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]

[ Qubit folds his arms slowly, his mouth drawing into a thin line. Obviously Tony's crimes deserve condemnation, but... it still bothers him that Carlisle's unwilling to acknowledge the rest of it. He doesn't expect him to pardon Tony, not by any means - but if he's taking Qubit's motives and circumstances into account, then he ought to do the same for Tony, isn't that so? ]

They didn't create a monster. As you said, Tony made that choice himself.

[ But what did they create? An autonomous probe, irreparably broken by a single unsanitized input? No. An unearthly infant, marooned on an alien world? Sort of, but not exactly. What was the Plutonian, really? If you had to sum up this one-of-a-kind being in a single word... ]

... They created a golem. A psionic construct, of sorts - an idea given flesh.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle decides not to be too pedantic about how Qubit dissects his wording, as it's not really the point. He does, however, roll his eyes just a bit, his exasperation showing.

In good news, said exasperation dissipates at the very idea Qubit presents with his assessment of what Tony was.]

A construct with a human heart, capable of all the same virtues and vices. The very notion sounds nightmarish.

[And apparently was to a degree, given how Tony turned out.]

[superposition]

Hmph. [ Not really the reaction he was hoping for, but what did he expect? They've discussed the concept of golems before; in both their worlds, the term refers to artificial beings that, through magic, are endowed with a crude imitation of life. Carlisle's always been outspoken about his distaste for them (as well as anything else he can lump under the same umbrella). "It is too akin to necromancy for my taste," he explained once, "bringing to life that which should not live."

Yeah, all right, fine. That's what Carlisle needed, one more thing to hate about the Plutonian. It's Qubit's turn to show some exasperation, briefly rubbing his forehead between his eyes. ]

Well, I'm sorry, that's the best way I can think to describe it.

[ He sighs and returns his hand to his forearm, drumming at his sleeve for a second. It resumes gesturing as he elaborates. ]

The idea that shaped him wasn't theirs. All they meant to create was a - a data-gathering tool. A shapeless probe with simple instructions - wander, observe, experience. The human emotional spectrum had caught their interest, so this was supposed to empathically sample that spectrum and emulate it. Like a ... a blank slate, if you will. [ A better analogy would be a neural network or learning AI, but Carlisle would definitely not understand those. ]

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle remains silent as Qubit continues, sensing the tension in the air. There it is again — that recurring desire Qubit has to defend his former friend, right down to his conception and analogous description. He lets it slide, swallowing his discomfort; despite everything, Qubit cannot help his loyalty toward a man who, for a time, represented the best of what his world had to offer. Carlisle cannot say he wouldn't do the same for his own bloodline.]

And in its work, it took on a life of its own, I suppose. But how does his birth relate to the appearance of more individuals with psionic abilities? Was it that their tool affected those it observed in its wanderings before becoming something more?

[superposition]

[ Qubit shakes his head. Once again, Carlisle's trying to breeze right past the most important part of the story. ]

No, it's not that. For one thing, it only ended up observing one person - and she had a far greater effect on it.

[ Then his voice softens, taking on an undertone of... pity. ]

... We don't know her name. But we do have an idea of her mental state. At the moment the probe found her, she was... distraught. Overcome with grief and guilt and shame, consumed by a single, overwhelming need.

The probe essentially imprinted on her. The Eleos had unwittingly provided the clay, but this woman's desire was what gave it life. The desire...

[ He inhales deeply. ]

... to undo her wrongdoing. To bring back the infant son who, in a moment of madness, she had just murdered.

[ The Eleos might have considered Tony their child, but ... in Qubit's opinion, this woman was the closest thing he had to a mother. He certainly took after her more than he did them. ]

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle would have been perfectly happy to move past the continued Tony facts, but that next bit is enough to give him pause, his brow furrowing, eyes widening in silent horror as his mind puts the pieces together.]

And so it shaped itself into a son for her?

