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redshiftlogs2019-12-08 07:10 pm
modblob) wrote in redshiftlogs2019-12-08 07:10 pm
december 2019. welcome to the void.
Who: Everyone in Anchor.
What: Sixth Introductory Mingle
When: The Month of December 2019
Where: Around and outside the city.
Warnings: Please add any warnings in the subject lines.
What: Sixth Introductory Mingle
When: The Month of December 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. the generic holiday cheer prompt.
It's a dark, quiet, uneventful night. Only those up and about in the wee hours will notice something odd starting in the park.
It's snowing.
The phenomenon seems to be coming from a small bank of unmoving clouds hanging suspended above the trees and lake. A cloud that, upon closer inspection by any scientists in the room, appears to be made of harmless nanites whose sole purpose is to unleash a cheery, blustery kind of weather that remains mostly contained to the park.
Some bots are out serving hot chocolate, cider, flavored snow cones, and other small baked treats. Others are building a solid-looking bit of scaffolding that the snow is rapidly turning into a sledding ramp. In fact, there are sleds ready and waiting at the foot of the slide. The smaller ponds have frozen over in a sharp cold snap that came with the nanites' release, and there are other bots handing out ice skates - careful, though, because one of them is a chef bot and he's made the blades of the skates ridiculously sharp. At least they'll glide well?
Around the middle of the day, the intercoms squeal loudly, crackle, and start pouring generic seasonal music out into the air. Is it for Hanukkah? Christmas? Kwanzaa? Some strange holiday no one has heard of? Who knows, since half of it is in alien languages, but man, it sure is peppy! And kind of annoying after a while! Maybe someone should hack the system and change the music up?
It's snowing.
The phenomenon seems to be coming from a small bank of unmoving clouds hanging suspended above the trees and lake. A cloud that, upon closer inspection by any scientists in the room, appears to be made of harmless nanites whose sole purpose is to unleash a cheery, blustery kind of weather that remains mostly contained to the park.
Some bots are out serving hot chocolate, cider, flavored snow cones, and other small baked treats. Others are building a solid-looking bit of scaffolding that the snow is rapidly turning into a sledding ramp. In fact, there are sleds ready and waiting at the foot of the slide. The smaller ponds have frozen over in a sharp cold snap that came with the nanites' release, and there are other bots handing out ice skates - careful, though, because one of them is a chef bot and he's made the blades of the skates ridiculously sharp. At least they'll glide well?
Around the middle of the day, the intercoms squeal loudly, crackle, and start pouring generic seasonal music out into the air. Is it for Hanukkah? Christmas? Kwanzaa? Some strange holiday no one has heard of? Who knows, since half of it is in alien languages, but man, it sure is peppy! And kind of annoying after a while! Maybe someone should hack the system and change the music up?
b. the body heat trope prompt.
As the day wears on toward evening, the nanite winter storm starts to gather a little more force, sending cold seeping through the halls of Anchor. There are pockets of warmth here and there - notably, for once, the agricultural areas are largely unaffected thanks to their temperature regulators--but most of Anchor has a wintery chill, and snow is starting to bluster across the levels from bottom to top. Temperatures continue to drop when the suns go down.
The bots are out being helpful, though they can't stop the storm. They're rolling around handing out blankets and thermoses of warm drinks. Unfortunately, it's one blanket and one thermos per two people. Better get cosy - it's going to be a long, cold night!
The bots are out being helpful, though they can't stop the storm. They're rolling around handing out blankets and thermoses of warm drinks. Unfortunately, it's one blanket and one thermos per two people. Better get cosy - it's going to be a long, cold night!
c. the terrifying monster attack prompt.
The cold has woken up some creatures that have been slumbering away in one of the sealed-off areas of the labs. They couldn't get through the door that kept them caged, but they sure could freeze the windows and escape that way when they got cold enough to break. The little critters make a beeline for the park, prepared to wreak havoc-
If eating snow and ice and rolling snow into tiny balls for meal stockpiles is havoc.
