Carlisle Longinmouth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tongueamok) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hadriel_logs2017-06-03 06:27 pm
tongueamok) wrote in hadriel_logs2017-06-03 06:27 pm
Entry tags:
All the White Horses have Gone Ahead
Who: Carlisle Longinmouth (tongueamok) + open + a closed prompt for Glacius (glacius)
What: People go missing, and panic ensues.
Where: Park, Speakeasy, Spire 2 (Apartment 401)
When: 6/5
Warnings: PGish
Overall, it's a nerve-wracking day for Carlisle, but what day isn't for the heir of the Longinmouth estate?
It starts out innocuously enough, as Carlisle makes his way to Emily's sewing shop. While he doesn't give his pupil regular lessons anymore -- she doesn't particularly need them -- he does still check in with her from time to time, getting her opinions on glyphs, seeing if she'll transcribe some things for him with her far-neater-than-his handwriting. With his papers in hand, he opens the door—
Or walks straight into the door, as it doesn't budge when he tries the knob. Carlisle backs up a step, straightening his glasses with a befuddled look. Locked? Peering into the window tells him she's not in -- odd. Emily sometimes has the early shift with that coffee cart she and her friends run, he reminds himself, but it's plenty late enough for her to be here.
He lets out an aggravated sigh and waits for a bit, figuring she might show up at any time. He waits ten minutes, then twenty before sighing again -- more irritably this time, as though Emily would hear him from wherever she is and appear to open the door for him. He pulls out his communicator, scanning down the list of residents to find her name... but it's not there.
Carlisle's brow furrows as he searches again, pulling the device closer to him and narrowing his eyes behind his glasses. He must have overlooked it, he tells himself. She's there, surely -- Emily has been in the city longer than he has. He simply missed her name. It's a trick upon his eyes by this accursed technology. Unfortunately, a second and third, more thorough search reveals he was right the first time, and that her name simply isn't on the contact list for the citizens of Hadriel anymore. Emily is gone -- from the list, from the communicators, and if that means what it has always meant, from the city entirely.
Oh.
That's a rather somber sort of oh that rings through Carlisle's head, worry etching across his face as he simply stands there, dumbfounded. He suffers through and entire minute, maybe more, of quiet shock before he finally tucks his communicator away and starts moving, aimlessly heading back into the city, his mind anywhere else but where he's actually going. It's not as though he hasn't had people disappear from the city: there was Miriam, Kate, Chris. He's lost friends before, though it always seems notable to him, as he doesn't have a great deal of friends to begin with. He's too private a person, too troublesome to deal with even on good days. Even Carlisle only likes himself in measured doses.
But Emily meant something to him. She was a student, someone who had taken an art he'd taught her and not only took it seriously, but made it her own; she was a friend, one who looked out for him even when he insisted she do otherwise. And now she's gone, just like the others, and there's that terrible sinking feeling that she wouldn't be if she'd not associated with him. It is said in his world that the twice-cursed are misfortune incarnate to those who would make the error of being near them, and Carlisle, at that moment, cannot think of a greater misfortune for Emily than being returned to a terrible monster-filled mountain where her friends are dead.
That's the sort of thought that riles Carlisle's natural paranoia, making him worry about other people who have associated with him. There's one being in particular he worries about more than any other.
Park [open]
Carlisle spends the early afternoon in the park, buried deep within the area in a spot that he and Glacius have turned into his latest garden. While not entirely hidden, it is set back far enough to be off the normal paths, a spot of green one might notice in the distance among the blasted trees near the riverside. There are rudimentary fences constructed of stone, mostly ones salvaged from debris when the city split into two and buildings deteriorated. There are plenty of plants, crawling vines and flowering shrubs that are a far cry from the ones found in Sorrow's orchard. There's even the base of a small building, a structure with four walls and a door that's mostly meant to serve as storage.
There's also a man who is clearly wrapped up in his own head, muttering to himself as he angrily prunes away at leaves on some smaller, potted specimens.
"I should have known this would happen," he grumbles in clear irritation, his tone absolutely embittered. Carlisle shifts the pot around to get a better angle on what needs to be cut away, removed for the betterment of the entire fern. Wouldn't that be something, to remove what -- or who -- poisons the entire city with his presence as easily as he removes those dying leaves?
