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]

[Carlisle nods, setting his own mug before him as though he would drink it.]

When would it have happened? When the town met with Ul Bereth, or much later? And what would the terms of their pact be? Was there an end to it, or do we serve them still?

[All hypotheticals, all exhausting to think about. Such questions make his stomach churn.]

In the years before his disappearance, Uncle Benistad became... obsessed with the gateway. It was a curiosity for him at first, or so we believed. He took measurements, notes for his journal — nothing too troubling. Then, he'd lock himself in his office for hours at a time with some of the journals of our family, dusty tomes of personal records and musings from two, three generations prior. He started experimenting with his own energies and how they interacted with the old stones that framed the gateway, pouring his magic into the worn glyphs in the hopes something would happen, anything. Uncle Boris and I didn't know what to make of it, but whenever we asked, he insisted it was just his latest hobby. Magical theory was nothing new to him, and such a puzzle was perfectly aligned with his usual interests.

[Carlisle's hands wrap around the mug, his expression hardening.]

And now, I wonder just what it was he was doing out there with that gateway, and why. Did he hope to release Ul Bereth for the kind? Or was he put to the task by Ul Bereth themself?

[superposition]

[ Qubit doesn't answer.

More to the point, he doesn't have an answer. He doesn't know the facts of the situation. Most likely, Benistad had only the best of intentions - but as he never knew the man personally, any effort to reassure Carlisle of that would feel disingenuous.

Anyway, we all know what good intentions are worth.

He tries the tea. Probably should have let it cool a bit longer, but it's fine. ]

[abheirrant]

[Yes, this is fine. Carlisle's eyes remain on his mug for a moment longer, his mind making its way down every possible road of questioning, turning over every rock in the hopes of finding an answer he hadn't yet considered. Failing that, he pushes one last sigh out of himself, rubbing at his temple.]

I suppose there is not sense in vexing myself over it now. I am worlds away, my bloodline is gone, and the last Longinmouth left is hardly one at all.

[superposition]

[ At that, Qubit lets out a sigh. ] It's not a contest.

[ Look, Carlisle, he's not going to tell you how to feel, but he does wish you wouldn't keep calling yourself "the least," or "the failure," or any of the other thousand synonyms you have for it. Language shapes our ideas, after all. He doesn't want to harangue him about it right now, though, so he goes on without waiting for a response. ]

But, family shapes who we become. Their choices do affect you, for better or worse, so you're not wrong to wonder. I just... wish I had more to offer than speculation.

[ He almost takes another sip, but lowers the mug as an afterthought occurs to him. ]

I do appreciate you telling me, though. I may not have all the answers, but I am always willing to listen.

[abheirrant]

[Perhaps Carlisle will one day unlearn those bad habits, including that constant need to debase himself. He did it while he was alive as well, long before he saw himself as a creature, as the very antithesis of all he stood for. It might take him years before he naturally starts to do otherwise; at least he has all the time in the world for it, given the nature of his existence.

For now, he smiles, his mask subtly moving with his expression. Qubit admitting he doesn't have all the answers is still unfamiliar, but he's willing to listen, to try to understand and empathize. He's a slightly different Qubit now from when they first met, that's for certain, but a good man nonetheless.]

Of course, of course. Perhaps one day, I will have more to talk about than my family, but you are right. I would not be who I am without them — [he nods toward Qubit as he repeats his words] — for better and for worse. But simply having someone who will listen to you is... an immeasurable comfort, and one I've rarely had in life. Thank you.

[superposition]

[ It's always subtle when Carlisle smiles. Over time, Qubit's learned to recognize it - the crinkling of his eyes, the slight leftward shift of his mask. He smiles back, feeling some of that strange warmth return to him. Come to think of it, he's probably seen more of that expression in the last six weeks than he did all the months prior combined... but he decides to take that as a challenge. Let's keep that rate on the increase, shall we? ]

Anytime. [ To clarify, he adds - ] And I do mean any time, day or night. You shouldn't have to face these things alone, either.

[ It's only fair, but not only out of fairness. He just cares too much for Carlisle to let him suffer in isolation.

That said, however, this feels like a good time to segue into a different topic. He lets the sentiment steep for a few seconds, enough for a long sip of his tea, before moving on. ]

I admit, though, I'd be curious to find out how it works myself. The gate, I mean, that's why I brought it up. Teleportation's a longtime interest of mine, it's where my real expertise lies.