These little creatures look conspicuously like the western dragons of Earth, though most are no bigger than a person's forearm. Their wings - some strange shade of white that sparkles when they move - seem largely decorative. They use them to communicate, to posture, and to keep themselves balanced when they rear up on their hind legs, but none of them appear able to fly. They're a mix of colors, blue and silver and white, some of them with a variety of shades swirling down their bodies, others with one color on their bellies and contrasting colors on their back and head. Some have splotches, or speckles, or tiger stripes of blue. They breathe steam and can freeze things with their clawed forepaws.
Also, if you feed them a flavored snow cone, they will follow you forever. No, really. You'll have yourself an undyingly loyal new pet.
If eating snow and ice and rolling snow into tiny balls for meal stockpiles is havoc.
These little creatures look conspicuously like the western dragons of Earth, though most are no bigger than a person's forearm. Their wings - some strange shade of white that sparkles when they move - seem largely decorative. They use them to communicate, to posture, and to keep themselves balanced when they rear up on their hind legs, but none of them appear able to fly. They're a mix of colors, blue and silver and white, some of them with a variety of shades swirling down their bodies, others with one color on their bellies and contrasting colors on their back and head. Some have splotches, or speckles, or tiger stripes of blue. They breathe steam and can freeze things with their clawed forepaws.
Also, if you feed them a flavored snow cone, they will follow you forever. No, really. You'll have yourself an undyingly loyal new pet.
no subject
In an instant he tosses the soup to the side, the plastic container bouncing and rolling against the wall without spilling open. Not that even a single shred of his attention is on the soup as he pulls his wakizashi and holds it defensively in front of him, ready to deflect that arrow right back at his brother.
No. Not that. To the side. He had too many things to say, grievances to air, before they got back to killing each other.
"We do not have to fight." He doesn't falter from his stance, fully willing to do so, but his voice is slightly lower than it had been before. "I would prefer we didn't."
There's a very real part of him that wants to beat Hanzo bloody. To get some semblance of revenge even though in the end he knows it won't make him happy. It'll make it worse. But he can't deny he considers it, if only to prove that he is not second best, that he can hold his own.
Hanzo won't win a second time.
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The huff that escapes him fogs in the cold air. "You imagine an easy victory. Your masters should have told you who your quarry was." And rather than shoot directly at him, he adjusts his aim. Fires at a nearby wall, only for the arrow head to splinter and ricochet in several pieces.
High ground. He needs to reach higher ground, and his eyes dart past the figure in front of him for any path that might lead upwards in the complex.
no subject
He deflects the scattershot harmlessly to the side, arrows clattering to the floor and a few embedding in seams of the walls. There's no time to even see where they fall as he knows what Hanzo's next move will be.
"You make nothing easy!" There's some real venom in the words, though as soon as he says it he's in motion again. A green and silver blur that jumps up onto the wall to run along it, aiming to get behind Hanzo and cut off his escape.
Dashing away at an angle from high up on the wall he flips around to land gracefully in a crouched and defensive position, sword at the ready. But he makes no move to actually attack.
"I am not the murderer here."
no subject
That, he can do. Another arrow drawn and he knows he only has a finite amount of chances. Once his arrows are gone, any advantage he might have had will be lost. But he refuses to be penned in, to sleep with one eye open wondering if his death will come like a thief in the night.
"Tell yourself what you must. It will offer you no peace."
Teeth gritted, he takes aim again, this time aiming straight at his opponent's head.
no subject
The arrow aimed right at his head is ignored completely, he'll dodge if he needs to. All his concentration is on Hanzo and everything he's done to him, how he could calmly declare something so obvious.
Clearly Hanzo has not recognized this mechanical construct as his brother and somewhere Genji realizes that. But he's far past being rational, his temper getting the best of him and ready for an all out attack.
"You've already taken that from me. Like everything else!" He dashes forward aiming a strike at Hanzo's legs. "Now it is my turn, brother."
Anger wins out and he's ready to take Hanzo apart piece by piece. Starting this in the same place they ended it so long ago.
no subject
The words snarl free as that blur of silver and green rushes towards him again. He manages to tumble away, but the edge of the sword catches instead on the bag slung over his shoulder, tearing it open.
Out tumbles a brass bowl. A wooden incense stand, with the Shimada crest upon it. And trapped beneath, a single brown feather. A sparrow's feather, in fact. The items seem common enough, at a glance.