Carlisle pushes his glasses to his forehead and paws at his eyes a moment, setting aside his shears to wipe his free hand on his gardening apron. That's not a productive thought, and he knows it, yet there it is all the same, a torrent of negative self-reflection threatening to pull him under. Would Emily still be here if he hadn't known her? Would Kate? Was there really no correlation, as she is always so apt to—
Was, Carlisle corrects inwardly. Emily was so apt to tell him that, just as Glacius is. How long will it be now until he brings misfortune to his icy partner, as well? Or to anyone else? Is there anything to even be done about it now? He has long lived with the knowledge that he is the failure of his bloodline, and that a cursed creature such as himself would only bring ill upon those closest to him. He'd thought that, perhaps, he could escape such a fate away from his world. He'd toyed with the idea that he had been led astray his whole life when people claimed him to be the reason his family line will die with him. He'd wondered, even for a moment, if he could be more than the most pathetic of the Longinmouth line, the weak link in a once-strong chain.
However, as he hurls one of his plants as far as he can throw it and rubs at his bleary eyes again, choking on the breath lodged somewhere in his throat, Carlisle decides he was clearly wrong to ever consider such nonsense.
Speakeasy [open]
The evening is spent searching for liquor. With the former bar gone, Carlisle makes his way to the Speakeasy, ready to drown his problems in his former vices. He knows better -- he knows his partner would be disappointed Carlisle didn't turn to him for solace from his deprecating thoughts. However, the more the despondent Carlisle considers pulling out his communicator and just calling Glacius... the more nervous he gets. Emily was close to Glacius, as well, and the alien is no doubt hurting from her loss... but what if he's no longer in the list of names, either? What if he's gone?
That's paranoia talking, Carlisle reminds himself... and yet, with how unnerved he is from the mere thought of the panic that will set in the second he sees Glacius' name is no longer among the residents of the city, he finds he cannot even bring himself to see if his fears are even valid. Not right now. Not yet.
Maybe after he's had a drink.
Though Carlisle does have a bottle sitting before him on a table in the corner, the hours tick by without him imbibing. He's instead sitting back there, still incessantly chattering to himself -- or maybe he's talking to the bottle at this point. It does have a cat's head sculpted right into the glass. It gives it character.
"I should- I should just do it," he mutters, his nails curling against the table as he runs his other hand through his hair for the umpteenth time; it is more unkempt than usual, his fastidiousness unraveling with this composure. "I don't know what I'm afraid of."
He seems to reconsider that lie within one second, as though the cat-bottle would judge him for his lack of conviction. "I mean, I know what I'm afraid of, but. I- I should trust he's fine. He's always fine. The sort who can accomplish anything he puts his mind to. In fact, he'll call me anytime now, surely."
Yes, anytime. And yet, despite this being the one time he hopes technology will come to his rescue, his communicator doesn't ring.
Apartment 401 [forglacius]
And by the time the late evening rolls around and the night is in full swing, Carlisle has worked himself into near panic. He barely manages to get inside his apartment, his hands shaking so badly that he can hardly maneuver the keys into the lock. "It's fine," he says aloud -- with no one, plant or otherwise, to talk to this time, he is absolutely talking to himself. That's not unusual, all things considered. "It's fine. Glacius is fine. He'll- he'll probably be waiting as it is. Back from his patrol, I'm sure. Hah, what took you so long, Carlisle? That's what he'll say. And I'll see this has all been for nothing. I mean, not nothing, as Emily is still gone. Still my fault she's gone, by the way. It's fine. It's just fine."
Unfortunately, the dwelling is empty when Carlisle finally gets the door open. His mind works into overdrive to keep himself from completely breaking down as panic latches onto him. "He's asleep," he reassures himself now, tossing aside his bag and heading right to Glacius' door. It's not like the alien to go to bed before Carlisle gets home, but then, it's not like Glacius to not call, nor is it like him to not be home already, nor is it like anything for Emily to just be up and gone. What a strange day it's been!
