november 2019. welcome to the void.

[modblob]

Who: Everyone in Anchor.
What: Fifth Introductory Mingle
When: The Month of November 2019
Where: Around and outside the city.
Warnings: Please add any warnings in the subject lines.

Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.

Click here to read what characters will experience when arriving in Anchor.

a. outbreak.

There's a plague in the city.

What was an annoyance before, a bug that seemed to be passing, has erupted into a full-scale biomedical hazard. Onset is slow. It’s a near mystery who is infected and who isn't, who is immune and who isn't. Doors lock themselves seemingly at random to prevent people passing through. Is that person with you one of the sick? How do you know? Would they tell you if they were?

The city will do its best to isolate the ill, once again locking them out of communal areas and trying to force them down toward the MedBay for quarantine. All bots will be temporarily shifted to plague protocols, rounding up and caring for the ill as best they can. (Lucky you, you get your cough syrup with a mixer courtesy of the barbot.) But they might not always get things right, and what healthy person wants to be locked away in a ward full of the violently ill? How do the bots even know which is which?

The ill will slowly find themselves dizzy, lightheaded, with chills and fever. They may cough hard enough to spit blood from irritated throats, or sneeze so long and hard they give themselves bloody noses. The symptoms can vary wildly depending on body chemistry, species, and dozens of other factors, making it difficult to pin down a specific set that indicates a person is infected. All bodily fluids are dangerously infectious. Maybe you want to keep your distance from your friends if you start to feel the onset, to keep them safe. But you also want to keep your freedom, not get trapped in a room full of people who seem to be dying. And anyone who was exposed to the first outbreak will find themselves either completely immune to this new one through early exposure...or far more susceptible, their immune systems doing almost nothing to protect them, with extreme symptom sets that hit them much harder than the average infected.

And through all of this, that voice that cheerfully chirped out helpful hints during the item exchange, that giggled and sang songs in the crashed spaceship in the wasteland can be heard again - but this time it's different. This time, there's very little cheer left, and though the commentary is still sing-song, it's much harsher, more monotone and without much energy. 'Go on, hurry up to the MedBay. No breaking quarantine!' it says, or to those moving through the city with friends, 'You must not like those people much, are you sure you want to get them sick?' In the depths of the worst of it, in the third week of the month, people may start hearing more of those 'helpful' suggestions - 'Maybe it would be better if we just left them out in the wastelands, you know? For the greater good and all...'

Mod Note: An NPC post will be going up next weekend on redshiftrp to supplement this prompt. Keep an eye out!

b. gone to shit.

With 90% of the city's bots repurposed to serve the ill (the matchmaking bot being the notable exception), things are starting to go downhill fast elsewhere. Didn’t realize how much work the bots were actually doing? You can't avoid knowing now.

Restaurants, slowly coming back online after the increased activity in the agricultural areas, are promptly shut down again with things starting to go bad in the fridges. The VR rooms have no attendants to help with glitches. The maintenance bots are prowling the halls looking for ill people to assist to the MedBay. The spa bots are all down in the lower levels helping keep people comfortable while they convalesce, leaving the spas to run themselves. Sometimes to overflowing. It's definitely going to be an adventure discovering what else the bots were doing to keep things running smoothly.

There's no bots manning the bar (make your own drinks while you can), but this also means there are no bots cleaning up the messes people leave behind in the bar either. The detritus of people living their lives starts to pile up - which means if you don’t want garbage filling up the most used common rooms, you're going to have to apply some good old elbow grease. Exactly what you wanted to do while everyone is violently ill, right?

c. dance of the moonlight jellies.

In spite of everything going on elsewhere in the colony, something magical is happening in the lakes and ponds of the park. Maybe your healthy or recovering character stumbles across it on their own. Maybe they see the glow from a higher levels and are drawn down to it. Maybe a persistent and super helpful voice, the same voice from the item exchange, the same voice that suggested throwing the sick out into the wasteland, suggests that you should go down and look at what's happening there.

However you ended up in the park, the place is filled with a silvery glow that emanates from the ponds, rivers, and lake. Fish have come up from the bottom, from where they were buried under the sand. They look almost like East Asian dragons, for those familiar with Earth. They're long, muscular, with two sets of fins trailing in the water like legs. Their heads are delicate, beautiful things that trail whiskers in the water along beside them.

And they're dancing.