But seeing those precious items tumble free across the cold ground seems to incite a fury in Hanzo, and with renewed purpose he shucks the bag free entirely, firing three arrows in quick succession at his attacking foe. Seeking to take his life was one matter.
Disrespecting those items, what that represented? That was another entirely.
no subject
It knocks him back, his feet skidding along the ground for purchase. But at least it doesn't hurt, he can't feel it as he reaches up to yank the arrow free from where it had embedded itself between the armor plating.
"Does that make you feel better? Leaving offerings of incense? As if such a gesture could possibly allow you to atone for what you have done."
Some of the rage has ebbed away back into confusion and unsureness. He's weirdly a little touched that Hanzo is still carrying that feather around, but also coldly furious that he thinks that will ever make what has happened okay.
Now he's back on the defensive, not sure what he wants out of this encounter.
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"Do not presume to lecture me. You know nothing," he retorts, feeling a familiar tingle beneath his skin, but no. Not yet. Not quite yet.
Five arrows down. Draw the sixth, take a breath. Find focus once more. Allow no distractions.
This time, he aims for the shoulder he's already made a dent in.
no subject
"You've never listened to me anyway." Ah. There's the pent up bitterness making its bid for attention. The arrow nearly hits, Genji's little bout with self loathing taking up attention he should have had on Hanzo. But at the last moment he raises his sword, the arrow neatly cleaving in two and falling to the ground.
He backs up, staring at the arrow pieces and something about that fractures his last remaining resolve to see this fight through, "Do not waste your arrows. I am unsure if you can get more. I'm..."
Trailing off he backs away, he'd almost apologized there. Some part of him suddenly aware that he'd deprived his brother of one of the things he used to defend himself.
It's only one arrow. But the complicated emotions surrounding all of this have Genji completely off kilter.
The lighted visor comes up again to stare at Hanzo. "I don't want to fight you. I thought I did..."
Shaking his head he turns and nearly leaves. He doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to see Hanzo anymore. All the preparation in the world hadn't been enough for him to actually have this encounter.
"Do you know who I am?" A question that would have been better suited at the beginning of this conversation.
no subject
The surprise on his face does not last long, another arrow already strung tight as the figure speaks once more. Now, suddenly, he is no longer interested in fighting. Is it fear? Does he realize how outmatched he is? Or is this some new deception to give him the upper hand?
It's too much to hope for that the fight is simply over, that it was a mistake or a misunderstanding. He has only survived this long by refusing to trust anyone he's met thus far. He can't afford to change that now.
"It makes no difference," he replies coldly, stepping closer to the spilled contents of the bag, as if to protect them. Not that his foe would understand what they truly mean. He sees, but he does not comprehend in a way that matters.
Or so he thinks.
"Yield. And I will spare your life."
no subject
He reaches up to his helmet, fingers finding the lever in the back that releases the visor. There's real hesitation in his movements, as if he's second guessing himself the entire time. Eventually he pushes it, a soft mechanical hiss as it retracts. Pulling the visor away likely won't give Hanzo much of a view with the way he's standing, facing the wall and almost looking like he's going to walk away.
He pushes the whole helmet back, plates sliding into each other as it reveals the green hair beneath. It had been black just months prior until he'd finally felt enough like his old self to dye it back recently. Ironic considering whats happening now.
"Was that an option before?" He turns to face Hanzo, his eyes on the ground rather than him. The physical scars have faded with time, his face a little more recognizable as the handsome man he'd once been. But even so it takes a while for him to meet Hanzo's eyes. He knows what he's become, part machine, part human. Without his helmet there's still metal pieces throughout his skin, the most prominent descending down from his temples forming his jaw. "Yield and you'll spare my life?"
no subject
Or so he'd thought. Now it appears there is at least part of a man within that shell. And when those eyes turn, the faint sheen of accusation still present as they had been so many years ago, Hanzo feels the bow go slack with shock.
"...it cannot be."
Though the cold had retreated with the action of the fight, now that numb seems to settle right back into place, clawing at his chest. It could be Genji, what little remains of him. It should be impossible. But that night had shaken him to his core. The memories even now are fragmented.