Carlisle knocks at the door, the nervous smile plastered across his face fading as fast as that brief, denial-born glimmer of flippant humor. "Glacius? I'm sorry I'm home so late. I- I stopped, er. Somewhere. Lost track of the time. Funny how that happens here in a cave."
Silence.
"I'll admit that, ah," he continues, stumbling over his words. He claws at the back of his neck with one hand, the other fumbling with his tabard. "It was the Speakeasy. Little place run by Miss Rey. You remember her, I'm sure, being on the Guard with her and all. Fantastic woman, sometimes. Not much of a conversationalist. She's got her merits, though."
Further silence. Carlisle fidgets uncomfortably, tension mounting in his shoulders.
"I- I didn't mean to break my word to you. I didn't drink. I mean- maybe just one swallow to take my mind off- well, there's been a lot on it today, actually. I- I should have called you, but- but I- I started thinking about, um. I just happened to notice today that Emily's name isn't in the phone anymore. Funny thing, really. And I wanted to call you with the communicator, but you know how I am with technology and... whatnot."
The clergyman pauses there, inwardly praying for an answer as the seconds tick by, the thudding in his chest growing painful the heavier it gets. Disappointment, irritation, remorse, anything. He pushes the door open when nothing comes. "... Glacius?" Though the icy bedroom is still there -- and still relatively icy -- the alien who usually inhabits it is nowhere to be found. He's out far later than he should be, Carlisle thinks to himself, trying to swallow the knot in his throat; it doesn't budge.
A shaky laugh forces itself out of Carlisle as he breaks the silence himself once more. "Something m- must have happened," he mumbles, trembling as horror sets in before it even has a full foundation. "Just- just a busy day for the Guard. I'll just- I'll just call, and it'll- it'll be fine."
Oh, but calling would require him to look at the list of names, he remembers, the reason he hasn't already made that call back to torture him once more as it paints a clear scenario in his mind's eye. Looking at that list would result in him not finding Glacius' name on it, surely. He'd deny it as much as he did earlier, searching the contacts again and again, but to no avail. And then he'd panic -- catastrophically so, as with the recent bout of frights, but far worse -- and that'd be just awful. It could be the easy solution, the logical part of him says; it could also be a shortcut to utter despair that he is currently not equipped to handle.
And where does that leave Carlisle Longinmouth, heir of the Longinmouth estate, in the wee hours of the morning? Hiding in his closet. It's a little cramped for his tall stature, but at least there's nothing to be terrified of in there -- nothing but the utter hopelessness consuming his own mind as he mutters another desperate prayer to his goddess. He doesn't know if she can hear him... but it's better than the thought that he might be alone.
tongueamok) + open + a closed prompt for Glacius (glacius)What: People go missing, and panic ensues.
Where: Park, Speakeasy, Spire 2 (Apartment 401)
When: 6/5
Warnings: PGish
Overall, it's a nerve-wracking day for Carlisle, but what day isn't for the heir of the Longinmouth estate?
It starts out innocuously enough, as Carlisle makes his way to Emily's sewing shop. While he doesn't give his pupil regular lessons anymore -- she doesn't particularly need them -- he does still check in with her from time to time, getting her opinions on glyphs, seeing if she'll transcribe some things for him with her far-neater-than-his handwriting. With his papers in hand, he opens the door—
Or walks straight into the door, as it doesn't budge when he tries the knob. Carlisle backs up a step, straightening his glasses with a befuddled look. Locked? Peering into the window tells him she's not in -- odd. Emily sometimes has the early shift with that coffee cart she and her friends run, he reminds himself, but it's plenty late enough for her to be here.
He lets out an aggravated sigh and waits for a bit, figuring she might show up at any time. He waits ten minutes, then twenty before sighing again -- more irritably this time, as though Emily would hear him from wherever she is and appear to open the door for him. He pulls out his communicator, scanning down the list of residents to find her name... but it's not there.
Carlisle's brow furrows as he searches again, pulling the device closer to him and narrowing his eyes behind his glasses. He must have overlooked it, he tells himself. She's there, surely -- Emily has been in the city longer than he has. He simply missed her name. It's a trick upon his eyes by this accursed technology. Unfortunately, a second and third, more thorough search reveals he was right the first time, and that her name simply isn't on the contact list for the citizens of Hadriel anymore. Emily is gone -- from the list, from the communicators, and if that means what it has always meant, from the city entirely.
