Carlisle Longinmouth ❧ ɹᴉǝH ʇɥƃᴉlq ǝɥʇ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
abheirrant) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
redshiftlogs2020-07-06 11:23 pm
abheirrant) wrote in redshiftlogs2020-07-06 11:23 pm
Entry tags:
Farm Livin' [open]
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!]
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!]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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?]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
no subject
no subject
"Enamored," I mean. I think it must have a different connotation in your language.
no subject
[Given Qubit's response.]
no subject
For heaven's sake, Carlisle, you make it sound like I was in love with the man.
no subject
no subject
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? ]
no subject
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
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. ]
2/2
[ And yet - somehow, it's very important to him that Carlisle not misunderstand this. He chooses his words carefully, using that measured tone he sometimes has. ]
I ... suppose I can see how you might've arrived at that conclusion. It's just that I, ah... I'm not attracted to men. [ quickly - ] Not that there's anything wrong with that.
no subject
Ah.
[His brow tightens — there's a distinct discomfort in his chest, and he's not sure why that is. Because he was wrong? Because he so thoroughly misread a situation he was certain he understood? No no, that can't be it. It's embarrassment, surely.
And... disappointment. He knows that feeling well: he saw it every time his father looked at him, felt it when someone compared him to the rest of his family. It ate at him every night as he slept, barred him from ever feeling like he'd be good enough for his goddess, for his family, for Bear Den.
He pulls in a breath himself, staving it off. His fingers curl slightly, pressing on the surface before him, his eyes going from the now-halted Qubit to the mug on the table.]
My apologies. I have wed many people in my time, and even then, rarely would I see anyone so devoted to another being as you are.
no subject
No, no, it's all right. I shouldn't have gone off like that. You just... caught me off guard.
[ Slowly, he returns to his seat. That's certainly part of the reason, but surprise alone doesn't fully explain it. To be honest, he's not sure what his emotions were doing just now - there was so much mixed into it, it's difficult to assign it any one label. His feelings toward Tony are tangled and complex at the best of times, and the cognitive dissonance isn't doing them any favors. It may be easiest to start with what they aren't. ]
... Devotion's one word for it. Technically, I did go to the literal ends of the universe for him. But ... how do I put this.
[ He fidgets uneasily, his voice hesitant, less like he's choosing his words and more like he's having trouble finding them. It's not a subject he talks about often, especially so directly. ]
What drew me to him wasn't... there was no romantic interest, nothing physical. Let me rephrase, I - it isn't just men. The same applies to women, or - any gender. That sort of - desire, passion, whatever you want to call it - strange as it may sound, it's simply not something I experience.
[ fuck's sake, qubit, you know damn well there's a word for that, ]
no subject
I see.
[He's trying to understand, he really is — and yet, he cannot fully dispel that ache in his chest, a lingering sensation he knows is akin to pain, even if he can't feel it in the same way he did when alive. He feels too embarrassed now, but he wants to press further, ask for clarification—
But why? Carlisle's eyes hit the table as he asks himself that key question. What good would come of it? It's clearly a topic Qubit himself is not fully comfortable with, so why continue to discuss it? Is it because he simply wants to know? To have a better understanding of Qubit now that he's been given the chance? That must be it, surely. It must be.
His eyes flick back to his friend, uncertainty lacing them.]
If... you will indulge me on this tangent — must love be tied to a physical interest?
no subject
Well - no, of course not. "Love" is a versatile word, it comes in many different forms. Familial, platonic, altruistic... [ and so on, says his circular handwave. ] And vice versa, there can just as easily be physical attraction absent of love. [ Not to name any names, coughModeuscough ]
I just mean that, for me specifically, it's never physical. The, uh, usual term these days is [ air quotes ] "asexual," though I'm not that fond of it. It's not as if I reproduce by budding.
[ and there's your horrifying mental image for the day! enjoy that. ]
no subject
Ah. What I meant was love absent of physical attraction. [He gives a vague wave of his hand as though he could brush all his sudden insecurities aside.] But I suppose that is a discussion best saved for another time, if ever. It's neither here nor there when it comes to the original matter we were discussing.
[And yet, it seemed important enough for Carlisle to question in the first place.]
no subject
[ And strangely, now that he's started unpacking it, he's finding he's reluctant to stop. It's still a frightening prospect, absolutely, and his insecurities haven't stopped going haywire from a moment ago. - huge mistake - saying too much - what good does this do - can't even control your emotions -
But on the other hand, this almost feels like new information to him, too. As if, after weeks of nothing but questions, he's finally sitting down and getting some answers out of himself. Not forgiveness, never forgiveness, but... answers. Putting what happened into words for the first time, like - well, a sinner in confessional.
That's not what this is, though. Carlisle isn't his cleric, he's his friend, and his comfort level matters a lot more than it might in his professional capacity. Their exact boundaries may be kind of a grey area right now, but that doesn't mean they don't have any. It seems like love might be a sensitive subject for him? He doesn't think Carlisle's ever mentioned anyone he was sweet on back home, but - that's none of his business, and it's not his place to pry. (Even if he's a little curious.) ]
If I'm making you uncomfortable, we can come back to it another time, but... [ He's about to say more, but then closes his mouth and shakes his head again. Don't guilt him, just let him decide. ] It's up to you.
no subject
[And ultimately, Carlisle can't help his own curiosity; he suspects Qubit is the same, despite the awkwardness still hanging in the air.
There's something about this tangent that makes the clergyman feel as though the Qubit he came to know isn't entirely gone. What's more, he feels grateful to be let in like this, allowed to witness Qubit tackling a subject even he himself has not dealt with. Perhaps they should take the opportunity to do so, now that it has presented itself — to examine this side of him that he has largely ignored. He may not find another chance to do so, and Carlisle does want to help, even if he's simply acting as an outlet for Qubit to dissect his own emotions.
While they may not have been romantic love, Carlisle has no doubt Qubit's feelings toward Tony were complicated even in the best of times, made all the more so now by what happened. It's no wonder he struggles between wanting to defend his former friend, and feeling guilty for doing so.
Discomfort or not, Carlisle decides to stick with the course. He has his own reasons.]
And... admittedly, I suppose I've never had anyone with whom I could discuss such things. I've never had anyone I truly trusted with them. [Letting people in has never been his forte, either.] If you'll forgive my earlier misstep, I would like to pursue this further for a bit longer. Perhaps it will help us understand one another better, or at least paint for me a clearer picture of you.
no subject
And who knows - maybe it'll be good for Carlisle, too. Given the atmosphere of runaway machismo in the Longinmouth household, the fact that he didn't feel safe to confide even in his much-lauded uncles is disappointing, but no great surprise. ]
Fair enough. And - to tell the truth, I'm not offended. Like I said, I see where you were coming from. It's just - [ waving his hand in small circles ] - embarrassing, I suppose. I'm not usually so effusive.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)