what wounds remain.

Glacius nods once he's helped Carlisle into a sitting position, then regards him with some worry. It looked like it was so difficult for him to move, and he doesn't want him to have to expend even more energy on fine motor functions, nor does he want him to risk fumbling with hot ceramics. "Will you be able to handle the mug yourself...?"

He nods, doing his best to not shiver from the chill of Glacius' hand. He takes a deep breath to stifle the trembling in his limbs, and though he meets with limited success and bites back a grunt, he still offers his alien friend as much of a smile as he can muster.

"I- I would rather hold it, I believe," he says, leaning a little closer to Glacius despite the cold, the barest bit of warmth flaring in the depths of his chest. Though it makes his chest ache, he covets that feeling, even if he can't quite describe what it is or why it's there.

Edited 2017-01-20 06:08 (UTC)

Meanwhile, Glacius is unaware of any warm feelings he may be instilling in the human. Instead he focuses on the answer, which is completely expected, and nods agreement before moving to retrieve the still-warm mug. The good part is that he picked one with a decently wide handle, which should be easier for the clergyman to get a grip on despite his stiff hands (and everything else); the bad part is that there is only one of said handle, and the ice alien is not about to make him grip hot ceramics on top of all of the other physical pains he's suffered today.

So his great white hand grasps the side of the mug, his microweave immediately flashing and flowing quickly as it works harder to keep his skin from melting. He presents the handle to Carlisle, and when he speaks it's with a calm that he is not entirely feeling. "Take it, please--I do not want it to get too cold."

As always, focusing on his friend's comfort before his own.

As always, indeed. Carlisle notes the way Glacius' body reacts to the mug, and he takes it as quickly as he can, so concerned the icy giant is hurting himself on his behalf. After all, he still worries every time Glacius retracts his protective, frozen layer; to see his microweave reacting in such a way is alarming.

Wrapping one hand around the handle as best he can and placing the other one at the side of the mug, he drinks greedily at it rather than the careful sips he'd managed before, downing all of it in a matter of seconds.The temperature doesn't seem to deter him at all -- he'd rather deal with some initial burning that wait any longer, the rest of his body reaching a breaking point in terms of aching. He's delighted to find the effect kicks in a little earlier than it should -- any respite is good at this point.

... Or so he thinks now. The shaking in his hands slows, and he lets out a relieved sigh. "Good. Very good, actually. Thank you."

"Easy, Carlisle..." Glacius blinks at how quickly the clergyman drains the mug--he's seen him gripping at his stomach repeatedly today, and he's not sure how good of an idea it is to fill it so quickly with a very hot substance in spite of that. His friend, however, does not seem to suffer any extra distress--in fact he already seems to be relaxing, which also causes the alien to take a little bit of heart. His mandible clicks once, an anticipatory sort of mannerism.

"I am glad to hear that I am learning well. Now--" he reachs to his side for the bowl of warm, soapy water and another wash cloth, then leans back up towards the human, "--let me get the last of that blood and ink off of your body and face so you can finally go lie down."

"Yes, of... of course," he replies, his distraction apparent.

As much as Carlisle tries to focus on the task at hand, he finds it difficult with the immense heat spreading through him, easing away his aches, soothing what ails him in a far more effective manner than any tea he's ever made. Glacius must be a very good student. Or perhaps he's just better at drawing circles. Either way, the potency of his concoction is far stronger than Carlisle is used to, and while the part where he's no longer in intense, agonizing pain is good, the fact his head is starting to swim is not. The current is a force to be reckoned with.

He takes in a deep breath and holds still, but the hint of a smile appears on his face.

Unfortunately, Glacius does not know enough about how his energies interact with Carlisle's magic to realize that the human is in the process of flying high as a kite; that hint of a smile gets interpreted as simply an expression of relief from his persistent aches and pains, so the alien actually feels... rather accomplished. Retracting the ice from his hands again, he wets the washcloth and gets to work, scrubbing gently at everything that's caked onto the clergyman's face and neck before he sits back and rinses the bloodied fabric.