Oh.
That's a rather somber sort of oh that rings through Carlisle's head, worry etching across his face as he simply stands there, dumbfounded. He suffers through and entire minute, maybe more, of quiet shock before he finally tucks his communicator away and starts moving, aimlessly heading back into the city, his mind anywhere else but where he's actually going. It's not as though he hasn't had people disappear from the city: there was Miriam, Kate, Chris. He's lost friends before, though it always seems notable to him, as he doesn't have a great deal of friends to begin with. He's too private a person, too troublesome to deal with even on good days. Even Carlisle only likes himself in measured doses.
But Emily meant something to him. She was a student, someone who had taken an art he'd taught her and not only took it seriously, but made it her own; she was a friend, one who looked out for him even when he insisted she do otherwise. And now she's gone, just like the others, and there's that terrible sinking feeling that she wouldn't be if she'd not associated with him. It is said in his world that the twice-cursed are misfortune incarnate to those who would make the error of being near them, and Carlisle, at that moment, cannot think of a greater misfortune for Emily than being returned to a terrible monster-filled mountain where her friends are dead.
That's the sort of thought that riles Carlisle's natural paranoia, making him worry about other people who have associated with him. There's one being in particular he worries about more than any other.
Park [open]
Carlisle spends the early afternoon in the park, buried deep within the area in a spot that he and Glacius have turned into his latest garden. While not entirely hidden, it is set back far enough to be off the normal paths, a spot of green one might notice in the distance among the blasted trees near the riverside. There are rudimentary fences constructed of stone, mostly ones salvaged from debris when the city split into two and buildings deteriorated. There are plenty of plants, crawling vines and flowering shrubs that are a far cry from the ones found in Sorrow's orchard. There's even the base of a small building, a structure with four walls and a door that's mostly meant to serve as storage.
There's also a man who is clearly wrapped up in his own head, muttering to himself as he angrily prunes away at leaves on some smaller, potted specimens.
"I should have known this would happen," he grumbles in clear irritation, his tone absolutely embittered. Carlisle shifts the pot around to get a better angle on what needs to be cut away, removed for the betterment of the entire fern. Wouldn't that be something, to remove what -- or who -- poisons the entire city with his presence as easily as he removes those dying leaves?
Carlisle pushes his glasses to his forehead and paws at his eyes a moment, setting aside his shears to wipe his free hand on his gardening apron. That's not a productive thought, and he knows it, yet there it is all the same, a torrent of negative self-reflection threatening to pull him under. Would Emily still be here if he hadn't known her? Would Kate? Was there really no correlation, as she is always so apt to—
Was, Carlisle corrects inwardly. Emily was so apt to tell him that, just as Glacius is. How long will it be now until he brings misfortune to his icy partner, as well? Or to anyone else? Is there anything to even be done about it now? He has long lived with the knowledge that he is the failure of his bloodline, and that a cursed creature such as himself would only bring ill upon those closest to him. He'd thought that, perhaps, he could escape such a fate away from his world. He'd toyed with the idea that he had been led astray his whole life when people claimed him to be the reason his family line will die with him. He'd wondered, even for a moment, if he could be more than the most pathetic of the Longinmouth line, the weak link in a once-strong chain.
However, as he hurls one of his plants as far as he can throw it and rubs at his bleary eyes again, choking on the breath lodged somewhere in his throat, Carlisle decides he was clearly wrong to ever consider such nonsense.
Speakeasy [open]
The evening is spent searching for liquor. With the former bar gone, Carlisle makes his way to the Speakeasy, ready to drown his problems in his former vices. He knows better -- he knows his partner would be disappointed Carlisle didn't turn to him for solace from his deprecating thoughts. However, the more the despondent Carlisle considers pulling out his communicator and just calling Glacius... the more nervous he gets. Emily was close to Glacius, as well, and the alien is no doubt hurting from her loss... but what if he's no longer in the list of names, either? What if he's gone?
