Farm Livin' [open]

[abheirrant]

Who: Carlisle Longinmouth, farm animals, and anyone else who might wander into the area
What: With Anchor's #1 Ranch Hand gone, someone had to take care of the animals.
When: Late June/throughout July
Where: Agricultural Level, mostly near the barns/livestock and the adjacent forested area
Warnings: Will update as necessary!


As someone who had everything he ever knew either ruined, upended, or permanently changed for the worse within the near-year he's been aware of himself, Carlisle is glad to have some semblance of a routine back. True, it came at an awful cost, but in an effort to maintain his nerves — and therefore keep his more volatile, necrotic energies in check — he will take what victories he can get, however small they may be.

It started when he first moved into the barn. He's been there for well over a month now, and it took most of that time for the animals to adjust to his presence; with his head-to-toe outfit and fastidious nature, Carlisle is a far cry from their former farmhand, but he simply couldn't let Kieran's animals be without a caretaker. Given the man disappeared so soon after he'd been healed — and after Carlisle had begun to form the barest notion that they could be friends — the former clergyman is quick to blame himself for Kieran's vanishing. What's one more addition to his long list of sins? He has so much to atone for already, and a seemingly endless existence to do it. Who better to be responsible for Anchor's loss but him?

It's self-fulfilling prophecy, of course, but Carlisle is hesitant to label it as such. He felt a genuine bond with Reynir, who then disappeared. The same goes for Kieran, and now he's gone. Carlisle has yet to be proven wrong, shown that the misfortune he's said to breed with his very presence isn't a guarantee, but with only his own experiences to go on, he cannot say he believes otherwise. The only reason he remains in the colony at all is because of the insistence of a few individuals — that, and his own cowardice toward what lies in the wasteland outside of Anchor. The vast, open expanse is enough to have him reeling.

As it is, he told those same few individuals that he was moving from the housing quarters to the barn, slowly converting one of the sheds into a private home as the days went by. He claimed it was for the sake of the animals, and that it'd be a good exercise for him. By surrounding himself with living creatures who depended on him, he'd have to not only have to continue to live withing Anchor, but he would have to master his often destructive energies, keeping them in line lest he wanted their deaths on his hands. It was grim motivation, but motivation none the less. There was a heavier truth lying just beneath that reasoning: he felt that if any animals disappeared, no one would notice, whereas being in proximity of people put them at risk — those he would consider his friends included.

And so, he moved away from them, keeping his distance much as he did in life. It didn't do him any good then, either.

Well, that's not to say that living at the barn hasn't done him some good. Carlisle has indeed gotten a better hold on the necrotic magic that animates him, been able to practice wielding them in the safety of his solitude. He no longer rots everything he touches, can walk across the grasses of the fields without leaving a trail of dying, withered stalks behind him. Animals do not shift uncomfortably at his touch, and there some satisfaction in that. Each day, he feeds them, brushes them, goes about his prayer, watches over those who need him, works a little more on making the barn habitable. It's a routine, and one that often has him interacting less and less with people.

But just because he doesn't seek them out doesn't mean he's completely away from them. He actually has help on the farm some days: there's Pratt, who has shown him how to more or less manage the animals, and Ami, who comes by the brush the horses on a regular basis. Try as he might to fully isolate himself, Carlisle finds that he can't... and deep down, he isn't sure he wants to, no matter how he may seclude himself, both unconsciously or otherwise. Despite everything that's happened in his vicinity, everything he's done as the Blight Heir, Carlisle doesn't want to be alone. He's constantly trying to make amends for an endless guilt that festers in his gut. At least the animals don't judge him as harshly as he judges himself.

When dropping by the agricultural area, one might see Carlisle tending to the start of his garden: he's built up a bed of soil and surrounded it with rocks, hoping to deter the few chickens he has from plucking the new sprouts as they emerge. Acting as an additional deterrent is a tiny dragon, the blue-and-white wyrmling often nestled atop a pole in the center of the bed. Though barely bigger than a chicken himself, he does his best to act as a guard dog, keeping watch over the budding plants and hissing at anyone who would approach, letting loose a breath of chilling air.