He remembers seeing his little brother's broken form bleeding out at his feet, thought the cold Hanamura wind had stirred the shreds of his clothing and almost made it seem as if he still might have drawn breath. He still feels the rawness of his throat despite not knowing what words had scraped free at the time. He does not know how long he remained there, blood seeping into his clothes. Perhaps he left at last to report his success, or perhaps they came to collect him. He does not remember moving. The whole of him felt as if he might never move again.
He remembers the elders praising his dedication to his duty, even as he felt his heart grow hollow and cold. He remembers the remainder of the night that followed, deciding never to touch that sword again. Clearest of all was the moment when he fled into the night, abandoning his home, and the path he'd been groomed for his entire childhood, because he could no longer bear what duty demanded of him.
Could Genji have escaped, somehow? Had someone found that broken young man and fashioned this...thing he sees in front of him in his stead?
Words fail him. He feels, just for a moment, every bit as lost as he had on that night so many years ago.
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Bloodloss had forced him unconscious long before Hanzo left. He had no idea if Hanzo had knelt by his body and wept or smugly swept away to report a job well done. There'd been a brief moment that he'd caught his brother's eye and he seemed to have an expression something like shock, but Genji has convinced himself that it was wishful thinking.
He knows better than that.
It takes him a few tries to find his voice, which gives him time to bite down the bitter quip asking if Hanzo is here to finish the job.
His one failure.
Standing there, swords sheathed and visor in one hand, he suddenly feels very exposed. Like a child again who's going to be chided for transgressions. All that practice for this moment, and now he can only manage, "Not what you expected?"
no subject
Yet if it had been Genji as he remembered standing here, whole and himself, entirely human, Hanzo might have thought this all some mad dream or fantasy. This? No. His imagination could not have conjured this fate for his brother, terrible and alien, which means this is all very real.
Perhaps death would have been kinder.
The bow lowers further still, arrow still in place but no longer in danger of flying true and striking him down where he stands. Instead he takes him in, trying to process what he's seeing and what it means. It means Genji has been alive all this time, in hiding somewhere. He had to have known Hanzo was out there, and yet for whatever reason he had not seen fit to hunt him down and take his revenge, as one might expect.
"How is this possible?" The words slip free, quiet. Uncertain even now what to do with this. With him.
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"Overwatch." He looks down at the visor in his hand, metal thumb running over the edges. "Their cyberneticists .. enhanced me. What was left of me."
Sure he'd agreed to it, but when the choice is to never walk again or have a whole bunch of prosthetics and an exoskeleton to keep him mobile - of course he chose the option that let him walk. He's not doing it now though, hesitant to move either closer or away, as if there was some tenuous string holding them in place and any motion may break it and cause one or both to resume the fight.
"This is a better version than the original. It has lights."
Leave it to Genji to care about the aesthetics more than the fact he'd become a cyborg.
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Overwatch. The ones his brother had betrayed the clan for in the first place. The reason all of this had to happen the way it did. They were the ones that did this to him. Hanzo would not deny his own part in this of course, but...this was monstrous. Did anything remain of him at all, or was it flesh, puppeted by circuits and wires in a macabre simulacrum? A programmed estimation of what Genji would have been like? The thought is a sickening one.
And of course, Hanzo had his own share of guilt in allowing this to happen. He can feel it rising like bile in the back of his throat as he takes a step back. And as he does, his foot catches against the incense stand, sending it in a brief wobble across the ground.
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It's familiar now, a way to hide what he is, what he has become. He'd rather look at that lighted visor than his actual face. He can only assume Hanzo feels the same.
"I wanted to be able to walk again. This was the way." But the tone of his voice sounds like he still might be trying to convince himself rather than his brother.
Eyes catching the forgotten container of soup he stiffly wanders over to retrieve it, rolling it in his hands to have something to do. Nothing about this encounter went the way he'd imagined and he feels adrift.
"I am sorry about your arrow. I was not thinking."
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There are a great many things he should have done.
"You are sorry?" The words, when they finally come, are incredulous. "You appear after all these years as this, and you..."
That he had attacked him on sight is in fact the only part of this that makes any sense to him at all. And surely if any man alive had a right to put him to the sword, it would be Genji.
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"I do not know where you can get more arrows." He explains as if that's what Hanzo is talking about. Not that Genji is here and part machine, but that one of his arrows is now broken.
While Genji has had over a decade to adjust to this new body and new experience, his brother has had about fifteen minutes, and Genji keeps needing to remind himself of that.
