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

"I didn't say that. But you are the ruler of your own life, and it is certainly not your fault you are cursed." It's not his fault humans were and always would be brutal creatures, not his fault his family and his village followed a barbaric ritual where they threw a child into a situation where he could easily be mauled--

He notices the way Carlisle's eyes break from him, follows them to his communicator, and he knows exactly what is running through the man's head. A spike of resentment overwhelmes him.

"Relax, human. I'm not going to hurt you," he rumbles out, and after a pause he tilts his head and adds on, "...Even if you wouldn't hesitate to do so to me. You and I, we are the same. And yet you would forsake me so easily. Why does Glacius deserve to live, but I do not? Do you think I asked for this?"

Human. Carlisle's eyes dart back to Glacius -- the false one, he now knows for certain -- at the term, his gut plummeting. It's too familiar, too much like Algidus: the voice, the tone, the words, the way he looks at him, is so sure of his betrayal... it's all there. He is practically the green alien in all but appearance.

Carlisle cannot begin to express his discomfort, how appalled he is by the conclusions his mind is starting to draw. He bites them back as he stiffens, his fingers curling against the sheets beneath him, his convictions rising in his chest.

"You didn't ask for this," his chokes out, "but we are not the same. You- you are a figment of the false gods, a creation wearing his face."

"Wearing his face? My friend, it goes far deeper than that. I share his flesh, his blood, his past and his memories. Everything that he is and was. I have known every painful blow and shed every drop of blood on your species' behalf that he has," the ice alien growls lowly, "And I grow tired of your betrayals. Just because I woke up one day and found that I was other does not make me lesser. We are both outcasts, both victims of circumstances we did nothing to deserve--don't sit there and try to act like you are better!"

Edited 2017-01-23 20:34 (UTC)

Carlisle was used to being afraid of Algidus: the green alien made no attempt to hide his love of intimidation, had no qualms at all with using his brute strength and impressive size to get what he wanted. He had rare moments of kindness hidden beneath his bluster, but they were so few and far between that fright was a more familiar feeling when dealing with him. Being afraid of Glacius -- or his visage, at least -- is painfully new.

Cowering as the false Glacius' temper rises, Carlisle skitters back into the bed, his limbs fighting against him the entire way. "Wh- what do you want from me?" he asks, his voice trembling with the rest of him as he wonders where the real Glacius is... and if he's even still alive. His own double had nearly done him in, after all, and while Glacius is a warrior, he's not impervious to all attacks. If his twin ambushed him...

His hands shake, his chest hurting. He doesn't want to think about this -- not now, not when he's faced with a being straight out of his nightmares.

"I already told you I have no intention of hurting you," the ice alien waves a hand dismissively. "To be honest, I'm not sure I could even if I wanted to. We are--" were? "--so awfully close, after all."

He lets that lay between them for a moment, a reminder of just how powerful the friendship that the clergyman and the alien is. But then he ends up carrying on, "All I want in this world is to take back what Glacius stole from me. My technology, my purpose, my friends. I want my old life back--I want to be the rightful one. That's it. Not too much to ask, is it?"

"Stole... from you."

There are those threads again, that knot in Carlisle's mind working itself out bit by bit, reforming in his heart. He's heard these claims before, and thought that they surely had no truth to them.

Different worlds, different times. Perhaps there's a far more embittered Carlisle out there somewhere as well, and not just one conjured by the false gods of Hadriel. How different would he be if taken somewhere else? If instead of the Tranquility, he'd found himself in an even more terrible place? Would he be all that different from the human equivalent of the aberrants Glacius has spoken of?

"I see," he utters, his eyes cloudy as he mourns the loss of someone he's sure he'll never see again -- not in the full, not like this. "You... you aren't him," he continues, not specifying exactly who he means. "You don't have to be him."

"Yes, I do," the double responds... but not as aggressively now. Instead, his voice is tinted with confusion and hurt. Carlisle speaks the words that both he and Algidus have so desperately needed to here, and yet he knows deep down that there can be no escape from his own wretched reality. Even now, he can feel the god's directives beating against the inside of his skull, clashing with what he used to be. How can one escape when their very existence has been twisted up into some new, darker shape?

"What is becoming of the other doubles right now as we speak? Once people learn the truth about what we are, we are regarded simply as dangerous monsters. If I am not him, then I am as good as dead. All of you will see to that. And if you don't, the gods will--they never keep their failed creations around for long."

