hadriel_logs | INTRO LOG: BLACK CATS & WALKING UNDER LADDERS

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INTRO LOG: BLACK CATS & WALKING UNDER LADDERS

Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for February.
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: February 10th-13th
Warnings: Fresh meat, creepy moving shadows, terrible luck, the screams of your loved ones.

Welcome to Hadriel, new friends. While waking up on the ground of a broken colosseum may not be the most pleasant arrival, you can at least find comfort in the fact that there's no giant monster immediately attempting to eat you. Plenty of the people already here will tell you that they weren't quite so lucky. But - wait. Is that something moving in the shadows, or is it just your imagination?

Of course it's not just your imagination. That would be way too easy. No, arriving along with everyone this time are wraiths, vengeful spirits that enjoy darkness, shadows, and misery. On the plus side, they won't try to kill you. On the minus side, their touch chills you and saps your energy, as well as inflicting a temporary curse of awful luck. Anything that can go wrong, will, including (and especially) things that might kill you. Wraiths are subtle and sneaky, so be sure to watch your back. That shadow isn't just a shadow.

Compounding the confusion the wraiths can cause, you just might wake up to the sound of chattering voices - only to be quite alone. A small flock of jabberjays has come through the Door as well. These genetically engineered birds are capable of mimicking entire human voices and conversations - as well as screams of terror and pain. Initially only in the arena and bringing only conversations from their world, they'll soon settle throughout the city and begin to learn the voices of those living in Hadriel. Your best friend screaming bloody murder just a street over? It could be them, or it could just be one of these lovely birds. Don't let it stress you out.

Once you've escaped the colosseum, hopefully without accidentally impaling yourself on your own weapon, feel free to go explore the rest of the city! Find a house, find a new monster, or simply scavenge for supplies. Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!

► This log covers February 10th-13th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well!
► All characters now arrive with phones that have network communication.
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!

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[newt--bright, clever, gilded newt--has been reduced to a wrecked shell of a thing, and peter has no idea what to do. he probably needs medical attention, but more than that, he needs...something else. peter doesn't know what.]

What did they do to you? You look like you've been through hell, kitten.

(Newt just keeps on staring at Peter before eventually he looks down. There's this hot wash of shame that crowds into his mind and he idly touches the side of his head again. It's brief and he drops his hand back down soon after, sighing quietly.

It's a long time before he even bothers to answer or remembers- it's actually pretty impossible to tell which of the two it is.)

I got sick, Peter. This...

(A ball grows in the back of his throat and it's hard to swallow around before he forces himself to anyway. He glances back up and gestures idly.)

This is me. Mostly. Maybe? Some...some...some-

(He grimaces a bit at his speech infliction, holding his tongue and shutting his eyes a moment.)

Some other Cranks. We...it was...there was this place...They put us all there. The Cranks. All the Cranks were put there. Um- before we got bad- real bad, I mean. Me with them. I did a lot of this. They did a lot- I don't...

(He wouldn't be able to tell which of his wounds were self-inflicted and which were inflicted by others but he's pretty certain it was an even trade off. And if his speech doesn't make sense or wording, well yeah, he's still a bit lost.)

Okay. Okay.

[the first is accepting, the second is soothing. this happened. things happened. newt was sick, he hurt himself, other people hurt him. these are all things peter can understand.

there's a moment of hesitation, and then he runs his hand over newt's ruined hair and then down the side of his face, mindful of the welts and bruises.]

C'mon, we're going home.

(Newt feels his eyes burn again and God, he wants to cry. Cry for what he did to his friends, cry for the fact that he was still alive, cry for making Peter look at him like that. He doesn't. He just bobs his head.)

Okay.

(The word is barely coherent but it's clear he's understood Peter. He pushes himself to his feet a bit unsteadily but doesn't fall. He wavers a moment, frowning and looking away from Peter.)

I keep seeing shadows moving.

(His eyes slide back to Peter and he frowns, uncertainty on his face.)

Do you?

Good boy.

[newt looks like he wants to cry and in the shape he's in, peter can't blame him. he'd want to cry too. peter takes his arm out of instinct, as unsteady as newt seems on his feet, fitting himself to the side with the bad ankle. he looks around, about to reassure newt about the shadows when something shifts in the corner of his eye.]

Now that you mention it, yeah, that's not your imagination. Let's get the hell out of here.

They were in the Colosseum a lot more, I think. But I don't really....

(He jumbles his fingers up by his head, as if to say he wasn't really paying attention or didn't remember. It didn't matter though. Peter was right. They needed to leave. In this place, anything like that was never a good sign.

He doesn't take his arm back from Peter. He might not even realize Peter's holding onto him but he does start to walk and at least he seems to be able to do that just fine. Though his steps are a little awkward.)

That's fine. Doesn't matter now. We're going home.

[whether it's the disease or injury, peter doesn't know, and for the moment it doesn't matter. he can call the doctor to check newt over once they're safely home, if need be. he can't tell what kind of pain newt is in because all that radiates from him is pain, an ache so clear it's almost palpable.

he doesn't hurry the other boy home, but there's no dilly-dallying either as he steers newt on the familiar path to their apartment and inside, heading straight for the bedroom.]