That's paranoia talking, Carlisle reminds himself... and yet, with how unnerved he is from the mere thought of the panic that will set in the second he sees Glacius' name is no longer among the residents of the city, he finds he cannot even bring himself to see if his fears are even valid. Not right now. Not yet.
Maybe after he's had a drink.
Though Carlisle does have a bottle sitting before him on a table in the corner, the hours tick by without him imbibing. He's instead sitting back there, still incessantly chattering to himself -- or maybe he's talking to the bottle at this point. It does have a cat's head sculpted right into the glass. It gives it character.
"I should- I should just do it," he mutters, his nails curling against the table as he runs his other hand through his hair for the umpteenth time; it is more unkempt than usual, his fastidiousness unraveling with this composure. "I don't know what I'm afraid of."
He seems to reconsider that lie within one second, as though the cat-bottle would judge him for his lack of conviction. "I mean, I know what I'm afraid of, but. I- I should trust he's fine. He's always fine. The sort who can accomplish anything he puts his mind to. In fact, he'll call me anytime now, surely."
Yes, anytime. And yet, despite this being the one time he hopes technology will come to his rescue, his communicator doesn't ring.
Apartment 401 [for
glacius]And by the time the late evening rolls around and the night is in full swing, Carlisle has worked himself into near panic. He barely manages to get inside his apartment, his hands shaking so badly that he can hardly maneuver the keys into the lock. "It's fine," he says aloud -- with no one, plant or otherwise, to talk to this time, he is absolutely talking to himself. That's not unusual, all things considered. "It's fine. Glacius is fine. He'll- he'll probably be waiting as it is. Back from his patrol, I'm sure. Hah, what took you so long, Carlisle? That's what he'll say. And I'll see this has all been for nothing. I mean, not nothing, as Emily is still gone. Still my fault she's gone, by the way. It's fine. It's just fine."
Unfortunately, the dwelling is empty when Carlisle finally gets the door open. His mind works into overdrive to keep himself from completely breaking down as panic latches onto him. "He's asleep," he reassures himself now, tossing aside his bag and heading right to Glacius' door. It's not like the alien to go to bed before Carlisle gets home, but then, it's not like Glacius to not call, nor is it like him to not be home already, nor is it like anything for Emily to just be up and gone. What a strange day it's been!
Carlisle knocks at the door, the nervous smile plastered across his face fading as fast as that brief, denial-born glimmer of flippant humor. "Glacius? I'm sorry I'm home so late. I- I stopped, er. Somewhere. Lost track of the time. Funny how that happens here in a cave."
Silence.
"I'll admit that, ah," he continues, stumbling over his words. He claws at the back of his neck with one hand, the other fumbling with his tabard. "It was the Speakeasy. Little place run by Miss Rey. You remember her, I'm sure, being on the Guard with her and all. Fantastic woman, sometimes. Not much of a conversationalist. She's got her merits, though."
Further silence. Carlisle fidgets uncomfortably, tension mounting in his shoulders.
"I- I didn't mean to break my word to you. I didn't drink. I mean- maybe just one swallow to take my mind off- well, there's been a lot on it today, actually. I- I should have called you, but- but I- I started thinking about, um. I just happened to notice today that Emily's name isn't in the phone anymore. Funny thing, really. And I wanted to call you with the communicator, but you know how I am with technology and... whatnot."
The clergyman pauses there, inwardly praying for an answer as the seconds tick by, the thudding in his chest growing painful the heavier it gets. Disappointment, irritation, remorse, anything. He pushes the door open when nothing comes. "... Glacius?" Though the icy bedroom is still there -- and still relatively icy -- the alien who usually inhabits it is nowhere to be found. He's out far later than he should be, Carlisle thinks to himself, trying to swallow the knot in his throat; it doesn't budge.
A shaky laugh forces itself out of Carlisle as he breaks the silence himself once more. "Something m- must have happened," he mumbles, trembling as horror sets in before it even has a full foundation. "Just- just a busy day for the Guard. I'll just- I'll just call, and it'll- it'll be fine."