Edited 2017-01-23 21:14 (UTC)

"I would turn against any mimic who sought to hurt the other them and take their place," he responds quietly. "My own stabbed me in the back and left me to die while he came here and tried to ruin what—"

He pauses, his own private wounds bleeding onto his face. Revelations about Algidus aren't the only ones he'll have today. "... what happiness I have here."

"We can still have that," the clone attempts, feeling his yearning for the life that was taken from him burn anew in his chest. Of course he knows it won't work--he is a broken thing, made in the shape of another, and no one could ever truly care for a thing like him--but he refuses to accept his reality without fighting. "My feelings for you have not changed, Carlisle. All I need is chance--do not let me be erased!

He flinches at the hurt in the false Glacius' voice, so much like the real one... so much like Algidus.

"And what would you have me do?" he implores. "Let you erase him instead?"

The ice alien opens his gills as if he's about to answer, but a sudden noise from the stairwell draws his attention--his operculum snap shut and he cocks his head up, listening intently. Maybe it's just another resident of the Spire coming home after a long day..? Maybe he can keep pretending, even if only for a few more brief minutes, that he and the clergyman can still be friends...

... But no, those footsteps are definitely drawing nearer, coming to the door to this apartment. The double hisses out a low curse, then--thinking quickly--knocks the lamps that is providing light to the room violently to the ground and liquidizes immediately. In the sudden, explosive shift between light and dark, it's impossible to see where he's gone, if he's lurking in a dark corner or if he's slipped back out under the crack in the door... and the sound has drawn his original's attention. In the very least, the double doesn't leap out to attack him on his way in.

"Carlisle?! What was that sound? I'm coming in!" Glacius calls out to his friend as he takes quick, long strides across the living room--already a stark contrast between the way his double had infiltrated unannounced. The door swings open and the ice alien moves immediately to his friend's side, guarding him as he observes the broken device on the ground.

"What happened?" He asks urgently, his green eyes fastening back on Carlisle, scanning him for any new injuries. "Are you unharmed?"

Lacking the keen senses the icy giants possess, Carlisle has no idea what it is that so draws the false Glacius' attention, his eyes narrowing as the alien looks away like a startled deer. Next thing he knows, the double has thrown the lamp on the nightstand to the ground, plummeting the room into blinding darkness. The lingering image of the room dances in front of Carlisle's eyes as the door swings open, giving him just enough light to make out the approaching form of the true Glacius.

Or at least he hopes he's the real one. Carlisle's eyes dart around, trying to find where in the shadows the double must be hiding, his paranoia back in full force as it shakes his entire frame. "N- no, I'm..."

He hesitates, not meeting Glacius's glowing eyes. He wants so desperately to keep them from fighting one another, to protect his friend from harm... yet he wonders just how much of the real Glacius the double has within him, how much hurt he must be feeling at this supposed betrayal. Carlisle reminds himself that this mimic is not Algidus, but his heart can't help but ache as though he is.

"You should leave, Glacius,' he whispers quietly, fear in his eyes. "Now."

Due to the shaking and the shifty eyes, Glacius is not at all convinced that nothing has disturbed his friend. He scans the room again, only to have his focus drawn back to Carlisle when he speaks up again. There's something in his voice that's deeply unsettling, something that suggests that much more than just his usual nerves is eating away at him. The ice alien steps closer to his friend, placing his hands on the bedside.

"Leave? No, I'm not leaving you," Glacius shakes his head, completely aware of the way the shadows shift behind him, a shape quickly taking form...

... And then a loud CRACK breaks the silence in the room, followed by a resounding shriek from the otherworldly being as his entire body goes rigid with agony. Shards of the alien's icy skin and a stream of freezing purple blood spray across the foot of the bed from a gruesome wound as a jagged, icy lance is punched forcibly through his middle. Wherever the double was hiding--likely under one of the pieces of furniture in the room-- he has seized his chance upon seeing his original's complete focus on the recovering clergyman.

Glacius, however, is not one to be done in by mere impalement. He lowers his head, glares down at the blood-slicked point protruding from his abdomen, emits a powerful growl... and then his whole body shimmers once as he prepares to liquidize and free himself. Unfortunately, his double is all too familiar with these tactics, and has brought with him something to stop the process in its tracks, something that Carlisle himself had told him where to find: he targets the most vulnerable spot of Glacius' anatomy, seeking to overwhelm his coherent thought with further agony. With his opponent's gills flared, the double's free hand loops a long and thick strand of the clergyman's fanged ivy around his lower neck and pulls it tight, digging the thorns deep into those biological vents... and the alien's voice changes from a snarl to a howl, once that quickly chokes over the blood welling up.