[If that's the case, then Qubit's description of Tony being akin to a golem is unfortunately accurate, to say the very least. And even more unfortunate would be the fact that he was brought into being by someone who had already crossed the threshold of madness, whose immediate guilt and remorse no doubt colored her every interaction with her newfound son.

As a man profoundly shaped by his own guilt and grief, Carlisle knows that's a madness all its own.]

(oh right um) cw: infanticide & suicide mentions

[superposition]

[ Qubit nods somberly. ]

Of course, he wasn't an exact replacement. His alien origins gave him incredible strength and durability from the moment he was born. So, conveniently, she had received a child she physically could not harm... no matter how many times she tried.

[ He pauses, letting the implication hang in the air for a moment. It was definitely more than zero. Nevertheless, he can't bring himself to condemn her. Her actions were horrific, true, but even from the little he saw, it's pretty clear she wasn't in full control of them. She wasn't well. She needed help, and that help never came. ]

... She suffered from severe mental illness, as you might have guessed. Eventually, it drove her to take her own life. Tony survived the attempt, obviously, but with no family or friends to take him in, he ended up in the foster system.

[abheirrant]

[Ah. She was given something that she needed, or what she thought she did — but it wasn't. She was instead gifted a being who, despite being the second chance she wanted, likely only served to remind her of her guilt, his relative invulnerability allowing him to survive her madness... but at tremendous cost to both of them. As such, she continued her downward spiral.

Carlisle hms softly to himself. His hands on the table reach for one another, and he cannot help wringing his thumb in private discomfort.]

Foster system? The orphanages of your world, I assume.

[superposition]

[ Oh yeah, that whole "context" thing. He nods. ] Right, yes. Orphanages are largely a thing of the past, at least where he grew up. Nowadays, wards of the state go into foster families until someone adopts them on a permanent basis. It's far from perfect, but - much better than it was.

[ I mean, man, if you're looking for horror stories, the history of adoption could keep you busy for a while. But anyway... ]

That said, not every family is suitable for every child. There's some trial and error involved. Especially when it comes to children with, say, physical or psychological issues, or other special needs...

[abheirrant]

Or psionic abilities the children are no doubt hardly able to control.

[It makes him think of untrained magicians and individuals born with a phenomenal talent for the art, like his uncle. He, too, was occasionally dangerous until he learned to harness his own talents. However, he had a loving family around him, the support of his siblings and his parents. With what he knows about Tony, Carlisle doubts the same could ever be said for him.]

[superposition]

Exactly. It's hard enough growing up with powers with a stable home life.

[ Not that he'll confirm or deny whether that describes his own experience. But it is a point where Qubit sympathizes. The otherness, the isolation, the futility of denying your nature in order to fit in... ]

I understand Tony went through a lot of foster homes. Every time his powers were revealed, he'd be sent back. [ He finally looks up, finding Carlisle's eyes. ] You know how people fear what they don't understand, Carlisle. Especially if it has the power to hurt them. [ He suspects Carlisle knows this better than just about anyone. ]

... The point I'm getting at is, he was a very lonely child. And given the nature of his powers...

[ He pauses, shakes his head. This part, he's so uncertain about that it doesn't even rise to the level of hypothetical. Pure speculation. But what if...? ]

That is - it's phenomenally unlikely, based on what I know about how they worked. I don't believe he could have out-and-out rewritten reality, not at that stage. But there's also a lot I don't know - that I may never know. So ... I wonder, now and then, whether ...

[ ... His face creases, conflicted. It's proving difficult to spit it out, for some reason. ]

[abheirrant]

[Qubit meets Carlisle's eyes, the glow of them vibrant against his pale skin.]

You wonder if he could have — however unconsciously — made others like him.

[It seems probable enough in Carlisle's mind. After all, if his 'parents' could warp the very fabric of existence around them, who was to say that Tony himself lacked the potential to do the same, even as a child?