In loops and whirls, over and under each other, diving deep and then rising up again to create patterns of light and shadow. Anyone who watches for more than a minute can start to feel relief moving through them, calm, the sense that things will be okay. Watching the dance is almost like meditation. Probably, for some, a much-needed break.

Navigation.

Comments

[abheirrant]

It afflicts each twice-cursed differently, its manifestation varying from person to person. Some say it is the result of coming so close to death that one catches a glimpse of the land beyond living, their minds and bodies scarred from the experience. Some say it is for wasting a god's time, inconveniencing him by having him come to retrieve their soul, only to not have died after all. Some say the afflicted are poisoned from birth, and that what we perceive to be a curse is something they've had within them all along. There are many theories, but no one truly knows where it comes from.

[His brow knits.]

Did the other me not tell you this? You knew I was cursed, and what I would become.

[writtendestiny]

You didn't like to talk about it too much. There's a lot I didn't get to ask.

[She liked Carlisle then, as she does now, and she hadn't wanted to push him too far. It had obviously been a sore topic, and the girl had not needed to press for more information to understand that.]

But I suppose it's not surprising that no one knows where it comes from. Do you have science where you come from? I don't.

[abheirrant]

We do, though it is very different from the science here. More alchemical in nature, and less... technological. I am still adjusting.

[And if his previous self never fully acclimating to technology is a sign, he'll be adjusting for a long time. His glowing eyes flick her way.]

How much did I know? About... this.

[A vague gesture toward him.]

[writtendestiny]

[She nods, understanding entirely. It's much the same for her, and alchemy is nothing like the science and technology that she has learned of since she began this journey.

When he asks his question, she closes her eyes in thought and lets out a slow breath through her nose.]

You knew that the curse would mean you'd become a revenant. [She says carefully, rummaging through memories of conversations.] There was this... tar, that came out of you. You didn't know where it came from, only where it was said to come from. [Her large violet eyes open, and she looks at him.]

But you didn't know that you'd ever be aware of yourself again. I'm sure you didn't know that.

cw: vague suicidal ideation

[abheirrant]

[His brow tightens in a mixture of disbelief and muted irritation.]

I am amazed I did not end it there and then, knowing what would become of me upon death.

[Was the other him truly that happy, so fulfilled in his life that he would risk dying and turning at any moment? What if something terrible happened to him one day? What if he dropped dead, and wasn't found for days? It would have been too late by then, and Hadriel would have become like Bear Den, menaced by its own scourge—

The what-ifs lead down a dangerous road of contemplation, one he's not comfortable with at all.]

[writtendestiny]

You had things to live for.

[People to live for. Poison is sure that thoughts of putting an end to it must have crossed his mind then, too, but she doesn't doubt for a moment that Hadriel would have refused to make it easy for him.]

And... we didn't stay dead. Something about the beings that needed us there. They'd bring us back again. It might have just made things worse.

[She straightens up and reaches out, the tips of her fingers brushing his sleeve.]

Would you have really wanted to die? Really?

[abheirrant]

[She says he had things to live for, but doesn't describe what those things were. Perhaps that garden, or the rabbit -- there had to be something that made him smile enough that she could capture his happiness in a drawing, but he has a hard time imagining what it could possibly be. The fact he is currently the embodiment of all he despises does not help his outlook, unfortunately. However, he was apparently once satisfied enough in a world where, had he died, he wouldn't have stayed dead.

So... not all that different from his own world, apparently.

He does not move as she brushes against his sleeve, but his eyes fall and affix themselves on the bed, shame coloring him; it ebbs into his visible features as a crease at his eye, a twitch in his brow. His voice is small, lingering in the back of his throat.]

It would have been the right thing to do. A kinder gesture to those around me than what could be.

[And yet, he selfishly chose to risk living. The beings Poison speaks of may have brought back the dead, but it would still be necromancy. This other him was truly a fool.]

[writtendestiny]

Carlisle...

[Poison sighs, drops carefully back into the bed and rests her forearm against the bridge of her nose for a moment. Carlisle being exasperatingly negative is not a new experience for her, but when it's about something that is so plainly true and on display right in front of her, how can she hope to argue against him?]

Did you always have some hope? [She asks then, after a few moments of silence. There has to be a reason, when he's so sure now of it, that he never went through with ending his own life.]

That maybe you could find some kind of cure?