With Glacius' resistances temporarily overwhelmed, the double draws the lance from his middle and shoves him forcefully to the ground. The original claws desperately at his neck, trying to remove the barbs that have sunk deep into his throat while the double pounds mercilessly at his icy armor. It isn't until he's cracked through Glacius' skin in multiple places and left him beaten to pulp that he seems to stop, straightening up as seething breaths billow from his gills... and then raises his arm, allowing it to take the form of a lance again, clearly intending to end this morbid display right here and now.

One would think Carlisle is getting used to having Glacius' blood sprayed across him, but no, he isn't. He's horrified as the true Glacius is impaled before his very eyes, freezing liquid spattering across him, dotting his glasses and skin. He's so petrified that he can't move, can't think, can't breathe. It's in that moment that he realizes he made a grave mistake in not warning Glacius immediately, in hoping for a more peaceful resolution.

This is his fault, he thinks. His head aches along with his chest. "Please, don't—" he whimpers as a sharp pang runs through his skull.

Unable to see in the darkness and terrified of what is happening before him, Carlisle is absolutely immobilized by the brutality on display. He can't even tell one alien from the other in the darkness, their silhouettes melding in the light from the doorway, the only tells as to what is happening their glowing eyes and the sounds of strangulation. He has to do something, but what? How is he supposed to help with it being so dark?

"S- stop, please!" he cries, drawn to his senses by another strong throb behind his eyes. He's not trapped in the dark, not completely helpless. There must be something he can do.

He conjures a ball of light into his hand, and in the pale illumination can see one Glacius rising over the broken form of the other, his arm forming a lance... and he knows in that instant which alien is which. Even at his most threatened, Glacius would struggle to kill, and absolutely would not turn on another of his kind, not even one trying so desperately to kill him, to take his place in the world.

His fingers curl, his eyes wide with abject horror as a singular thought runs through his head in that split second. Do something. His voice rings out loud and clear, invisible tendrils of influence reaching through the room, grasping at everyone in their path.

I said stop!

Influence snakes through the room to coil around the minds of the two beings locked in conflict, and one of them, his mind already overwhelmed, acquiesces immediately to the command. Glacius' body stops shaking, his hands stop scrabbling at his neck even as blood continues to spill from his shredded gills and various wounds. Something very different happens when the words manifest in the double's mind, however.

In that moment Carlisle will know that he's touched upon something far deeper than he could have perceived with his own human senses. It's as if he's touched his fingers to the surface of a placid lake, and now the ripples spread forth, wider and wider, spreading out in every direction until a powerful current surges forth. He has touched upon the ice alien's will, an actual metaphysical force that has kept them going time and time again when their bodies have been broken--the force that has made countless abominations and would-be threats ultimately back down from their conflict-- and it will not be subdued easily. Even now a deafening reverberation has picked up, something like an alien heartbeat, stubborn and strong and full of life, pounding so loudly it seems as if it's trying to drown out the conflicting words.

All this is perceived in the clergyman's mind; with his eyes, the double stands above Glacius as if frozen in place, but his eyes still burn with intent. The thundering sound and sweeping current intensifies, and the ice alien answers back against the would-be command.

Why?

Edited 2017-01-24 04:28 (UTC)

Carlisle stiffens as his own influence wraps around him, and he fights to keep it from overwhelming him, dominating him in the same way he would anyone else who suffered under his compulsion.

Well, almost anyone. A presence makes itself known as his magic flows throughout the room, an uncontrolled current against a torrential force: it is strong and intimidating, shaking him so much that he almost buckles beneath its will. Carlisle brings a hand to his head, the sudden impact of such a flood threatening to drown him as it demands an answer.

"I won't let you do this!" he shouts over the thundering in his head, battered by both his own influence and the fortitude of the other Glacius. "I'm- I'm sorry, but I can't!"

This is the end of suffering, the double attempts to rationalize--is he arguing with Carlisle, or with himself... or both? His, and mine. Let us bring it all to a close!

"He is my friend!" Carlisle roars, ink trailing from the corner of his mouth. He pushes his glasses to the top of his head with one hand, the other curling against itself as he bites back another painful throb behind his eye.