Next he tackles what blood and ink had soaked through Carlisle's garments to stain his skin, rubbing gentle circles over the man's chest. This would be much easier if the human could simply liquefy his outer skin to let everything run off, Glacius thinks, but he doesn't mind the extra work. In fact, it's actually... rather soothing, not only because having his hands on the clergyman's chest allows him to feel his unbothered breathing--much better than that hacking and coughing and choking from before--but also because he looks much better when he's not covered in blood and dirt. It's easier to believe that he's on his road to recovery...

"Let me know if anything hurts," the ice alien murmurs quietly, moving his hand slightly lower to continue working.

Edited 2017-01-20 20:59 (UTC)

Carlisle closes his eyes as Glacius works at washing away the blood and ink that coats him, his mind now far, far away from the thought of the shears in his back, or how they pushed against the skin of his chest from the inside, or how unsightly his hair is. While he knows he should be more embarrassed by the amount of skin he is showing, or with how visible those scars that run down his abdomen are, he can't find it in himself to care at that moment. Everything just ebbs away with the warmth emanating through his veins.

"That feels really good, actually," he mumbles himself as Glacius takes care of his wounds. He should do the same, shouldn't he? It's only right for him to make amends, his intoxicated mind says, trying to get onto a familiar track of thinking.

His limbs are still obviously stiff as he reaches forward to put his hands on Glacius' jaw, his fingers searching the alien's neck for that scar.

"Oh, well then, good. I don't think I w... what are you..?" Glacius trails off as Carlisle begins to move, his body clearly still stiff even if he might not be aching quite as fiercely any more. He doesn't stop the clergyman from reaching out to touch him, but his worry over the human's physical state does keep him from immediately tilting his head up to try and encourage the contact.

"Are you... are you sure that's alright? You still seem to be having a bit of trouble moving..."

"I feel fine, Glacius," Carlisle says drowsily. "Better than I've felt- maybe ever? I feel Just- just fantastic."

And despite the stiffness of his fingers, he keeps feeling at Glacius' jawline. "And- and we need to make sure your injuries get tended to, lest your- what if your scar opens and your face just... falls out of there? How can you do that- the, ah, where you butt against me if you don't have a skull in there?"

It made sense in Carlisle's head, presumably.

That is an... awfully positive reaction considering that he looked like he was about to keel over just a couple of minutes ago. Glacius squints at the clergyman, looking confused as to where this effusive outpouring is coming from... and that grows into absolute befuddlement as the human keeps prattling on.

"My--my injuries are fine, your double did not attempt any physical harm--" the ice alien tries to explain, but Carlisle keeps talking. "--What? That's not how it works... my skull can't just fall out, there are bones and muscles holding in place and... and... are you sure you are okay, Carlisle? You are, uhm. Not as... eloquent as you usually are." To put it kindly.

"I feel fine," he repeats. "I'm fine. I'm here."

A chuckle escapes him as he wonders if he's ever felt this good, or if he'll ever feel this good again. "I believe your tea did the- the trick? Yes, the trick. Except my fingers don't seem to be working?"

He asks that as though he's not sure, despite the smile plastered across his face.

His tea did this? Did he botch the channel somehow--or do it too well, perhaps? He's going to have to figure that one out later, because the clergyman has just dropped some highly alarming news--albeit rather casually. Glacius warbles in confusion and alarm, pulling his head out of Carlisle's grip and clasping his hands in his own--which are still completely bare of any ice-- as he attempts to look them over.

"Y-you didn't tell me this concoction could damage you some how!" the ice alien responds, concerned. The human's lack of lucidity is confounding, but the thought that he might have caused his hands some permanent damage takes precedence here.

"Ah, no no no no no no no, they're fine!" He laughs harder, his fingers curling just a hair. "There they go, bending. Just slow to do it, but they don't hurt anymore, and that's really the important part."

He pulls his eyes from his hands, dragging them to Glacius' face; they struggle to focus on the scar on the alien's jaw. "Oh, there it is. It looks good. Healed. Your- your face is looks good. We're all good here, aren't we?"

No, they are not good, but Glacius doesn't have even the slightest idea of how to handle this situation. He sits all the way up on his knees now, using the leverage to place his hands on the lanky clergyman's shoulders as he pushes him back against the couch cushions.

"You--sit back, rest. I need to finish getting all of this blood off of you, and then you are getting in that bed and sleeping this off." At least his magically addled state means that his scars shouldn't be too sore... hopefully. Maybe. He is honestly not sure what to expect from this interaction any more.

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