[abheirrant]

[Touched as he is by Qubit's insistence that Carlisle call on him at any time, day or night, he's likely to never do that. Qubit needs his sleep. He'd better be getting his sleep. He follows up on his work, instead.]

Right, I believe you mentioned that.

[So he's not a planeswalker — Qubit wouldn't call it something else if he didn't feel there was a need for such a discrepancy, much like with Psionics and magic.]

What does that entail, exactly? Aside from moving from one place to another — teleportation as I know it.

[superposition]

[ Qubit sits back and rubs his chin, thinking. Comparing his teleportals to the magic available in Carlisle's world is a bit like apples and oranges. As Carlisle's explained it to him, teleportation is a form of Evocation, only it attempts to draw a specific object from a specific place, as opposed to pulling a type of object from the ether (with Evocation much better suited to the latter). Qubit's portals, on the other hand... ]

... It's hard to put into layman's terms. Or even the terms of modern quantum mechanics. [ Suffice to say, there is a lot of very difficult physics involved, even if he stays well clear of the technical specs. ]

So this is a gross oversimplification, but - teleportation is, in effect, achieved by forcing two discontiguous regions of spacetime to coincide. That is, to exist in two different reference frames simultaneously.

[abheirrant]

So you can then walk between them?

[If that's the case, he can see why Qubit took an interest in the gateway. That does sound much more akin to planeswalking than teleportation as he knows it. Of course, he only knows of both in a purely academic sense, learning from books or someone else rather than experiencing them himself.]

[superposition]

Yes. Anything that enters one side of a teleportal, as I call them, emerges instantaneously from the other, regardless of the actual geodesic distance between them. [ He's clearly quite proud of it, so his tone picks up a hint of frustration as he adds- ] I wish I could give you a demonstration. I'm sure you can picture it, of course, but that's no substitute for seeing it in action.

[ He enters something into his wristwatch, but just as expected, all it does is throw him an error code. He makes a face at it anyway. ]

[abheirrant]

Yes, I'm sure it is quite impressive.

[He says that not dismissively, but in a tone that indicates he'd rather just take Qubit's word on it, as he predictably finds the very idea equal parts terrifyingly convenient and conveniently terrifying.]

It is a shame you cannot recreate such technology here. I assume with it, you could go home whenever you wanted.

[superposition]

[ Heh - yeah, on second thought, Carlisle might find a demonstration a little overwhelming. But imagine how useful it would be! They could easily explore the mystery city, resource harvesting would become trivial, and most importantly Qubit would never have to run up 30 flights of stairs in an emergency again. (There's a reason he fixed the elevators so early on.)

Anyway, he leans back against the chair, loosely folding his arms. ]

It's not that I can't recreate it - I could, I've done it before. But that wouldn't solve the problem. You see, this - [ pointing to his watch ] - is already a full-featured quantum jumper. That's its primary function, and it's in perfect working order. So the technology isn't the issue - it's the fact that spacetime here doesn't play by the rules.

[abheirrant]

Ah.

[Carlisle only understands in on a surface level, but that's enough. When they have phenomena like the Shifts around them, manifesting places and people from anywhere in the planes, trying to spirit oneself from one place to another seems even more dangerous than it would be without such interference.

He falls silent after that, thinking for a moment, contemplating his tea the entire time.]

[superposition]

[ Well hey, Qubit is more than willing to keep prattling on for a while. Take a breather, he'll fill the silence this time around. ]

Granted, I'm sure there's a workaround. Clearly some form of teleportation must be possible, since that seems to be how we all got here, near as I can determine. I've had a number of ideas, but not the capability to build them - the way my powers are compromised right now, a technological solution could take years. [ beat ] Which is why I'm beginning to consider some... alternative implementations.

[ He says it with a casual wave of his hand, as if what he's suggesting is no big deal. Knowing anything at all about Qubit, however... ]

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle's eyes flick Qubit's way. He thinks he knows what Qubit is implying, but he's not sure he can believe it.]

Such as?

[superposition]

[ Qubit fidgets slightly, as he often does when trying to hide embarrassment. You're not really going to make him spell it out, are you, Carlisle? Oh, you are? ]

Well - that gateway of yours, for example. Didn't you say it was glyph-based? I think there might be potential there. I mean, your glyphcrafting does bear some interesting parallels to digital circuitry, so I'm curious what might be possible in terms of hybridizing the two, or even via glyphs alone...