When not there, Carlisle can be found over by the field as he tends to the cattle, letting them graze on the grasses to their hearts' content while he prepares their hay or (badly) fixes the fence. Sitting among the cattle is their protector: a hulking beast of an undead abomination. Its malformed body is no less than eight feet tall when sitting, closer to nine or ten when standing, making it out like a sore thumb among the cows and bulls; its rib cage has far too many ribs, and houses a vibrant, blue light that blazes like fire within its cavernous torso. Its frame is built of materials of all sorts, mismatched fragments of both human and animal bone, as well as a twisted branch or two making up its many limbs. The skull of a long-dead cow acts as its head, its eyes shining with the same blue light that burns in its chest. Most notable is a collar that hangs from the human-spine-turned-neck, a shiny bell dangling there for all to see.

And on rare occasion, Carlisle is outside the barn, etching into its walls an elaborate glyph. He accomplishes this with what appears to be a screw with a crude handle added to it. While it may not be a precision tool, it gets the job done, so long as he can work uninterrupted. No matter where one sees him, it's apparent he's attempting to adjust to his new life: in addition to his usual garb, Carlisle now tends to wear a pair of work gloves right on top of his normal ones, as well as a leather apron. With only one proper outfit that masks his emaciated frame, he's not eager to get stains on it.

Then again, he's not always eager for company, either. There are just some things he cannot avoid.

[ooc: alternatively, if none of these prompts are up your alley, hit me up on Discord or Plurk, and we can plot!]

Comments

[abheirrant]

[The turmoil on Qubit's face is obvious; Carlisle gives him an apologetic look, sorry that his first and only impression of Tony was unflattering, to put it lightly. He lets Qubit gather his thoughts and continue without comment, his eyes on the path before them as he listens. It sounds as though the children were his fault, perhaps one of the earlier signs of what was to come. Thankfully, Carlisle is aware that most monstrous men don't start out as such. He himself is a testament to that.

But once one is a monster, it's hard to go back. Perhaps impossible. He pushes a sigh through him as he curbs that notion, knowing what Qubit would say to that line of thinking.

However, that means something must have changed around this Tony fellow, or changed him. Was it a twist of fate, a tragedy the likes of which no one could have foreseen? Or was it purposeful cruelty that drove him to his end? Carlisle waits for a second pause before chiming in, but keeps those questions to himself for the moment. He instead tries to ease Qubit into the topic while also getting a more complete picture of the friend Qubit knew.]

Tell me of him.

[It's a simple, vague request, and one he'd often give to someone in confessional; mostly, he hopes to allow Qubit to choose what he wishes to divulge.]

[superposition]

[ "Tell me of him." Even that request, simple as it is, evokes another time and place; only then, the voice was his own. He remembers the pouring rain, his arm around Kaidan's shoulders, an overdesigned umbrella buzzing softly above them. Another application of his teleportals, taking the rain someplace it was needed, while Qubit stayed where he was needed.

"I don't want to forget about him."
"Then tell me about him."
"You know as well as I-"
"Pretend I don't. Tell me every wonderful little thing you remember."

It won't bring anyone back, not this time. Unlike her, he can't tell a story so riveting that the dead cross back over to listen. But he doesn't want to forget, either. ]

Tony was... a hero.

[ It's a bit obvious, but no better word for it comes to mind. Still, he corrects himself - ]

Tony was the hero. The first and the best. He set the example the rest of us set out to follow.

Personally, I found him fascinating. You know me - I wanted to know what made him tick. Not just his powers, but - what was it that drove this man? What made him get up each morning, stare the whole world's troubles in the eye, and tackle them head-on? How did he shoulder that weight without flinching? How must that feel?

[ A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. ] Eventually, I concluded that... he was just a good man. Someone who chose to live his life for others simply because it was the right thing to do. He never asked for rewards, turned them down if anyone offered. You'd thank him for saving the world, and he'd modestly say it was all in a day's work, that he was here to help.

... Granted, some of that was his public image, but he didn't act much different in private. A little more mild-mannered, not as instinctively sure of himself. But that just made him all the more relatable. All that power and fame, and he still got public speaking jitters.