"You, you said you wouldn't hurt me!" he argues, trying to find a reasonable solution, desperate to find some way to settle this other than the obvious solution. His head aches again, fighting him, pushing what control he has nearly out of his grasp. "By doing this, you make yourself a liar! What good are you without your word?!"

The hurt questioning seems to strike straight through to the double's heart, for at that very moment, the thunderous pounding shudders and slows... and with it, the rebellious current stops pushing back quite so hard against Carlisle's mind. He is, after all, based on a being who cares for the clergyman, and for a moment he balks at doing anything that could threaten that friendship...

... But he cannot turn back, now, as he questions himself on something else--what good is he without his old life and his friends? He's already gone so far--there is no way he will be allowed to live for the transgression. Ending the life of the ice alien is the only way--it's a sad reality that has been drilled into his head by the depraved beings that created him. The ice alien gives a furious hiss, raising his arm again, but his will has been sapped, weakened by internal conflict. There's strength enough in his arm to punch through his victim's skull, but likely not enough left in his hearts to turn back an accursed force.

Though the internal pressure in Carlisle's head is still on the rise, the external force that balked against his influence wanes. He'd hesitated before, tried to get Glacius to run; the results of his mistake are laid before him, and he knows he cannot fail again.

He hasn't even time to murmur an apology to this other Glacius, a being created by the false gods, but so influenced by the original's memories within him that he would listen to the clergyman's pleas, even if only long enough for Carlisle to get a grip on him with his cursed gift. Within this shade is Glacius' thoughts, his memories, his feelings, their camaraderie; that fondness for Carlisle is his downfall, and they both know it.

Carlisle's command is soft, but firm, a quiet whisper against the storm brewing in his head: Leave this place, and do not come back.

Edited 2017-01-24 05:15 (UTC)

And just like that, the stubborn, angry heartbeat slows to a low and gentle underscore to the clergyman's own thoughts; the raging current calms under his hands, allows itself to be directed. Why did he come here? What was he hoping to accomplish? Even if he kills Glacius, he won't be accepted--word of his deed will spread and he will be scorned one way or another. He should leave this place, lest he show himself to be any more of the monster that he never wanted to be turned into... and he shouldn't come back, lest his desperate actions hurt his friend any further.

A long, low hiss escapes the double's gills, his arm lowering slowly and shakily, as if a few last reservations are trickling out of him. Then he turns to move from the room, his head lowered on that long curving neck, his arms dangling limply at his sides, his steps plodding as he is moved by a will not his own. It's the same sort of posturing that Glacius had taken on when his will had been subverted by detestable Rage. The lance of his arm drips a trail of his double's blood as he goes, never to return to Carlisle's room.

As for Glacius, he remains motionless on the floor, still a prisoner to Carlisle's earlier command. His beaten body doesn't so much as stir as he lays in a growing pool of his own blood, more of which is bubbling sickly up out of his lowermost gills as his breaths slow.

Carlisle is motionless as his command subdues the other Glacius, unchanging as he watches the effects of his curse manifest before him. He closes his eyes as the imposter departs, uttering a word of remorse into the deafening silence that follows. People have good reason to be afraid of him when even the strongest will can be enslaved. The difference between himself and a true monster is in the choices he makes, in how he uses his abilities; however, he can't help but feel the weight of his actions on his heart as he turns his attention to the real Glacius.

He bites back both physical and emotional anguish for the moment, trying to focus on what must be done rather than on the stabbing pain behind his eyes. He falls to his knees beside his wounded friend, setting his light on the floor as he tries to determine what needs his attention first. There is limited time, both for Glacius and for himself.

"You're going to be fine," he mutters, placing his hands along the alien's middle, one at his spine and one on his chest. "I need to hnn close this. Please don't die. Please."

Edited 2017-01-24 15:42 (UTC)

As Carlisle collapses by Glacius' side and illuminates his broken form, he'll see that in addition to being mottled with various smaller injuries, there are two gruesome wounds: the ragged, bleeding hole in his abdomen that he's just noted, and his shredded, strangled gills--also bleeding. The fanged ivy is still coiled tightly inside them, having not only torn up their gelatinous protective covering, but have ruined the countless fine filaments inside. He seems to still be able to breathe out of the other six--albeit very slowly and raggedly--but it's clear that the injured organs have been ruined beyond repair, blood bubbling sickly up out of them with each faltering breath. Despite the agony of it all the ice alien lays listlessly on the ground, not unaware of his suffering, but unable to act on it because of Carlisle's earlier command.

