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

Those eyes alight in the darkness, green and bright despite Glacius' obvious exhaustion. Despite knowing he should keep his distance -- this is his fault, Carlisle reminds himself -- he reaches to the alien for some form of comfort, desperate to be forgiven for the mess he made, for Glacius' suffering, for everything.

His fingers bump into the glass of water in the shadows; it's not what he was looking for, but he does take it, wrapping both hands around the glass before bringing it to his lips. It soothes neither his throat nor his head for long, and does nothing for his guilt.

"Thank you," he mutters. "Are you—?"

No, of course he's not all right. What a stupid question to even ask.

"I'm..."

No amount of apologies will fix what's been done, what damage the double managed simply because Carlisle didn't warn Glacius to the danger immediately. What a fool he was.

"Um."

So much for words.

Carlisle's starting and stopping and second-guessing himself leaves Glacius to fill in the blanks... and after everything they've been through at the hands of the doubles, he is not exactly optimistic. He wrings his hands together, his gills fluttering--starts to speak but gets cut off in a cough. He can still feel lingering pain from the barbs in his gills; he needs to let them rest.

Taking some time to allow the respiratory fit to pass, he then casts a quick glance around the room, his glowing green eyes fall on Carlisle's communicator. Picking it up, the ice alien struggles with the tiny keys for a moment before finally managing to punch in a message, which he holds out to the human to read:

you suffer because of me
i'm sorry

Carlisle takes the communicator, puzzled as he finds his glasses and slides them on... and then even more despondent when he actually reads the message.

But with that hopelessness rises anger and frustration and bitterness, all so strong despite his fatigue. They emerge like beasts from a cave, ones that have been caged there far too long, and use his moment of weakness as a means for escape.

"You... you're sorry," he starts, his breath picking up, rasping in his throat. The light of the phone in his hand shakes as he trembles, unable to soothe his inward rage when he's fighting the chill and his head and his consuming guilt. "You're sorry because I suffer when I'm the one who did this to you? When I'm the one who didn't warn you immediately? When I'm the one who has the damned plants that he used against you?!"

He chokes on a lump in his throat, trying to swallow it down along with his ire. It's not Glacius he's mad at; it's never been Glacius.

Glacius flinches back when Carlisle starts in on his tirade--anger is almost never a good way to respond to someone openly apologetic--but then he ultimately seems to decide to stand his ground. He's tired of the clergyman being so damn hard on himself when all he's done is try so hard to help others in this cave, when he's come to the alien's aid time and time again despite his own suffering. Did he have to make sure that the wounded warrior didn't bleed out after being freshly carved up by a demon? No. Did he have to expend the last of his energy to heal him after the alien failed to keep his guard up, despite knowing that malicious doubles were lurking about? No, but he did--and each and every time he treats himself like a failure it undermines the friendship that they have, that gets built up stronger by the things they go through together.

"Every... time," Glacius grits out, his voice getting caught up in a strange mixture that's part growl and part whine, made of equal parts pain, frustration, and determination. Speaking isn't getting any easier, but there are some things you that need to be spoken plainly. "You... save... me."

"I only have to save you because I'm the one who put you in danger in the first place!"

One hand goes for Carlisle's middle; the other splays in frustration, his fingers twitching as his embittered remorse eats him alive. He grinds his teeth, his hands moving again, clenching at his head. Stop.

But he fights even that. Despite their time together, he's still not fully used to understanding in light of his weaknesses, of compassion when others should be concerned about him, about what he can do to them. Maybe's it's the headache, but he can't understand why Glacius can't see that -- why he hasn't pushed him away. Carlisle certainly would have, in his place.

"Not true," Glacius hisses, the vocalization already causing fresh blood to bubble up out of tortured gills. On one hand, they probably shouldn't be arguing given their respective conditions... on the other, this is a conversation that they should have had a long time ago, considering how seriously they take each other's safety, how they tend to shoulder the blame when things go wrong. This might all be new territory to Carlisle, but the otherworldly being is supposed to be a warrior, a protector. What does it say about him that people keep suffering under his watch?

"The double... only came to you... when I left. Not your fault he got to us," the ice alien continues, shuddering before breaking down into coughing again. His chest aches, his throat and gills feel like they've been flooded with fire, but still he presses on. "Emily's possession... not your fault. But you healed me. Cinder. Not your fault."

And yet on all of those occasions the clergyman was there, despite aural exsiccation, grievous lacerations, or whatever other injuries or burden he suffered as he came to stand by others. No matter what went wrong, he was always a force of good, seeking to mend the hurt that had been imparted. Are you starting to get the picture yet, Carlisle?