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle watches her during that moment of silence, knowing he's likely doing her health no favors with such a grim topic. He picks at a wrinkle in the sheet, trying not to do the same to his clothing. He has picked holes in his sleeves before, and would prefer his one outfit here stay as well-kept as possible.]

I know not what hope this other me clung to, but... I had always believed my goddess would take pity upon me. I thought that- that with all my hard work in service of her name, perhaps there was something she could, or- or even woulddo to salvage my tainted aura. I suppose my current state proves otherwise.

[His hands tremble as he slips them underneath his veil; he undoes his mask in the back, allowing him to fold it down to reveal his face. He would spare others his visage, but it seems pertinent here, evidence of the point being made. Besides that... she knows. She knew before he did.

He folds his mask over, his illuminated eyes still on that wrinkle in the sheet, his fingers curling against it as they form a fist.]

And there is no cure now, is there?

[writtendestiny]

... No.

[It's done now. There's no cure, no coming back from it unless by some miracle of magic. Poison lowers her arm from her face and sits up again, pushing herself up into a sitting position.

And she looks at him. Unflinching and unafraid she looks at his face and examines what she finds there. To many people, Carlisle would be beyond terrifying, but for her..?

She reaches out again, and she places her hand over the one curled tightly into the sheet. Her fingers curl over his knuckles, and she watches his expression steadily. He never really liked to be touched, but it feels suddenly important to do it.]

There's no cure. But that doesn't mean you can't decide what kind of person you want to be now.

[abheirrant]

[She places her hand atop his, and he doesn't pull away immediately -- maybe it's the fact he's gripping the sheet, or that some iota of him welcomes the comfort despite his general aversion to physical contact, but whatever the reason, he allows his hand to linger, its quaking subdued. His brow tightens with remorse, his eyes squeezing shut.]

I am unsure if I'm even a person anymore, Poison. The undead are creatures at best, abominations. They are a blight to be excised from this world and all others, but... they are also largely unaware of their accursed existence, unlike me.

[writtendestiny]

You are a person.

[And she doesn't move her hand away from his. She works her thumb in beneath his palm and picks his hand up instead, clasping it lightly between both of her small, pale ones.

Poison has never been overly fond of physical contact, either (with Peter as a notable exception at this point) but sometimes it feels necessary. Sometimes it feels as if it might help.]

I don't think regular undead worry about being undead.

[abheirrant]

[He lets her take his hand, privately surprised by her insistence to do so -- his eyes open, landing first on hers around his, then on Poison's face. She is so... adamant about his personhood, despite knowing what he is, seeing what he has become as compared to who he used to be. As someone who has spent his life despising the undead and all they represent, he cannot fathom it; he knows he would not feel the same, were he in her shoes.

He shakes his head a fraction of an inch, the barest of movements.]

They do not. And for a time, neither did I.

[His fingers tighten in her grasp as he acknowledges her attempt to console him. If he's honest, it is working, bit by bit.]

[writtendestiny]

But you do now.

[Poison chafes one of her hands over the back of his very, very lightly and gives it another small squeeze. She looks at him openly, still without flinching, and though he ought to be terrifying to see - and is, on some level - it's knowing the person underneath that keeps her from being afraid of him.]

I met someone who looked a little like you do, while I was trying to find my sister back home. He was frightening, but it wasn't entirely because of how he looked. [She doesn't like to talk about Lamprey, but she will.]

It was the things he said. He chose to be intimidating. He wanted to scare me. He wasn't a good person, Carlisle. But you are. Hold on to that.

[abheirrant]

[His eyes fall to her hands on his, his face contorting -- it's the look of a man who would be fighting back tears were he still capable of crying. He can tell from her tone she doesn't want to talk about his other fellow, and yet, she is, willing to face that topic to give him her impression of a true monster... and to illustrate that she wholeheartedly believes he is anything but that. She believes he's a person, and a good one.

Genji's words play in his mind. 'You survived for a reason, what you do with that is up to you, but if you wish to do good I am sure there is a still a way for you to accomplish that.' Perhaps it is as both he and Poison say: he needs only to hold onto that desire to do goodness. He may never reclaim his old life, but he can forge a new one. That should be motivation enough to learn to control both his necrotic energies and his Revenant nature.

He nods.]

Thank you, Poison. Truly. I will do my best not to let you -- and the me you used to know -- down.