Oh, but calling would require him to look at the list of names, he remembers, the reason he hasn't already made that call back to torture him once more as it paints a clear scenario in his mind's eye. Looking at that list would result in him not finding Glacius' name on it, surely. He'd deny it as much as he did earlier, searching the contacts again and again, but to no avail. And then he'd panic -- catastrophically so, as with the recent bout of frights, but far worse -- and that'd be just awful. It could be the easy solution, the logical part of him says; it could also be a shortcut to utter despair that he is currently not equipped to handle.
And where does that leave Carlisle Longinmouth, heir of the Longinmouth estate, in the wee hours of the morning? Hiding in his closet. It's a little cramped for his tall stature, but at least there's nothing to be terrified of in there -- nothing but the utter hopelessness consuming his own mind as he mutters another desperate prayer to his goddess. He doesn't know if she can hear him... but it's better than the thought that he might be alone.
no subject
It's not her concern, really.
"For a drink."
She thins her mouth.
"Someone has--left. So I am drinking."
no subject
"I suppose you knew Emily, then," he returns, too exhausted from his own woes to be subtle. His eyes make their way back to her, his nose wrinkling as his chest hurts all over again from the misery that is losing someone. It could be worse, he tries to remind himself. It could be worse.
no subject
Maketh tries to smile, isn't sure it works. She's trying to sort through the knot of her own feelings on the matter and thus far has found the answer complicated.
"She was--important. To me. To you as well, I think?"
no subject
"As abrasive as she could be, she was important to a great deal of people, it seems," he continues, not bothering with any kind of proper emotion. He couldn't muster even a nervous smile at this point, he doesn't think; his insides feel too knotted up to truly tell.
no subject
no subject
"She was so terribly honest at times, and I don't understand how she had the capacity to be like that in a place like this. It was—" His nose wrinkles as he bares his teeth. "It was as if she wasn't afraid of anything! What people thought, or what they said of her. She spoke her mind to any who would question it without questioning herself."
Carlisle sounds almost angry as he talks about her, but there's jealousy in his tone as much as admiration. It's an odd blend of emotions he's feeling, ones he's not sure how to describe, either.
no subject
She shakes her head.
"I have never been so glad to be wrong about anyone."
no subject
But it might have been nice if he'd said that to Emily, rather than assuming she knew.
no subject
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"Faith is a powerful ally, Miss Tua," he returns. "It can bring just as much comfort as liquor, though I admittedly find the latter to be more responsive."
And yet, he doesn't drink.
no subject
It's half a question, half an observation.
no subject
He gives the bottle a sad look; the cat emblazoned on it says nothing. "I told my partner I wouldn't."
no subject
"Your partner?"
no subject
He would normally be more discreet regarding his relationship -- a contrast to Glacius himself, who proudly wears it like a badge of honor -- bu the cannot find it in him as he stares down the cat-faced bottle.
"I have not taken some... things well in the past." Shadow burning his garden, for one. How odd that his drinking comes back again with Shadow. "And he has made it clear that my coping methods leave something to be desired."
no subject
She offers him a smile, faint and just a little sad.
"I have some experience, in taking things badly. This has also been pointed out to me."
She glances at the bottle, then looks away.
"It makes things go quiet. I need that, sometimes."
no subject
"And I, as well. My nerves and my thoughts are heavy burdens some days, and in lieu of placating them, I numb myself to their cries. It gives me time to think, and drag me down as it may, I am able to rest when away from them."
no subject
She shakes her head.
"I don't mean to worry them."
no subject
He runs a hand through his hair, his bangs slipping outward, as they always do.
"But I would rather be filled with fire than with the fear that gnaws at me every day, or that unbridled loathing I have been so instilled with nearly my entire life. It is preferable to be consumed by this than by my own doubts."
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No doubt he's spent thinking about it, coming up with the proper words. Maketh tips her head to the side.
"Have you told him?"
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He shakes his head, letting out a single, quiet laugh just beneath his breath. It's not funny at all, really. "No. Not I have not. He- he would be disappointed in me, and rightfully so. He would want me to face my fears rather than hiding from them. He would tell me to seek solace in his company rather than that in a bottle."
no subject
But she knows, in many ways, that it would.
Maketh rubs her face with a sigh.
"But I am in no position to lecture you, Carlisle, and I will not. Especially not on something that I cannot master myself."