The anguish on Carlisle's face wanes as Glacius coughs, the alien's torment obvious in his ragged voice and the sound of gurgling blood from his gills. Carlisle can hear it, but cannot see the extent of Glacius' remaining injuries in the darkness, and so he tries to conjure a light for himself; however, the orb is too weak, too fragile. It glows only dimly before popping in his hand.

He shakes his head, his face twisting as he reaches out for his friend, his hands still shaking, but his desperation evident. Even if Carlisle cannot see Glacius, he is sure the alien, with his sharp, inhuman senses, may be able to see him.

"Please," he begs. "Stop. Don't- don't exacerbate your wounds on my behalf. I... I don't think I could take it."

Edited 2017-01-25 04:00 (UTC)

When the orb of light briefly illuminates Glacius' features, he looks surprised--and then deeply saddened with it ultimately winks out. Maybe he's just drawing nonexistant parallels between their cultures, but it seems like further evidence of not only his friend's lack of physical strength, but his flagging spirit, as well. Moved by the sight, the ice alien does immediately reach out to take the clergyman's hand when it seeks his-- in the other he manifests his own Mote, as if seeking not only to chase the darkness out from the human's immediate vicinity, but from his thoughts as well.

It is not at all the bright and vibrant light that Carlisle once saw when the cave was flooded with darkness and the alien's spirit had not yet fallen under all these heavy burdens; reflecting the alien's state of being, it is dimmer now, and flickers sadly with each pained hiss of breath or crack of damaged icy skin when he moves. But it does thrum insistently as Glacius continues pushing himself to speak--evidence of just how strongly the otherworldly being believes what he says that the clergyman can see with his own two eyes.

"You... have your own wounds. Deeper ones, left from a lifetime... of undeserved doubt... and judgment. And if we do not talk now, they will worsen... I... cannot allow..." the ice alien pauses, pants for a few moments, then takes a deeper breath that makes him shudder. He focuses his glowing green eyes on Carlisle, eyes that burn with conviction.

"I... am... not of your world. Your curse... means nothing. Your blood line... means... nothing." Glacius breathes again, squeezing the clergyman's hand tightly. It's so important that he understand. "But You... mean... everything to me."

The light of the Mote, however dim, is still bright enough to illuminate the clergyman's face; uncertainty colors him even now, but the alien's convictions bolster Carlisle's own, determination appearing as soon as Glacius loses his breath mid-sentence. It is truly in their support for one another that they find strength, as Carlisle cannot worry about himself when his friend -- his dearest friend, more precious to him than he can truly express -- is so wounded before him. To see such a proud warrior so vulnerable, if only for him...

Carlisle's hand trembles still as he tightens his grasp on Glacius' own; it is only a fraction of what pressure he could normally offer, but given his health, he does his best to reciprocate the trust he's being shown, the compassion, the solidarity... and more. His chest aches, though he cannot discern exactly why -- he meets Glacius' eyes, his own brimming with a mixture of shame and gratitude behind his glasses. As the heir of the Longinmouth line, he should be better than this --

Glacius cares not about his bloodline.

It's his place as a twice-cursed to be shunned, and to separate himself from society for the good of others. The only reason he hasn't done so yet is because of his cowardice. He brings misfortune in his wake; his curse befell his father, his uncles --

Glacius cares not about his curse, either. Glacius cares about him, about Carlisle himself, not for who he is or what he can do, but because of what he -- as an individual rather than the heir of a prominent line, a twice-cursed, or even a skilled healer -- means.

And frankly, Carlisle isn't sure how to handle that. Usually a man of many frivolous words, he's left silenced by Glacius' confession, his mouth agape as he fails to form an answer. He wants to ask why the alien would think such a way; he wants to tell Glacius he's wrong, misguided in his devotion.

But as he sits there with his head and his chest pounding in tandem, he finds that he can't. He opens his mouth to say one thing, but something else pours forth, something more candid.

"I don't want to lose you," he utters, his breath unsteady, his voice full of unabated remorse as he offers Glacius a rueful look. "And I thought I had, all because of a mistake I- I made. Because- because I failed you." He struggles to pull air into his lungs, his body quaking with apprehension. "And I would've done anything to bring you back. I would raze myself from this existence if I thought it'd behoove you."

And while he's not sure it wouldn't, he can't do that, either -- not when, by Glacius' own admission, he means so much just by being alive, just by being there. That's a new and terrifying feeling for Carlisle, one that batters his chest from the inside out. His fingers curl along Glacius' hand as he leans forward just a little, silently begging for the icy giant to return the gesture, their sign of assurance in one another, of dependence and acceptance.