That might be a blessing for the both of them, however, because it means that Glacius is unable to react to the highly painful burning sensation associated with Carlisle's healing; the otherworldly simply lies there, broken and unresponsive... an utterly pitiful sight, yes, but it hopefully makes the clergyman's job that much easier. It isn't until that gaping hole has been almost completely mended that the compulsion begins to ebb from his mind... and then things quickly go downhill.

With his faculties returned to him, so too rises up the brunt of the badly injured alien's desperation to free himself from the thorns still tangled tightly up in his respiratory organs. He starts to cough painfully, clawing at his throat again--but he can't see into his own gills to pull the thorns free, and each shuddering inhale only seems to make his situation worse, pulling the barbs in tighter and further tearing apart his operculum. It isn't long before he's outright hacking, more purple blood spattering over his hands to the ground, and then the noises become frighteningly harsh and loud, until each booming cough beats against the inside of his ribcage, making it feel fit to crack. He'd beg for assistance if he could, but there's too much blood in his throat, and even if there weren't he's too overwhelmed by his suffering for much coherent thought.

Edited 2017-01-24 16:56 (UTC)

As Glacius starts hacking, Carlisle's channel ripples back against him; he squeezes his eyes shut, desperately trying to focus as ink continues to spill from his mouth. The main hole may be closed, but there is still much to do, and he must focus on the gills next. Carlisle opens his eyes once more, struggling to focus as he searches for the contaminant. It's around the back of Glacius' neck he finds it, spotting a thorny vine emerging from the folds in the alien's neck: the barbs are curved, latching into Glacius' gills like the fangs of a beast.

Carlisle's hands shake, guilt washing over him in that instant. Fanged ivy.

Glacius starts coming around, purple blood pouring from his ruined gills, yet Carlisle is petrified. This is his fault, truly and irrevocably. It was his plant -- he was the one who'd told Glacius about it, where to find it, what it looked like. The alien would have been better off if they hadn't agreed to live together, if they'd never met, if—

He's drawn from that precipice of immediate despair as Glacius hacks painfully, each inhale like agony, each cough excruciating as blood spills from him in tandem with the ink from Carlisle's own mouth. The clergyman knows that feeling far too well, and cannot let his friend suffer. He's still needed, if only for now.

And then there's a flurry of motion: Carlisle tears open the drawer to the nightstand, grabs his pruning shears, and gets to work, his tongue failing him as he tries to keep himself on task, resolute. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry I did this and I'll fix it and then you don't ever have to speak to me again but please don't die Glacius just please don't die—

The freezing blood coats his hands and mingles with the ink oozing from his fingernails, making the handles of his shears slick, but he works out the vine bit by bit, careful not to rip the barbs from Glacius' neck, turning the tendril this way and that to keep the thorns from tearing through him further.

Even as overwhelmed with agony as Glacius' body and mind are, he does seem to react to the clergyman's aid. When the human's hands first go to his neck he shudders, goes very still... and then when he feels the first few barbs gradually get worked out of his gills he starts to turn his head this way and that, the better to expose the regions that still need to be seen to, desperately trying to garner help from his trusted friend. It's a grisly process--lots of his gill filaments are coming out with the thorns, so tightly entangled as they were-- and he's unable to keep from coughing painfully here and there, his neck quivering against Carlisle's hands... but he'll be better for it when it's finally over. Already some of that maddening pain is leaving his mind as the vine loosens, and the clergyman's touch seems to help him focus, as he's trying to draw steadier breaths.

And then the vine is finally out-- a long, sinister tendril, completely coated in the alien's clearish purple blood. Amidst it all, he'd been aware of the human carrying on as he works, but he couldn't understand it--he's unaware that the clergyman was speaking in a damned language, thinks he's still just too overwhelmed to parse anything. And truthfully, that is a part of it; though his middle is no longer sporting a large open wound, and the thorns have been pulled from his gills, he's still been through a lot--he needs some time to recuperate. The massive alien lays on the ground panting vacantly, blood still bubbling up from the ruined respiratory organs and trickling from various other minor wounds... everything feels awful and, barely conscious as he is, he makes a transparent bid for of solace. His hand scrounges around for whatever part of Carlisle he can reach--his knee, his hand, anything--and then grips it weakly.

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