Carlisle indeed knows what it's like to be othered — to be treated like something other than human, ostracized by people who feared his affliction. Frankly, he'd have distanced himself from it, if he could. Instead, he distanced himself from people, and look where that got him. Still, he never purposefully turned on his friends, on the very folk he was sworn to protect.

But even before he was cursed, he knew how it felt to be different from those around him. He could have lived a perfectly normal life, and still wouldn't have fit in with his family due to his very nature. He was a pacifist and a coward, unable to defend himself and prove he was worthy of his name. How could he defend others?

Carlisle pushes a quiet sigh through his chest. At least he had his uncles on his side, encouraging him. He knows how things would have gone were it just him and his father. That's perhaps more than can be said for Tony.

And yet, Carlisle still finds it hard to justify his actions. A topic he'll return to, he's sure.]

Do you believe that, Mister Qubit? That your abilities and who you are now are, in some way, due to him? I know you haven't proof, but...

[He wants to hear that honest opinion all the same, wants to hear Qubit say it. Maybe it will help him better understand just why it is Qubit is so determined to justify the things Tony did. Qubit clearly believes he owes a lot to his friend, but just how much?]

[superposition]

[ Qubit doesn't answer right away, though he opens and closes his mouth once. He does owe a lot about who he is now to Tony, obviously, but that's from their direct association. How much did he owe him before they ever met...?

Finally he sighs, running a hand through his hair. ]

Well - no. That's not quite what I meant to imply. It wouldn't be so overt, for one thing. Are you familiar at all with the butterfly effect?

[ Rhetorical question, he's pretty sure you're not. So he'll explain - ]

It's a central axiom of chaos theory. In a complex system, the most miniscule changes at one point in time can produce enormous divergence in later events. The classic example being, the breeze kicked up by a butterfly's wings contributes to the formation of a tornado, weeks later and half a world away. [ He waggles his hand slightly to suggest imprecision. ] Not literally how it works, but that's where it gets the name. That's the level of influence I'm talking about.

So - do I think that I, personally, wouldn't have the powers I do if not for him? No. Based on what I know about my own abilities, I don't believe any influence that subtle would have changed my individual outcome.

[ He seems pretty confident in that assertion, though of course he doesn't volunteer any detail as to where he does think his powers came from. That info's going to require more digging, sorry. ]

That said, there are plenty of cases where it might. For some people, the difference between ordinary and extraordinary is down to, say... an incidental mutation, a few stray neutrons... or simply being in the right place at the right time. Any number of unpredictable factors could come into play. So, could Tony have unknowingly tipped the scales of probability in that direction...?

[ He pauses, then turns his palms upward - not quite a shrug, but it means the same thing. ]

It's impossible to say. Like I said, it's phenomenally unlikely. I just... [ Another sigh, his hands falling to his lap. ] I know I can't definitively rule it out.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle hms in reply. While not called 'the butterfly effect' in his world, there's a similar concept related to time magic, particularly that wielded by the elusive chronomagi. Unfortunately, Carlisle (or anyone else for that matter, save for the aforementioned chronomagi) doesn't know a great deal about the craft, aside from the fact that a major reason for their secrecy comes from the belief that altering the past in any way — even minute ones — could irreparably damage the present and future. It sounds similar enough, but as it's not really the point of this discussion, he simply nods at Qubit's explanation.]

I see. I suppose one must assume that even the phenomenally unlikely can happen, though. After all...

[He gestures to himself, a man whose nature as an aware undead capable of channeling healing magic was considered an absolute impossibility.]

[superposition]

[ Catching Carlisle's drift, Qubit chuckles. ] Heh...! True enough. Or even both our being here, for that matter.

[ I mean, you want to talk about unlikely friendships - what are the odds of this? Being marooned in another dimension by forces unknown? Twice? Finding common ground and close camaraderie, in spite of their wildly disparate backgrounds? Pretty damn astronomical, if you ask me.