Glacius returns the gesture readily--he'd been so worried over Carlisle this past day, after all, that is is a profound relief to see him well enough to not only respond coherently, but to seek such familiar interactions. "It would behoove me," a slight cough, "For you to not think that way. About removing yourself from existence or from my presence... about failing me."

The ice alien would ask how he could even think that when the clergyman has saved his life so many times already, but by now he's starting to understand--not only because he's heard of the burdens with which his friend has grown up, that feeling that he's not good enough no matter how hard he tries, but because the alien himself had wondered in the past if Carlisle would be better off without him. He sees now, just from how much the clergyman depends on him and seeks solace form him, that those fears were misplaced. Even though they care deeply about each other and thus always seek to take responsibility when things go wrong to relieve the other of that burden, this cycle of blame that they have fallen into... it is only hindering them.

Of course, that's all a bit more in-depth than he can currently communicate with his throat and gills in the state that they are... but he's still going to try.

"Do not blame... yourself for what has... happened. You have never failed me. Your deeds, your efforts, your soul... all good," Glacius rasps out, slumping against Carlisle and smiling tiredly. "If you had left me... I would be dead now... I am... better off with you."

In a sense, Carlisle is having his own words handed back to him, albeit with more strain and rasping, given the state of Glacius' gills. The message, however, is the same: if he'd left at any point before, even under the pretense of it being in Glacius' best interest, the alien -- his friend -- would be dead. He's told Glacius that many times, and it's been true in every case: when they were faced with the shade of Cinder, when Emily was taken by a demon, when Carlisle's own double left him for dead.

It is true now, as it has always been. Their own individual sense of guild and inclination to shoulder responsibility may say otherwise, but without one another, where would they be?

He closes his eyes against the cool of Glacius' forehead against his own; it quells his headache for a time, grants him some solace from his own troubles. The alien may be covered in ice, but Carlisle can feel some warmth stirring in him from the depths of his chest. It's a good feeling, despite the circumstances that brought them to that moment.

"As am I with you," he answers finally.

That seems to settle the alien--or maybe he's just having a hard time staying conscious. Now that Carlisle is back with him and he's not feeling quite as on tenterhooks about the clergyman's well being, a sort of relief washes through him, mingling with the exhaustion of staying up all night after going through so much. Either way he gives a fond-sounding sigh of acknowledgement, then goes very quiet and still. He might have managed to pass out for a moment or two, but he ultimately comes around, not about to leave his friend alone right after waking up.

"Your condition... you have exacerbated it," the ice alien notes sadly, having been able to gather that much from all the ink Carlisle was expelling, as well as how utterly unresponsive he had been for so long. "What can be done to help you recover? I want to know everything--this was on my behalf, after all... I must set it right."

"I need rest above all else," he answers. Well, maybe not everything else. "I have simply extended myself too far, but I... well." Glacius already knows, as Carlisle just admitted it -- he'd have done anything to save him.

It may be relatively dark in the room, but Carlisle can pick up on the alien's weariness, and knows well enough that Glacius probably watched over him for as long as he was unconscious. "How long was I out?"

"A... A day or so," Glacius responds shakily. "I was so worried, Carlisle... and I felt so powerless. Nothing I did seemed to help... you kept coughing up that ink and I made sure you could expel it, but you... you didn't wake up..."

Fighting back a whine, the ice alien instead brings a hand up to the back of the clergyman's head, trying to further the contact between them. "I know I can't ask you not to do that again, because if our positions were reversed then I absolutely would have expended myself to save you... but..." he shudders again, then coughs up a single hoarse laugh that sounds a mixture of bitter and self-depreciating, "...Please, don't do that again."

Carlisle's eyes fall, his brow knitting against Glacius' forehead. Despite his aptitude in his craft -- he can do a great amount of healing before reaching his breaking point, far more than other healers from his world -- even he has a limit, one he has reached a handful of times in his life when times were desperate. Each time seemed to push the boundaries of his skills a little farther, allowed him to do more before he had to stop; however, the consequences of his fatigue were more apparent each time, as well. He's passed out before, and even a time or two before reaching the depths of his exhaustion, but to be unconscious for over a day, all while hacking up the black bile is undeniably troubling.

But it is a trouble for another day -- he has many of those. He presses against Glacius tightly, the alien's hand at the back of his head encouraging him as he brings his own to Glacius' jaw. He wants to acquiesce to the alien's request but...

"I am not in the habit of making promises I cannot keep, Glacius."