In terms of the work, though, he was second to none. He favored the direct approach, of course, but he knew he couldn't solve every problem by punching it into orbit. He was smart when he put his mind to it. [ And that's not a descriptor Qubit hands out lightly. ] That's what made us such an efficient team. I could tell him what the plan needed and he'd do it, to the letter, no questions asked. I never had to repeat myself with him.

[ There's an undeniable spark in his eye, revisiting the Tony he knew in those golden days; a familiar enthusiasm, not unlike when he's hit upon an idea, though more muted here. All these memories are poisoned, of course, by the knowledge of what came next, but oh, if it isn't a sweet-tasting poison. You know it'll tear up your insides, but once that first sip is in you, it's so very hard to stop. ]

The Paradigm was his idea, you know. It was more of an informal thing at the start - just Tony and a few of his friends getting together, meeting each other, sharing our stories, strategies, resources... But the whole was so clearly greater than the sum of the parts, it wasn't long before we made it official.

... The point is, he was an inspiration. To me, to the Paradigm, to humanity. He showed us it was possible to really make a difference, to leave our world a little better than we found it, one day at a time. We were changing the world.

[abheirrant]

[Well, Qubit certainly had a lot to say. It was high praise, too; Carlisle knows how remarkable it is for Qubit to describe anyone as even remotely exceptional, particularly in a positive manner. For as long as he's known him, Carlisle has seen Qubit sing the praises of few individuals — perhaps one trait or another, at best, but the way he describes this Tony is as though he was entirely superior to his fellow people in almost every way. And maybe he was: according to Qubit, he was smart, strong, powerful, charitable. He hoped to make a difference in the world, and guided others to do the same. He was a paragon of virtue with no equal.

But who Qubit is describing is the Tony he liked, the side of him that — by Qubit's own admission — he knew first. There's still the side who was involved with those skeletons, the side that Qubit and the rest of the Paradigm must have discovered later — the side who changed them for the worse, if what he said earlier was any indication.

And yet, Qubit still speaks of him so warmly. He smiles as he reminisces, basks in his nostalgia adoration for this once friend. Does Qubit continue to think of him as a friend, even now? Even after discovering the side of Tony he never knew?

Carlisle supposes he ought to hear more before drawing any conclusions. He will "put a pin in that," as Qubit sometimes says.]

What changed, then? Or was the side of him you did not know first always there, lurking somewhere in the shadows?

[superposition]

Oh, it was always there.

[ The nostalgic smile starts to fade, gradually. ]

I still don't believe it was all an act. On some level, that truly was who he wanted to be... or at the very least, who he felt he was supposed to be. Which I can very much understand. People like us, those with extraordinary power... we have to hold ourselves to a higher moral standard, if only because there's no one else who can. And no one felt that pressure more than Tony. He was far and away the most powerful being on Earth, after all. If he thought the world demanded perfection of him, well... [ a light shrug ] it's only because it did.

[ He shakes his head. ] But he wasn't perfect. Couldn't be. He wasn't some... "god among mortals." His body may have been invulnerable, but his heart was still essentially human, with human desires and human needs and ... human vices. Human flaws. Human fears.

[ To include that most ancient of human fears: rejection. Being cast out, unwanted, unloved. That fear was Tony's close companion his entire life, one he'd seen realized over and over and over and over again, as family after family rejected him the moment they knew what he was. Withdrawing their love, sending him away, going into hiding, changing their names... even taking their own lives.

Yet he never stopped craving that sense of connection. He started over, invented a new self, one that nobody could possibly find fault with. A good person, upright, selfless, only here to help, and all he wanted in return was a little unconditional love... ]

... And he made mistakes. [ Qubit sighs. ] Which brings us back round to Jackson, I suppose.

[ A refresher: ] If you recall, the Jackson Plague was caused by an ultrasonic lifeform. Infected only children, reanimated their skeletons, transmitted on the screams of the living, et cetera. But I don't think I mentioned where it came from.

[abheirrant]

["People like us, those with extraordinary power... we have to hold ourselves to a higher moral standard, if only because there's no one else who can."

Carlisle knows what that's like to a painful degree.