You might be kinda bruised up for a shower, but do you want a wash-off?

(Once they're back at the house, it's oddly a huge relief to Newt. Especially because it felt familiar, it felt safe. It's more than he's felt in weeks and he slumps a little bit against Peter.

He stares around their bedroom for a moment and God, it looked exactly like how he had left it. He doesn't answer Peter right away- might not have properly heard him either, really.)

How long was I gone for?

(His eyes land on Roscat's bowl and they soften just so slightly. He might've smiled a while ago but he doesn't think to do something like that with his expression just now.)

[peter takes newt's weight easily, sliding an arm around his waist to hold him up just in case.]

Only about a day. I woke up...maybe late afternoon, day after the moon? And you were gone. Then you're back today. With a new batch of snacks, if you woke up in the coliseum.

Edited 2016-02-10 22:17 (UTC)

Oh.

(This does not help Newt by any means. A day. About a day. Jesus. He feels a little dizzy and he's suddenly immensely grateful that Peter was holding onto him at all.)

I was gone...I was back home for weeks. I don't....

(He closes his eyes. He had to remember that Hadriel didn't work the same with time at all as normal places. It was a different world.)

I uh- maybe. Maybe I should clean up. Yeah. You're right.

Hey, whoa.

[peter can feel when the dizziness sweeps over newt and they end up in something a lot more like a hug so that peter's sure newt doesn't fall to the ground.]

Is that kittenese for 'I need a minute' or do you want some help with that cleaning up?

(It feels odd to be held. Not because it's Peter but because for the past couple weeks of his life, Newt had been pushed away by society and crammed into a place of violence and depravity. Touches like this were more foreign to him than ever and for a moment, he guiltily relishes in it. Gentleness.

He'd completely forgotten about gentleness. How?)

I...

(He drifts, his eyes on Peter's chest. He sinks forward and makes it into a real hug, his head balancing against Peter's shoulder and he doesn't really deserve this. But what he does is feel empowered by the fact that he was actually in control.

He was in control of himself. He could be gentle. It felt like the beginning thaw of ice after a long winter.)

Sure.

(He removes himself from Peter and although he doesn't smile, the look he gives Peter is a soft sort of thing.)

I uh.

(Don't want to be alone.)

[whatever's happening in newt's head right now is far beyond peter, and he doesn't even attempt to fathom it. but he can feel newt relax into him, can feel the moment when he trusts peter to hold him and trusts himself to be held. so he lets him have that until he pulls away, and then gives the other boy a careful pat on the shoulder.]

Right. I think those clothes are scrap, for one thing. Let me get the scissors, might as well cut the shirt off.

[he's pretty sure newt can get out of his pants, but his shirt is a wreck and newt is a wreck, and getting his arms over his head right now may be more of a trial than really needs undergoing.]

All right.

(He feels a little bit more himself. Disoriented, yeah, but...At least there's a start happening. He has no attachment to the clothes. They honestly smell horrible- and so does he, probably. It's not like anyone was around to make sure the Cranks were being well taken care of and that included hygiene.

He gets rid of his pants while Peter is getting the scissors. He'd take off his underwear later in the bathroom. Even stripping off one layer of clothing though quickly made it evident that he's lost quite a bit of weight too.)

[peter gets the scissors and returns to a pantsless newt, which doesn't catch him off-guard nearly so much as how dirty he is. like he didn't care for weeks and weeks and weeks. and how skinny, like he didn't eat, either. his face twists a bit as he approaches with the scissors and begins to carefully cut up the arms of newt's shirt, and then up the chest.]

Gonna have to fatten you up again or you'll be living up to that frail and delicate thing. Let me wash your upper half and you can do the rest.

Edited 2016-02-10 23:07 (UTC)

(He doesn't really laugh or smile but at the very least, he doesn't seem offended either. It's a lot easier being treated like this than if he were glass at least. The few moments of randomly being himself again appreciates it even if it's brief.)

Okay.

(It worked fine for him. His upper half was a lot more dirty anyway. At least he'd had the luxury of pants during his stay at the Palace.

Once the shirt is cut, he shrugs out of it and lets it drop away to the floor. There's some nasty bruises on his chest and ribs like he'd gotten kicked something awful. It was hard to tell. He wanders away from Peter, trying to remember where the bathroom was on his own and winds up there a couple seconds later. He hesitantly sits down onto the edge of the tub, setting his hands onto his knees.)

You don't have to- if you don't want. You know. Help me, I mean.

No shit I don't have to.

[peter's seen people really banged up before. it's not that it gets to him in that way. it's that this is what newt meant when he said he'd get sick, that he'd be violent to himself and to others, that this was what he was so afraid of that he'd asked peter to kill him first.

peter wonders absently if there was anyone there to kill him this time, or if he'd been living like this without any hope of relief.

he's kind of afraid to ask, so instead he starts the water running and picks up a washcloth.]

But I don't have anything else pressing right now.

(Yeah....Newt was kind of working up to talking about that. Things is he had no idea what to think about it at all. Or what to say.

