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

[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.]

[superposition]

[ Qubit doesn't have to be watching Carlisle to see his reaction. And... yeah, that about sums it up. ]

It doesn't. He only survived thanks to his powers - one of which was rapid self-healing. Sam could recover from near-fatal wounds literally overnight. However... even he couldn't regenerate that much lost tissue.

... He rang me later that day. He was panicked, incoherent. Desperately trying to tell me what he'd seen. I could tell he was hurt, but he could barely string a sentence together, much less tell me where he was or what had happened. I only managed to track him down a week later, and by then...

[ Wait, no, he can't just skip ahead a week. He shakes his head. ]

I'm getting ahead of myself. Tony... wasn't done. Once he left Sam, his next stop was Sky City. His city. The one under his personal protection. He...

[ It's getting harder to force the words out. Sam was the first casualty, but this was the first Qubit actually witnessed. The critical moment. Ignition. Catastrophe. ]

He razed it to the ground. Three and a half million people... murdered in an instant.

[ And suddenly, everything he knew was wrong. ]

[abheirrant]

[It's Carlisle who stops this time; his hand lands on his chest, feeling the talisman beneath his many layers as though it would shield him from his disbelief. As a man who unintentionally destroyed his own home — and was destroyed himself by the act, the hole left behind in his own heart a cavernous maw of guilt and regret that may never heal — he cannot fathom what would drive anyone to commit such a heinous act. So many people, individuals who had depended upon him, looked to him as a hero...

They had not even wronged him in any way, had they? Not that it justified his actions, nor their suffering. He thinks of the faces of Bear Den, visages twisted in agony for reasons he can hardly remember.

There's not a doubt in Carlisle's mind how much Qubit blames himself. He's sure the depths of that despair are not easily measured, either. One can ponder all day long on what they could have done differently — if they could have seen the tragedy coming, if they could have done something to prevent it — but that won't bring the people back. Nothing can.

He looks to Qubit, trying to mitigate his disgust for both Tony and himself, and for a moment, he feels human by comparison to a true monster. He must have been capable of some semblance of remorse, given what Qubit said about his desire for a second chance, but whether or not he truly deserved one is another matter entirely.]

Why?

[superposition]

[ Qubit comes to a stop a couple steps ahead of him, but doesn't turn around. And for a long moment, he says nothing.

He hates revisiting that day. God - he didn't know how good he had it these past few weeks. The amnesia was a nepenthe, an all-too-brief respite from the haunting specter of July 9th, from the memory of what came after. Even forgetting what came before wasn't so bad. At least then he didn't know what he'd lost.

... It's no good to think like that, though. Forgetting might have dulled the pain, but the scars never left him. They never will. And he cannot - must not - let himself forget how they got there. Such is the grim duty Qubit has appointed to himself.

Perhaps fortunately, without external intervention, it's impossible to forget. The memory of that day is burned into him with absolute clarity, as if he's still there. Then again, in a way, he supposes he is. He hears Carlisle's breathless question twice, superimposed upon the memory of his own. ]

... Why indeed.

[ Qubit sighs, deeply, wearily, and hangs his head. His shoulders sag as if under a great weight. The dread is rising into his throat now, his lungs are already filled. It's hard to breathe. But he presses on. Further, deeper, that's right, wallow in it, Qubit. Choke on it. Drown in it. It's less than you deserve. ]

We couldn't believe it was really him, at first. It had to be an imposter, mind control, anything but what it actually was. He dispelled that notion soon enough, of course. This was the real Plutonian, beyond all shadow of a doubt. Earth's greatest and most beloved hero... was now, also, her most prolific mass murderer.

[ That's as far as he makes it before his voice breaks. He feels tears on his face, though he isn't sure when they started. His fists clench at his sides, trembling with the effort of holding himself together, and yet - he presses on. ]

What - what was it that drove this man? What made him - turn on everything he loved, abandon his principles and his mission and his world and all the billions of innocent people who loved and trusted and relied on him - ?

[abheirrant]

He never had those principles to abandon. Not truly.

[Still behind Qubit, Carlisle is short in his statement, insistent. He can hear the turmoil in Qubit's voice, but cannot manage to keep the ire from his own. Though the thought of this man murdering an entire city of innocents riles him — more innocents than he can even imagine, given Carlisle spent his entire life in a small town in the mountains — it's what Tony's betrayal did to his friends that ignites the clergyman's temper.

Well, maybe just one friend in particular.

And yet, Qubit still speaks highly of him. Defended him! He wasn't always like that, Qubit had started to say. Tony was the hero. He was an inspiration. To me, to the Paradigm, to humanity.

Carlisle doesn't yet know the full story, but he knows enough to decide that this Tony doesn't deserve that kind of charity. This man had so much, and squandered it — and worst of all, destroyed all that was good around him in the process.

Perhaps Qubit is the one who needs a second chance.]

[superposition]

[ Carlisle's voice is clipped, terse, and for the first time Qubit stops to consider what must be in his head about this. Shock. Revulsion. Instant, complete condemnation. That's all to be expected, though, isn't it? It's the same way everyone else reacted.

Yet this time... it scares him, somehow. ]

I - I know. I know that now. What he did was inexcusable. But you don't - it's not -

[ He struggles for the right words, but there don't seem to be any. So much for that silver tongue of his. What is he even trying to accomplish? What point is he trying to make?

He turns halfway to look back at Carlisle, eyes wet, expression pleading - but at the same time resigned, like a man standing on the gallows, looking to his executioner for mercy but expecting none. ]

All the good he did, all the lives he saved, or changed for the better - even if it was for the wrong reasons, it - I couldn't just ignore that! It was still a part of him, it still matters! Don't you understand?