"It's who we are, Benistad. It's what our bloodline must do, and if he cannot do it, he has no place among us."

He felt the weight of his bloodline and their wondrous legacy at all times: it bored into him from every mention of his missing uncles, from every painting hanging in the once-grand estate. That legacy dragged him down, damned him to a lifetime of guilt and regret when he could not possibly live up to it. It drove him utterly mad... and in retrospect, was perhaps one of the reasons for his current state. That bitterness boiled inside him, and no matter how much he tried to stifle it — it wasn't proper for a cleric to behave in such a way, nor a Longinmouth, nor anyone with as many resources as he had, resources which couldn't help him avoid his own, dreadful end, and what gave him any right to complain about his end when his entire existence was a literal blight upon the people he was supposed to protect —

Well... stifling it ultimately didn't work. He cannot help but empathize with anyone who faced a similar societal pressure, no matter how many skeletons they kept lying around.]

I don't believe you did, no. But I can surmise.

[superposition]

[ Hm. Surmise what, though, from this evidence? Probably only that Tony was to blame, in some nonspecific way. He should qualify that. ]

In fairness, it was genuinely an accident. Tony thought the device was harmless. Hell, I must have thought so, if it went into storage with the rest of the salvage. He had no way of knowing he was handing those researchers an alien bioweapon.

[abheirrant]

It being an accident does not absolve him of guilt, Qubit. Neither that from others, nor himself, if he did feel truly feel it his place to set a righteous example.

[But they're talking about Tony and his skeletons, not Carlisle's. He shakes his head.]

Continue. What happened then?

[superposition]

[ Carlisle's not wrong, of course, and Qubit shrugs his agreement. Tony did cause the accident. He never should have given them any alien tech, regardless of whether he did it out of negligence or malice. All Qubit's really doing is splitting hairs. ]

Right, well. The cover-up wasn't an accident.

It would have been one thing if he'd owned up to it. There'd still have been major repercussions, no doubt, and I don't know that the team would have got through intact, but... it wouldn't have been the end of the world. [ He briefly considered wording that differently. He chose not to. ]

... But he lied.

[ Even years later, even knowing Tony the way he does now, there's still astonishment in his voice. As he continues, it starts to pick up energy, mingling with something like anger - but a different sort than usual, neither icy hostility nor explosive rage. If anything, he seems offended. ]

Claimed he'd never been there before, handled the cleanup personally to destroy any evidence of his involvement. No witnesses to worry about; they'd all died in the initial explosion. Nice and neat, swept under the rug, the world none the wiser...!

[ He sighs irritably, then casts Carlisle an ironic, knowing look. Not hard to surmise what happened next. ]

All their data was backed up offsite. Standard practice.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle might not know some of the exact steps for what Qubit describes as a standard practice, but he gets the gist of it from context. Tony tried to erase any evidence that he'd been involved, but there were clues elsewhere — clues Qubit and the rest of the Paradigm presumably found.

He nods. Empathize as he may with the burden of responsibility, he never tried to pretend he wasn't a Longinmouth, and has been steadily coming to terms with what he is and what he did to Bear Den. To pretend it never happened would be a disservice to not only those his family swore to serve, but to his goddess, as well.

Needless to say, the ire bleeding into Qubit's tone is understandable. He watched someone — a friend and hero — betray the very principles he claimed to stand for.]

Did you confront him when you learned what happened?

[superposition]

[ Qubit pauses, caught off balance. They were approaching the critical moment, but that question, however logical, breezes right past it, and he suddenly finds himself dangling precariously over the other side. ]

I -

[ an all-too-familiar tightness in his chest, in the muscles of his face - ]

- no, I - by that time, it, uh -

[ yet at the same time it doesn't feel quite his, as if his body's doing this on its own, reacting to something in a dream while he, sleepwalking, observes -

Qubit stops walking for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing a hand to his forehead. ]

- sorry. Hold on.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle's gait slows to a halt. His eyes land on Qubit beside him, then cast themselves away as he witnesses his friend's inner turmoil manifesting across him — in his shoulders, on his features, in his posture and the way he puts a hand to his head.