What he really didn't want to deal with was the fact that he was so bitterly disappointed that he wasn't dead. In any case, it had been a miserable situation. For a long time, he had been living without that- without any hope of relief. All because Thomas had been too much of an idiot to read that letter.

Except he's not really angry about it anymore. He's more mad at himself that he even put Thomas through that to begin with. It wasn't fair and honestly? He didn't realize he could actually hate himself more than he already did.

He can still remember the way Thomas had been looking at him. Begging him to come with him, pleading Newt, threatening him that he'd tie him down rather than kill him.

Newt's lost in his thoughts while Peter cleans him. It's an easy enough task. He doesn't seem to react at all to the cloth passing over the wounds. The most he does is wince every now and then but beyond that, there's no real reaction to it.)

[the worst part is washing newt's hair, or what's left of it, but something in peter just can't leave it dirty. he shampoos the remaining hanks of it, fingers light over the bald welts, and rinses by tilting newt's head back and cupping water between his palms. plastered to his head, it almost looks okay in some places, but peter knows better. nothing about this is okay, except possibly that newt is back.

except he's not sure newt is really back, or even slightly pleased about it.]

Your turn to finish up. I'll leave the door cracked. Holler if you need anything.

(Newt makes small noises when his hair is cleaned. It is the worst part and the pain rings through his head loud and clear. He fusses a bit but doesn't pull away from Peter.

Eventually he finishes and despite the pain, Newt's left feeling a little more human than he's felt in a long time.)

Okay.

(He waits until Peter's gone before he goes to do exactly that. Washes himself down a bit clumsily. Coordinating properly again felt weird. He hadn't even realized how badly his balance had been thrown. His hands were shaky now because of pain, not the virus, and that was strange too.

Eventually he finishes up and he feels- a lot better. He even brushes his teeth and mouth out thoroughly twice. He refuses to look at himself in the mirror and turns away, grabbing a towel to pat himself with. Wrapping it around his hips, he walks out, feeling a bit steadier, and wanders back into their room. He gets dressed into fresh boxers and a t-shirt and sits gingerly in the middle of his own mattress.)

Thanks.

[peter is not generally a person who feels a need to act. most of the time, he's content sitting by and letting things be what they are. but now, he feels itchy, like he needs to do something to fix something that can't be fixed, that has nothing to do with him, that shouldn't even be his goddamned business.

except it is. fuck it all.

so while newt is cleaning himself up, peter makes tea. he makes it too strong and with too much honey, but as skinny and hopeless as newt looks, he doesn't think it will matter. it goes into a tall mug, because peter didn't miss those shaking hands. he toasts two slices of bread, which is probably a slice and a half optimistic, but a single piece of toast just seems too obviously sad.

by the time newt is out peter's sitting on his own mattress, newt's toast and tea safe on the floor within reach. he has his own cup of tea, at least mostly for solidarity reasons, but no toast, since he estimates he'll be eating a slice of newt's and even if he doesn't he's not hungry anyway. this whole thing has stolen his appetite.]

Here, eat. Or at least drink.

(He looks at the food a bit strangely, as if he doesn't fully understand what he's looking at. It's been a long time since he's seen civilized meals like that. He shakes his head, trying to ignore what he'd been doing the last time he'd eaten. Straight out of the trash. At the time, it hadn't really mattered to him but now it made his stomach roll uncomfortably.

He hesitantly reaches out to the food, like he's thinking maybe it'll be snatched away from him but of course it isn't. He ignores the tea and goes straight for the bread and brings it to his mouth.

He bites into the first piece of toast like it's a piece of heaven and his shoulders sink. He blinks a dozen times and shuts his eyes completely, sighing quietly.)

....Thank you...

(His voice wavers and he forces his eyes back open and actually plows through the bread. It's been- he has no clue the last time he had real food. By the time he's finished with the first piece, he has the sense to slow down. He picks up the second piece of toast and nibbles at it, staring off into space.)

[peter looks genuinely surprised at the speed with which newt wolfs down the first piece of toast. it's just plain, dry toast, after all, the same sort of thing his mother gave him to eat when he had an upset stomach.]

Don't make yourself sick.

[he says it too late, though, as newt is picking up the second piece of bread.]

Hey. Drink some tea too. It'll help the toast go down easier.

(The kid was starving, kind of. And it's better than anything he's eaten in a long while. It's not until he's half way through the second piece that he realizes what Peter had said.

He reaches out to pick up the tea and takes a slow sip. Peter was right. The tea wets his throat and he didn't realize how thirsty he was. He drinks a bit slower than he eats before setting the mug down.

He finishes the toast and not longer after, the tea. Once he's done, he sits facing Peter, just numbly holding the glass between his palms.)

I was hungry.

Yeah, I noticed. Didn't think you'd be able to down that much, skinny as you've gotten.

[he says it lightly, like they're not talking about recovery from starvation, like newt isn't a bruised mess, like things are okay.

they're not, though. the way newt just stares, like his head is empty of thoughts, is maybe the most disquieting thing.]

Still with me, kitten? Or do you want a sleep?

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