[ So yeah, he is implying what you think he is, he just doesn't want to use the M-word. ]

[abheirrant]

[He thinks there might be potential in combining the skills of glyphcrafting and his own technological circuitry. Well. Carlisle cannot help the dubious smile that crosses him, pushing at the bottoms of his eyes.]

You want to learn magic. Properly.

[superposition]

[ Qubit hmphs under his breath. Obviously Carlisle's finding this hilarious, which makes him feel kind of foolish for suggesting it, but even if he could walk it back at this point, he's not about to. Fine - he sounds exasperated, but if Carlisle must hear him say the words, then so be it. ]

Yes, Carlisle, I want to learn magic. And yes, I am fully aware that sounds like the devil asking for ice-skating lessons.

[ i.e., unlikely to happen unless hell freezes over. The absurdity is not lost on him. After the months and months he's spent raising a stink about magic - "antithetical to science" this, "flagrant violation of the laws of physics" that - it is a pretty dramatic reversal.

Nevertheless, it appears he's quite serious. ]

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle holds up a hand, shaking his head apologetically. It's amusing — heartwarming, in a way. He keeps his mirth subdued, but there's little hiding how pleased he is, even with the mask.]

I'm happy to teach you what I know, though you've been watching me glyphcraft for some time now, enough to recognize what I'm crafting when I leave my notes in the open. You are an unsurprisingly quick study on the subject, despite your, ah. Reservations.

[Even with his amnesia and in the dead of the night in a sleep-deprived frenzy, he'd been able to read the sigils and symbols on Carlisle's works in progress. That hadn't been so good at the time, given he didn't particularly want Qubit to know what he was working on, but the idea of having Qubit as a student — and magical colleague — is undeniably appealing.]

[superposition]

[ Qubit quirks a half-smile in response, but only a brief one. He is broadly glad to hear Carlisle's on board with the idea, of course - not that he really expected him to refuse - but as encouraging as his friend's enthusiasm is, he finds his own starting to founder. ]

I know. That's what worries me.

[ He turns to get a better look at the wall o' glyphs. Some are designs he's seen before, others are new. Saying he can recognize them on sight would be overstating it - his interpretations are more like educated guesses, based on the schools of magic invoked and what he knows of Carlisle himself - but the assessment isn't wrong. If Qubit truly put his mind to it, he has no doubt he could pick up a working knowledge of it in short order. The question has always been whether he should. ]

... To tell the truth, I've been interested for a while now. Even before all this. [ Ever since Carlisle first let him activate a glyph himself, several months ago, he hasn't been able to completely dismiss the notion - though not for lack of trying. ] But don't misunderstand, I still have the same reservations. What is it they say about - [ vague handwave ] - "meddling with forces beyond your comprehension"?

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle's brow knits. While he' not familiar with the phrase Qubit is referring to, he assumes from the "meddling" and "beyond your comprehension" parts that it's not about situations that are pleasant and uneventful. He tilts his head, his eyes on his friend.]

Do you not trust yourself with such abilities, Mister Qubit?

[superposition]

[ Qubit shakes his head, turning back to the table. ] No, it's not that. I mean, look at the abilities I already have. Power's not my vice, I know how to use it responsibly.

[ As he's saying that, though, a bunch of evidence to the contrary comes to mind, and a flicker of discomfort crosses his face. Maybe he'd... better qualify that. ]

... Even if I occasionally fail to act on that knowledge. [ beat ] All right, so maybe there's an argument you could make there. I'll leave it to your discretion. But what I meant was, I don't trust magic.

[abheirrant]

[Yes, he's certain there is an argument he could make, but that's not the point, so he won't be making it. He's far more interested in what else Qubit has to say, what he thinks. They are alike, in that way.]

As you have said a number of times. I wonder if, were you to become familiar with it, would you find ways to quantify it somehow, making it more comfortable for you?

[superposition]

[ Shrugs. ] The thought's certainly crossed my mind. Might even be doable - glyphcrafting does seem to have an internal logic it adheres to, if nothing else. [ Even if it's at odds with the rest of the universe's logic. ]

But that's just so I can work with it at all. I'm a scientist, Carlisle, it doesn't do for me to get too comfortable with it.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle's head tilts, his brow knitting.]

I'm afraid I don't understand. You are comfortable enough with your own technology. Magic is merely a tool here, Mister Qubit. Overcoming your discomfort with it does not make you any less of a scientist. You are simply learning to use the tools set before you to meet your ends.