For a moment, the clergyman is conflicted on how to react himself. A part of him considers remaining impassive, as he so often did with his congregation; that distance helped maintain his composure, allowed him to see the situation from a logical standpoint rather than an emotional one. It was, perhaps, what a Longinmouth ought to do.

However, another part of Carlisle knows good and well he's too close to Qubit for that. He wants to help his friend, even if it's just offering some kind of moral support as a sympathetic ear, or allowing him to right himself after a bout of unwelcome distress. Carlisle has been there many times himself, but rarely had anyone to offer such support to him.

But Qubit has. His fingers curl against his palms as he struggles with indecision.

In the end, he reaches out a hand, setting it tentatively on Qubit's shoulder. His touch is light, most of the pressure in his fingertips rather than his palm, but the fact he's opting for a physical gesture at all likely says volumes.]

I would suggest we speak of other things, but... I suspect you may not have spoken of this enough. Take your time.

[superposition]

[ The touch on his shoulder is so gentle, it's a few seconds before Qubit notices it. It's unexpected; Carlisle isn't wild about physical contact at the best of times, so the significance of this small gesture is not lost on him. But honestly, it's more than welcome. It's not relief, exactly, the emotions are no less intense, but it bolsters him, somehow.

He nods and takes a few seconds to focus on breathing. It's okay. There's no rush this time, no imminent danger. Not even from each other. Carlisle's here for him, and they can take as much time as they need.

What an odd sensation. ]

... I suspect you may be right.

[ He's kept this all inside him for so long, pushing it deeper and deeper, never letting it vent if he could help it. And doesn't that sound familiar. The worst part is, he's always known it's unhealthy. But who was he supposed to tell?

After a while, he lowers his hand and sighs, though his head stays bowed a moment longer. ]

Sorry. [ He shakes his head lightly, gestures vaguely to get the words flowing again. ] It's just - it helps, I think, going through it in... chronological order like this. Easier to manage, I know what to expect.

[ Another deep breath. Finally he straightens up and squares his shoulders, getting himself back on track. He catches Carlisle's eye and nods; he's all right, they can resume walking. ]

It was months before the rest of us had any idea. Hindsight being 20/20, of course, there were... signs.

Jackson was... well, it clearly got to him. I'd never known Tony to freeze up in the field before, not like that. At the time, I assumed it was the horror of the scene, but... no. He knew. [ He shakes his head again, sadly this time. Looking back, he can't be sure Tony felt anything for the victims themselves. Tony hated kids. ]

But back then, we had no reason to doubt his word. And by the time I found out, the Children's Plague was the least of our worries.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle nods as he walks alongside Qubit once more. While he understands Qubit's need to put the story in order, taking it one step at a time in the interest of making it easier to digest for the both of them, Carlisle hadn't realized he was jumping ahead. That doesn't bode well for what is to come — not for the Paradigm or for Qubit himself.]

For the smartest fellow I know to have not discovered his deception sooner, your trust in him must have been immeasurable.

[He's stating the obvious, but he just felt like reiterating that before Qubit gets to the part that is apparently worse than the child skeletons.]

[superposition]

[ The compliment draws a soft chuckle out of him. Weird time for flattery, but okay. ]

It was. We all trusted him, implicitly and completely. The whole world did. [ Ah. That's not entirely true, though, is it? ]

... Well, no. Hornet didn't.

[abheirrant]

[Weird time, but Qubit seemed like he could use the boost, however momentary it may have been.]

Another superhuman? Or were they a villain?

[superposition]

[ While Carlisle's speaking, Qubit brings up a hologram of Hornet. He was in the group portrait, too - the guy with the domino mask and shoulderpads. ]

Neither. A teammate - he and I were both founding members of the Paradigm. But he was the only one on the team without any powers.

[abheirrant]

[Oh, that fellow. Carlisle's head turns Qubit's way.]

What skills did he bring to your group, then?

[superposition]

He was an infiltration specialist, mainly, but he had an assortment. Stealth, reconaissance, martial arts. He could go toe-to-toe with just about anyone on the team, apart from the ones with super-strength. Our enemies tended to underestimate him, but not many did it twice.