"This is not how I envisioned this reunion going. I wanted to talk to you, but now I do not know what to say."
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He seems to realize it as soon as the words escape him, and contrition tightens his expression as he looks sharply away. A deep breath and he feels no steadier, no more certain of what to do. Instead, he leans down to gather the fallen items and the torn bag. It would need to be mended.
Now who was focusing on foolish things?
His thumb smooths the edge of the wooden incense stand in his hand, minding that no chips have formed. It is doubtful he will ever have another. "What is there to say?" Dark eyes flit towards his brother's frame once more. "I know what I did to you was--"
Reprehensible.
Brutal.
Unforgivable.
"--something that cannot be undone."
no subject
It's hard to help it when he's in such an uncomfortable and awkward situation. He doesn't know what he wants from Hanzo. An apology would not be welcome nor helpful, and they cannot simply go back to acting how they did as boys. That part of their lives is behind them. They can only move forward.
"No. But it can be repaired." he takes a half step closer then stops, pausing to give Hanzo room to move away if he wishes. Being reminded of what he'd done to Genji in such a visceral way can't be pleasant, and much as he'd like to shove it in his face and make him understand even a tenth of the agony he'd been put through, he won't do that.
It won't make him feel better but for a minor satisfaction in Hanzo suffering as he has.
Long term it will only make things worse. A more mature outlook than the Genji his brother probably remembers. Zenyatta's teachings made their mark.
no subject
This...this does not feel like having his brother back. It is a stranger pieced together with what was left of him, anger and foolishness as well. He speaks with some semblance of his voice, but his words don't make sense. He speaks of repairing ties with the brother who betrayed him, who would intended to end his life on the clan's say-so.
Somehow that is less believable than his survival, after all this time.
"Why would you wish such a thing?" he can't help but ask, eyes narrowing in disbelief. Genji moves closer, and he can feel the tension returning, shoulders held taut as his bowstring.
no subject
It's a good question. One that he doesn't have a ready answer for because he'd envisioned this going an entirely different way where he wouldn't have to explain why he wanted anything to do with the man who murdered him. Especially when he's not sure himself.
What he wants is but a memory; them as children when they got along and before the rigors of their upbringing set them down different paths and strained their relationship until it broke. While he knows it's an impossibility there's a part of him clinging stubbornly to what Hanzo had been, when he'd maybe enjoyed Genji's company. Tolerated him at least.
Didn't think he was a failure that was better off dead because he wasn't going along with the clan's wishes.
Genji is the disappointment in the family and he knows it, for as much as he'd been Sojiro's favorite.
"I don't know." Honest, if not exactly helpful. "But I do not wish to live in bitterness forever. I have spent so much time in agony over the past - I refuse to let that be my future as well."
no subject
No. What existed before is broken forever. Genji is his brother, and would always be, but the trust that was once there has long ago been shattered to pieces. Is it even worth it to rebuild such a thing, knowing it will never be the same again? Surely not, when seeing Genji standing there was a reminder of Hanzo's failure, not just to the clan but as a person. Failure and guilt that he's carried for years.
There had only ever been one fitting answer to that question.
"Then you should finish what we started. Not this fumbling attempt at reconciliation." Hanzo's eyes narrow, finding hold of some sense of resolve. "Your body might be stronger now...but you are just as weak as you were then."
In other words, it would be simpler if Genji hated him instead. If he sought to end this in the only proper way, and took recompense for the life stolen from him. There would be no peace for either of them, otherwise.
What other answer was there?
no subject
A single syllable but its all he can manage. Hanzo's words are crushing and he feels himself mentally shattering. He doesn't know what to do, least of all what to say.
Hanzo still hates him. Still thinks he's weak and a disappointment.
Decades later and there was still a part of him that wanted his big brothers approval. Or anyone's approval for that matter. Something that made all the suffering and the struggle worthwhile.
Instead he feels utterly numb, as they stand there regarding each other as strangers. There really is nothing else to say and he visibly slumps, defeated again by his brother.
Smoke swirls around him and he disappears, a pathetic figure hunched over a container of soup wanting to be anywhere but there.
Another feather flutters to the ground for Hanzo's collection.
(no subject)