After a moment, he finally remembers his tea - the odds that it's gone cold during that extended tangent are, sadly, 100%. Oh well. He drinks anyway. ]

Sorry. Got a bit off topic there, didn't I? ... I swear I don't intend to keep bringing him up ad nauseam.

[ True, it's nice to get this stuff off his chest after so long, but presumably Carlisle's got better things to do all day than listen to Qubit spout feeble apologism for his old buddy the mass murderer. ]

[abheirrant]

[In good news, Carlisle has absolutely nothing better to do, as he is awake all the time and honestly spends hours of every day navel-gazing about his unfortunate existence and how it could end in disaster for those around him. Listening to Qubit, even when he's going on at length about Tony, is a bright spot in his day. That's especially true now that he has his memory back and can open up about some of the demons that have been haunting him for who knows how long.

Honestly, Carlisle is just happy to be his confidant. He's sure they'll get back to the topic of magic in Qubit's world, but first, an observation.]

Perhaps, but I'm certain were I so wholly enamored with someone, I'd bring them up all the time, too.

[superposition]

[ Qubit laughs, since clearly Carlisle is poking fun at him right now. ] Well, I don't think that's quite the word I'd use!

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, dubious.]

[superposition]

[ ... Wait, that wasn't a joke? Qubit's smile wanes, perplexed. On second thought, it's not the first time Carlisle's phrased it that way, is it? Maybe something just got lost in translation. He elaborates - ]

"Enamored," I mean. I think it must have a different connotation in your language.

[abheirrant]

No no, I'm fairly certain that the connotation doesn't differ that much between our worlds.

[Given Qubit's response.]

[superposition]

[ It's Qubit's turn to (X) Doubt. Well, that can't be right. Carlisle can't possibly be implying what would be implied by ... the literal meaning of his words. He scoffs good-naturedly. ]

For heaven's sake, Carlisle, you make it sound like I was in love with the man.

[abheirrant]

I'm not sure what else to call your utter devotion to him, Mister Qubit.

[superposition]

[ Wait.

Waaaaait, wait wait wait. So he really thinks they were... The revelation takes a few seconds to sink in, Qubit's eyes widening in dawning horror.

Then the mortified sputtering starts. ]

That's not - no! God, no! It wasn't like that at all!

[ How the hell did he end up at that conclusion?! Sure, he did just spend a bunch of time gushing about Tony and explaining his motives and tragic backstory and openly weeping over his betrayal and death and all, and he was basically willing to burn the universe down to save him, but that's hardly grounds to think -

- okay, fine, maybe all that could give someone the wrong idea. He shakes his head vigorously, struggling to articulate his objection. ]

Tony and I weren't - we were never - you've got it all wrong. I admired him, I wasn't infatuated with him. I'm not -

[ He cuts himself off. You're not what, Qubit? ]

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle's brow knits at Qubit's reaction, but he's otherwise calm as he raises a hand, trying to mitigate his friend's immediate denial.]

Forgive me for being so forward. It just seemed fairly obvious to me, given your tone when speaking of him, your continued defense of his actions, and all you were willing to do for him, despite everything.

[But yes, you're not what, Qubit? Maybe Carlisle should hear it.]

1/2

[superposition]

[ While Carlisle's still talking, Qubit stands and starts pacing the tiny cabin, too agitated to sit still. He starts to interrupt him a couple of times, but manages to bite it back until (almost) the end of the sentence. ]

I know I know I know - how this must look to you, but -

[ He runs a hand through his hair, his jaw clenching in frustration. Damn! After all these months giving Carlisle one wrong impression about himself, it figures he'd immediately overcorrect and go barreling into its opposite, which is also wrong. He was too closed-off with his feelings before, that much is beyond dispute, but it doesn't mean he had to let the throttle out all at once -

As abruptly as it began, though, the pacing halts, and Qubit takes a deep and deliberate breath, sharply reining himself in. Why is he getting so worked up over this? It's just a misunderstanding, easily corrected. Hell, up until yesterday, given the same information, he might have drawn the same conclusion himself. ]