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.

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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.

Carlisle nods, that dumb smile still across him as Glacius pushes him back. "Right. Blood off, go to bed, sleep. I believe I can do all of those things adequately enough."

It should be easy, given Glacius is doing the first part. He keeps trying to flex his fingers as he sits patiently, his addled mind wandering. "Sorry for the blood. Is- is the couch all right? I ruined it, didn't I? Do we need to find another? Where they live?"

At least Carlisle is still being cooperative enough. Glacius huffs a relieved little sigh when he agrees, nodding and sitting back down so that he can reach the clergyman's abdomen without hunching over. He gets maybe one pass done with the washcloth before the human speaks up again... is he... honestly apologizing for bleeding after getting brutally stabbed?

"It's fine--it's fine, Carlisle." Makers, and the alien thought he had a tendency to ramble on before. "You didn't ruin anything. I'm just happy that you're safe. Alright? And I'll make sure you stay that way. I said I was going to look out for you, and I meant it."

"... Oh."

That seems to give pause to Carlisle and his runaway train of thought. His fingers flex again, his eyes drawn back to them.

"But who watches out for you? I should, but you- you should have someone else. Someone who can make sure you don't melt away, because that- that'd be tragic."

Now it's Glacius' turn to take a time out and think about what's been said. His hand stops moving across those scars, and his eyes drift slowly up the clergyman's body to his face.

"Yes, melting away would be a tragedy... but that's not something you have to worry about unless the gods decide to light this whole place ablaze," the ice alien attempts to reassure him. "And anyways, even if that were to happen, I do have people looking out for me. All of my friends in this cave... and that includes you."

Now he extends one bare, spindly finger, almost like he's about to prod Carlisle square in the center of the chest... then, considering the various aches and pains that he was suffering from prior to his inadvertently drugged state, seems to think better of it. Instead he reaches up and gently places one hand on the clergyman's cheek, a reflection of the way the human has so often stroked his jaw line when attempting to inspire a sense of comfort and solidarity.

"So don't worry so much about me, alright? You take good care of me. If it makes you feel any better, though, we can discuss methods of combating heat and keeping me safe from temperature related harm later." Much later, when his friend isn't in a magic-induced haze... Glacius isn't sure if he'll be able to make sense of any instructions at this point, nor does he know if Carlisle is going to remember anything from one moment to the next.

Despite Glacius' efforts, it seems Carlisle's mood has taken a downswing. He still feels incredible, and even leans into Glacius' hand as it graces his face; however, that just makes him think of how sad he'd be if he lost the alien. Tragic, tragic, tragic.

"Algidus burned once," he utters, the pictures in his mind so vivid, but twisted in ways that don't make sense. Carlisle can see the green being as clear as day, his form writhing from the deep burns along his underbody, pain flooding him to the point where even someone as proud as him would accept desperate measures. "I did what I could. Was- was it enough?"

His memories are so foggy; he can't recall where he was when that happened, or why it did in the first place. Was the tent on fire? Why was everything so red? Had he been bleeding? The floor was black, an abyss waiting to swallow him.

"It- it wasn't enough, was it?"

Carlisle looks down at his hands again -- they twitch, but he doesn't feel the sensation running down the rest of his arms. The heat of the enchanted tea burns in him, and with fire on the mind, he thinks for a fleeting moment that it might be all around them. His eyes dart left and right, paranoia kicking in as his thoughts turn faster and faster, as uncontrolled as the rest of him. Trouble is brewing somewhere -- he just doesn't see it yet, but it is out there, waiting for him to stop looking over his shoulder, hoping to catch him off-guard. He's cursed; it is his fate to bring misfortune to others.

"Was... ?"

But as he goes to put a hand to his head, his palm lands against Glacius' and where it rests against his face. The contact stops him again, seems to completely derail the downward spiral of his thoughts as his fingers curl, clasping the alien's hand with a feeble grip.

"I'm here," he says, clearer. "I'm here."

Glacius blinks, realizing as Carlisle's words become more and more grim that his comforting talk hasn't had the intended effect. Instead, the human continues to lose his grip on reality even further, mind drifting back to half-formed memories that are wrought with pain and suffering. Dread and guilt seizes the alien and he wracks his mind as he tries to correct his misstep, tries to think of some way to pull the clergyman out of the mire of his fear and self-doubt.

After all, Carlisle has done this many times for him now.

Wanting nothing more in that moment to give his friend relief--from everything, be it the suffering that ran so rampant in this cave, the pain his body was in, or the woes so deeply ingrained into his own mind-- Glacius moves his hand from the side of Carlisle's face to the back of his head, leaning up as he does so until their foreheads meet.

"Yes, you are, you're here with me where you belong. And everything that you've done? It was--it was enough," Glacius murmurs, "You're enough, Carlisle. More than. I promise you I will do everything in my power to help you one day see that."

As their foreheads connect and they share their sign of camaraderie, Carlisle lets out a sigh and closes his eyes, shutting out the world around him. It's just him and Glacius in that moment -- that, and the thudding in his chest that resonates through him so strongly that he can detect it even through the magical stupor he's in. Perhaps he's dying, or perhaps his heart is ablaze, but he couldn't care in that moment when everything feels as it should.

"Ahhhh... there it is," he whispers to himself, that barely perceptible smile tugging at him as he returns the gesture. As he rests his head against Glacius' fully, he reaches for that scar again, his hand shaking as his fingers caress it. "Like Fireclaw wine. Such a rarity in these parts."

"What's that..?" Glacius murmurs, not quite understanding what Carlisle is referring to, though he accepts the contact readily. That particular touch has come to mean so much to him, after all--solidarity, support, comfort, acceptance, and belonging. The latter is a rarity for him too, given that he was an alien being trapped in a strange land, cut off from everything that he once knew or held dear...

... Well, he has other things that are deeply important to him now, new faces that he's met that have helped to stave off the hardships of life in this cave. One of them is sitting right before him, and the ice alien feels a powerful urge to return all of the positive emotions that he's being nourished with by Carlisle's careful touch... so he initiates one of his own, mirroring the clergyman's gesture by placing the washcloth to the side and letting his own bare fingers trail gradually down his middle until they arrive at those dark violet scars. He can't exactly cup the skinny human's flat stomach the same way his jaw is being held, but he does traces slow, gentle lines over them, allowing the contact they're sharing to consume his focus.

The scars may be a sore point for Carlisle, but they made him who he is today... and Glacius would not trade that person for anything.

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