Glacius lets slip a frustrated growl, having seen that answer coming a mile away. "Nor am I. But each time you do this, new and alarming symptoms crop up... first it was the scars in your arms, then the lack of feeling in your body, now it is the unconsciousness and expulsion... I cannot bear the thought that you might be pushing yourself towards your end, Carlisle. And what is it that you said to me so long ago? 'You are no good to anyone dead'. I implore you, my friend... use care. You have as much value as anyone else in this cave, from any of these worlds--you needn't resort to drastic measures to prove yourself."

That seems to give Carlisle pause, his own words turned against him once more. He gave many a sermon back in Bear Den; if only someone had taught him to follow what he says himself as dutifully as he listens to others in a confessional.

Glacius has a point, though -- more than one, really. He is no use to anyone dead. He cannot prove himself as worthy of either redemption or his family's legacy if he's no longer alive -- not that the latter particularly matters in Hadriel. But the alien has another point in that the symptoms of his fatigue, while Carlisle is used to dealing with them, are becoming progressively worse, and the clergyman can't help but wonder why. Is it his curse, or the expenditure of energy that's causing it?

He convinces himself it must be the former, as he cannot live with the possibility it may be the latter. His craft is so intrinsic to who he is, to his service to the Camisou... he cannot entertain the notion that he has no purpose in this world that won't result in him expediting his death.

Carlisle lets out a sigh against the alien. Twice-cursed only live for so long -- that much is a fact, common knowledge in his world that he came to terms with years ago. It seems even those who do their best to fight against the pull of their darker gifts are eventually drawn in by the current and suffocated beneath the depths.

"I am not pushing myself toward my end, Glacius," he insists quietly, though his tone betrays his uncertainty toward that. "I do what I must, and if it means your survival, then I would choose that every time."

He pauses as he says that, realization of just how important Glacius is to him. Prior to his time in Hadriel, he'd have run when given the chance, thrown others to the wolves if it meant his survival. His cowardice dictated what he would do when faced with danger.

So why is Glacius different? Why is he different?

Glacius, more than familiar with the little hitches in Calrisle's cadence here and there, picks up on that uncertainty easily enough. It's doubly alarming to him that the physical symptoms are evidence that even the clergyman cannot fully deny... he tries to think about what he would do if he saw his friend expending himself in such a way again. Could he interrupt the channeling? Should he interrupt the channeling, or would that just cause Carlisle to lose control of his energies and lead to even worse results?

And then there's another issue, an issue that Carlisle himself is currently mulling over. While he's never though that the clergyman was a coward, he's certainly noticed his skittishness, and the human himself has said that he has enough of his own problems without having to worry about the trouble that other people in this gave get into. So why is it that things are so different between the two of them? Why is it that Carlisle would--no, has, on more than one occasion-- run towards danger on his behalf? Why is it that he puts priority on the survival of an alien like him when he's always been so concerned with his own demise?

Deep down, the alien knows. It's another point for the addled confession that Glacius was so sure was just the enchanted tea talking... he flicks his gaze to the clergyman and looks him over for a moment, wondering if he should bring it up. But the might be too complicated a topic for a time when his friend is so clearly exhausted and worn down, and he's still not even sure if the feelings are wanted at all by the human...

Another time, then. The ice alien realizes how long the silence has been stretching between them, so he butts against Carlisle gently, finally deciding that at this point is is easiest to just agree. "And I would choose yours... so you understand, I hope, why I must see to you now. Please tell me anything that could be helpful to you in recovering from this, no matter how big or small, and I will do what I can to provide it."

Carlisle, doesn't mind the silence -- it gives him time to think and just enjoy Glacius' company, something he feels he's earned with the alien's survival. At least there's something he can be proud of. He basks in the warmth from his chest, a blessing when he feels so undeniably cold from his exhaustion.

"I just need rest," he reassures Glacius. "You should find some yourself, my friend. You are in no condition to be waiting by my bedside."

Glacius flicks his eyes down to look at himself and gives a small grunt. Carlisle does technically have a point--he's an utter mess. He didn't so much as wipe off any of the blood that has now frozen to his icy skin, which is still cracked in various places. But the worst of his wounds have been healed... he may be hurting still, and he may be utterly worn down, but he is going to live. As far as he's concerned, his friend's condition is far more concerning.

Of course, he has no idea of the complications from that filthy vine that are festering within him even now--complications that will only get worse the more he pushes himself. For now, he can get away with acting like this.