[ It's all complimentary, but a far cry from the glowing praise he heaped on the Plutonian. His tone isn't cold, but it isn't what you'd call warm or affectionate, either. Just very matter-of-fact. ]

Highly resourceful, as well. Had a knack for getting himself out of impossible scrapes. [ a brief but meaningful pause- ] Noticing things that others missed.

[abheirrant]

He made up for his lack in powers by keeping an eye on those who did, knowing if it came to it, he could not win a fair fight against them.

[He sighs quietly.]

A lesson my father taught me early. I suppose it holds true even across worlds.

[superposition]

Hm. [ Carlisle's hit the nail on the head, and Qubit nods. He knows very little about his friend's father, though he's gathered they weren't close; he could count the times Carlisle's even mentioned the man on one hand. But for the moment, that's neither here nor there. ]

Precisely. And I can't blame him for being wary, he... did have his wife and children to consider. [ He can blame him for certain other things, but. I'm sure we'll get to those. ]

But because he was paying attention, he saw what the rest of us didn't. [ He pauses again, pensive. ] It's funny. He was right, after all, so the signs must have been there from day one, and yet... I can't remember a single instance. Not once did I notice anything out of the ordinary, any cause for concern.

[abheirrant]

Perhaps his desire to protect his family of his gave him all the more reason to be wary. Perhaps he'd had experience with such things before, those who were not as trustworthy as they seemed. There are many reasons why he could have seen what you did not.

[He's matter-of-fact about that, just in case Qubit is thinking of blaming himself for having not foreseen the future.]

[superposition]

[ Too late, he's already been blaming himself for years! He appreciates the effort, though. ]

True. Or, maybe I was blinded by my own admiration. Maybe I only saw what I wanted to see. Or maybe I did see something, and simply... thought it was normal. [ Qubit is a little hot-tempered himself, if you hadn't noticed. ] Or all of the above. Who knows? It's a moot point now, anyway.

[ He sighs. All right, he's beaten around the bush enough. This story's going to take weeks if he doesn't man up and get on with it. ]

Where was I... ah, right. So, nearly everyone trusted Tony - no one more than his sidekick, Samsara.

[ And apparently we're doing holograms for everybody he introduces. This is the kid who was standing next to Tony in the portrait, with the gemstone on his forehead. ]

[abheirrant]

[Yeah, Carlisle hears that guilt, that self-turned anger. He wondered himself if Qubit was blinded by his own admiration for Tony, but figured bringing it up wouldn't be telling Qubit anything he didn't already suspect.

His glowing eyes flick from Qubit to the hologram, fixating on that gem in his forehead and wondering what it's for. Decoration? Or does it have some purpose? Questions for later, should he feel them pertinent.]

I assume he took the betrayal the hardest.

[superposition]

[ Qubit's expression darkens. This is where it starts to get truly unpleasant. ]

You could say that.

[ He puts the hologram away, taking a second to steel himself against the dread pooling in his chest. We're here. The point of no return. With one last, deliberate breath, he sets his face in determination and crosses his personal Rubicon. ]

9th of July, 2009. In the course of their investigation, the Jackson lab's parent company had uncovered the truth. And in light of the cover-up, I doubt they knew where to turn. If you couldn't trust the Plutonian, who could you trust?

In the end, they approached Samsara. Poor Sam was heartbroken. Tony was his idol. The idea that he could lie about anything, much less something this serious... It must have shattered Sam's entire image of him. He couldn't ignore it. So... he went to Tony.

[ Then, icily, in a tone usually reserved for genuine death threats: ]

Tony carved out half his brain.

[abheirrant]

[The abject horror that crosses Carlisle's face, half-covered as it is, is obvious. Empathize as he might with the weight of expectation put upon Tony, Carlisle believes there is a moral threshold after which one's action are solely their own responsibility... and carving out half the brain of one's own friend is well beyond that line. And that image Qubit had shown him — the Samsara in question was just a lad, wasn't he?

How Qubit can still speak so highly of Tony, looking back on the memories of his with an unmistakable fondness despite what he did, is a mystery. Blinded by his own admiration, indeed.]

I don't suppose your world has healers capable of repairing such grievous injuries.

[He knows the answer to that, but asks anyway.]