"I will make sure that you... actually remain undisturbed this time," Glacius grits out, trying not to get dragged down by his previous failure. "But are you sure there is nothing else you need? You have water... what about food, to help restore some of your energy... or any painkillers? Please spent a moment to actually think about my request, Carlisle. It is important." He does look stiff, but perhaps that is just the complete lack of energy rearing its head.

He offers Glacius a tentative smile at first, but knows he should do better than deflect the alien's concerns. Perhaps he can do more for him by agreeing to let him help -- Carlisle knows he would like the opportunity to do the same, should Glacius need him.

"I will be hungry later, no doubt," he admits. "I believe I could use some tea, if I could trouble you for it. It would help settle my nerves as I meditate." Or write. Or pray. Anything but sleep. Now that he's awake and again aware of Glacius' injuries, he'd prefer not to do that.

Edited 2017-01-26 10:37 (UTC)

Glacius bows his head immediately. "It will be done. And while I am fine with you staying up for a bit..." he did just sleep for an entire day, after all, and the alien is enjoying having his company again, "...You should try to get some more rest before it gets too much later. I... I hope your trust in me has not been shaken too badly by this, and that you will still feel comfortable getting some sleep under my watch."

"I'd trust you before I trust myself," Carlisle replies quietly as he rubs at his throat, having expected some protest to his decision, "but perhaps it is I who should watch you. I did just awaken from a rather, er... lengthy nap."

Unfortunately, he's not entirely sure how he'd go about watching Glacius, given he hasn't enough energy to leave the bedroom for very long. His legs ache along with the rest of him, fighting the thought even now.

Glacius suppresses a snort. Given Carlisle's usual level of trust in himself, that doesn't quite come across as a bid of confidence in his abilities.

"We can watch each other," the alien decides, given that he's not going to be straying far from the clergyman's room until he's managed to recover. "Now... I shall do as you ask."

With that he rises from the chair--swaying once as he gets up, he's more tired than he thought--and heads into the other rooms to gather up some things. The tea kettle gets put on to boil while he draws up the required glyph, sets it aside, then scrounges around in the kitchen for a slice of the bread that they made together everything went to hell, as well as a few other bits of foods that his friend has expressed preference for. When that's all done he gathers up some of the leaves that Carlisle has allotted for this particular brew, pulls their various barbs off, then finishes up with the tea and takes everything back into the clergyman's bedroom with him--snatching up some washcloths and one of the books that the human seems to enjoy reading from on his way in.

That's how he enters the room--tea and one hand and small plate of food in the other, washcloths draped over his arm and the book tucked underneath it. Once he's back at Carlisle's side he sets everything out--perhaps the one good thing about the lamp getting knocked to the floor is that it means there's more space on the furniture by the bedside. When his arms are free he picks up the mug of tea, holding that out to the clergyman.

"Here you are. It is enchanted, but ah... not as strongly as that--" slight cough, "--one time." As much as he would vastly prefer to see a blissful smile on his friend's face, he's not sure he could drug him again in good conscience, not unless he starts misbehaving and exacerbating his condition. "I also brought some food and reading material for later, should you need either of those things. Do whatever you will... I need to make myself a bit more... ehm, presentable."

Which would be why he brought all those washcloths in. The alien picks up the first one and straightens up, allowing his icy layer to liquefy partially so that some of the frozen blood can run off. It all gets dabbed up by the absorbent fabric... he didn't really bring in enough to completely clean himself, and this would be much easier if he could just hop in the shower and reconstitute his skin that way... but he doesn't want to leave Carlisle's side for so long when he's so vulnerable, and this at least allows the human to look out for him as he'd wanted to do.

"Thank you, Glacius."

Carlisle offers Glacius an embarrassed grin -- he doesn't know the extent of his behavior while under the effects of enchanted tea far stronger than he can handle, but with the way Glacius speaks of it, it was surely unbecoming of him. He smiles more sincerely at the sight of his book, picking it up after he's had a few sips of tea. The heat that runs through him fights away the pain and numbness as well as the trembling.

Unfortunately, it does nothing to ease his concerns for Glacius. Carlisle wonders briefly why he doesn't just wash himself off in the shower, as he has done in times past. He knows the answer, of course -- Glacius will not leave him while he recuperates. The clergyman would be more grateful for that if it didn't put the alien's own health at risk.

He cannot help with the cleaning, nor can he mend Glacius' wounds, so he instead fills the silence so Glacius doesn't have to wear his throat any further. He should do the same, but he'd prefer to fill the void. "I should probably seek out some new books at some point, but this one is from home, and by Pendlebrook Brimstone, a favorite of mine. I believe I have mentioned him to you."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject