lifeaftr | August Intro: You Think...You Wink...You Do A Double Blink...

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August Intro: You Think...You Wink...You Do A Double Blink...

INTRO LOG: AUGUST

Who: Everyone!
What: New souls arrive to the archipelago of LifeAftr.
When: August 3rd
Where: Ensō
Warnings: Mark as needed!

Part I: Get Wrekt
You rouse to a splash of sea salt drying on your skin. A haze of glass-white sand glitters in your vision, dappled by lush palms and thick, curling foliage that disappears into a jungle of deep jade. From behind, crackling wood and sawing rope groan from a mangled life raft ran ashore. A petering wash of tide over pebbled sand fills your ears as you struggle to gain your bearings in a vast portrait of tropical color…

No...no, no, that’s not precisely how this story starts.

Why don't we start over?

You rouse to a splash of sea salt, spraying across yourself and the wooden floor beneath you as it breaks across the edge of the platform. The light as it dances across the sea is blinding, dappling white spots across your vision as you slowly come back to consciousness and realize that - this is not where you last remember being.

The middle of the ocean is likely not a place most recall being at all. As you struggle to fully comprehend the new scenario in which you have found yourself, three things become quickly apparent. The raft you find yourself upon barely constitutes as something that should float, never mind a boat. In the distance, perhaps a few hours away at most, a large island beckons to you, a wide strip of beach surrounded by cliffs making it very clear where the most fortuitous of directions shall be.

Lastly, of course, you’re not alone. Hopefully your new companion(s) are just as keen to get ashore before nightfall as you, or voyaging together will not be the most positive experience. At your side you will find a knapsack, one to every member of your raft party, and upon inspecting its contents, you will discover any rewards you may have accrued - as well as a few other items to give you a fighting chance.

A note to those who participated in the Test Drive Meme: those threads, if all parties involved would like, can be game canon in the form of dream-like memories involving a place very much like this one, though the layout is considerably different.

Part II: Choose Your Own Adventure

By fortune (or misfortune, as it were), you eventually find your feet meeting sand, blessed shore to stagger upon as you shake off your newly found sea-legs. There are those that may find this place familiar, as though it appeared in a dream, though the expanse of shore certainly seems larger. The beach stretches off into the distance on both sides, curving around sharp ridges and cliffs, mist obscuring the view the farther along it goes.

So here you are. You’ve found land. Company. Supplies. The sun is now beginning to trek rather low upon the horizon…spending the night outside in such an unfamiliar land is unappealing at best and outright dangerous at the worst.

There is one silver lining in the midst of this mess. Directly ahead, the beach curves up a gentle slope until it meets forest, some manner of building visible through the trees. Further exploration of this area will reveal a dilapidated building of sorts; the architecture is indiscernible to even the most skilled eye. Despite looking as if it has seen better days, there are areas that offer some form of shelter...and who knows what else. Just because it appears uninhabited doesn’t mean you won’t wind up pleasantly, or unpleasantly, surprised.

So what shall you do from here, traveller? There is land to be explored, strangers to meet, friends to reunite with. Supplies to inspect and plenty of questions in need of being said aloud. Choose your path, make haste, and above all else: survive. And whatever you will, take heart.

Your story is about to begin anew.

Feeling a tad adrift? Make sure to check the Locations Page, which has details regarding the starting areas and a handy map for those who feel better with a bird's eye view!

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

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It's probably for the best he works on the birds first, because she's still feeling kinda shaky and wrung out, like she just ran some kind of emotional marathon. His reassurances and his comfort, and just, his whole presence by her side, are the best source of strength she could ask for, but damn do they both need to sleep this off. It was hard to feel emotions in the umbrella most of the time, when so much of her power went to just clinging to awareness at all, and this has all been so overwhelming. He mentions the DMV and she has to blink quickly against more tears as she chuckles, though they're happy this time, grateful and full of love.

She waits for her turn with the knife and then gets the second bird taken care of, adding it to the bowl. There's silence again for a bit, but this time it speaks of joint exhaustion and trying to get a grip on this whole mess, just enough to be able to rest at least. She busies herself with shuffling around the fire stuffing their random ass supplies back in the bags, spreading out the blanket for sleeping on, breaking down the branches into better firewood size. The broken Umbra Staff remains where it is in the sand.

Her first meal in ten years, huh. That's another unexpected emotion she's too tired to figure out, maybe more relief at having her body back when she'd been so sure she'd lost her last chance at it, maybe nostalgia for actually good food, which this insult to bouillon everywhere is decidedly not. "You know," she starts thoughtfully, "I'd like to say literally anything I put in my mouth will be the dopest shit I've tasted in ten years, and that having been incorporeal really makes me value the little things? But you're right, actually, this is gonna suck and I'm frankly insulted you expect me to eat it. So I'm gonna go with one of the many superior options we have at our disposal." The solemnity of her voice and expression doesn't change as she reaches into the bag and pulls out the sack of sugar, opening it up like she's gonna shovel it into her mouth by the handful. Which is to say, quit worrying about the food when they're lucky to have any at all, you goober.

Emotional marathon? This was the fucking emotional olympics, and they deserve the gold. Turns out it wasn't super easy feeling emotions outside the umbrella either, weirdly enough, just so strange how that happens. The worst part is remembering that, all muted and foreign and dull, and just there, unnecessarily. This should be familiar by comparison, and it is, but. But. Three cheers for sleeping it off, just as a concept.

Not that that's actually looking like the cheeriest prospect, actually, as he watches her try and order their shitty camp some kinda way. Which he's grateful for, but this is still a shit sandwich with no bread. Sleeping fireside on the beach is only a luxury funtime if you're choosing to do it. Also if you have just, a whole separate ocean of booze, like just as a rule. This is way more hobo than boho, which, points for authenticity, but he would kill anyone on this island for a real bed. Whatever else they do, they gotta get situated better than this, if they can't solve this beach puzzle by tomorrow night. That lurking magical exhaustion menace is a worry for future Taako, though, he decides firmly.

Taako actually, bless his heart, looks startled by her words for the smallest fraction of a second, like he's so tired he actually almost took her seriously, all alarmed ears and wide eyes. He recovers very quickly though, flipping her off and giving the soup a regal stir with his wand, because that's sanitary. This is all the bowl's fault, actually, he should have the energy to be as much of a shit as she's being, he'd definitely be on her level if it weren't for that. "Do it, you goblin, I dare you. Enjoy your sugar seizure, more dank ass trashbird soup for Taako. Was gonna try to Prestidigitate this into actually having a flavor, but now I think I'm gonna save my strength."

Honestly this is laughably low levels of being a shit, that was barely a bluff, just some straight-faced sarcasm to drive home her point. They're about as far from peak performance here as that soup is. At least messing with the sugar bag kept her from noticing his moment of actual alarm and she just catches the tail end of his raised middle finger. That's as good as it's gonna get, huh. They really do need to sleep for a year. There's a smirk tugging at her lips anyway and she's two seconds away from actually digging her fingers into the sugar while maintaining aggressive eye contact because he knows damn well she can't turn down a dare.

But then he pretty much threatens to magic his ass right back into the dirt and she's not down for that. Packing up the sugar, she shuffles back to her spot next to him, kind of elbowing him with one arm while snatching the wand with the other hand. "You're not the only cooking wizard on this stink island, you dumbass. I can flavor this tragedy just fine." And keep him from putting his gross face juices in there if he folds again head first.

She gives the wand an unnecessary flourish to railroad over a moment of dread and taps the bowl as usual, as she's always done, for centuries. Except, usually something happens, a minute ripple or change of color, anything. She doesn't have to taste the soup to know it's exactly the same, there was just nothing, a fucking cantrip just failed like she's never known a spell in her life. Even as her shoulders and ears sink in something like defeat, she gives it a more insistent shot, a tighter grip on the wand, a more demanding tap. No dice, and she swallows hard against a surge of nonsensical shame. "Guess you just got promoted," she manages a questionable attempt at levity, and doesn't meet his eyes.

At this point all he can really do is sigh. Fuck this island, for the millionth time. Fuck it double for Lup having to go all shifty and diffident, he's already done enough of that this evening for both of them for the rest of their lives actually. He's not here for hearing that in her voice or having her look away like, like she's the one who fucked up here. He's too tired and dulled to even know what to say, and fuck that too.

"Yep, that's me, head chef of Trash Island Resort, now where's my fucking raise," he says, and it's very droll over all the horrified resignation, a real rollercoaster packed in that sentence. But he appreciates her attempt all the same, and whatever negativity is there, it's certainly not directed at her, not when he's got a whole fuckin island as a target. They really gotta keep it together, is the thing. Making eye contact with an emotion, as a concept, is on cooldown now. Can't do it.

"Maybe it will be better tomorrow," he tries for reassuring, apology, just something to say even. They both know it's probably bullshit but it would hurt not to say anything and just drown in his own helplessness, which is undoubtedly mirroring hers. And that's the established mechanic anyway, right? This isn't really like that, this pacing of magic exertion, these complete spell failures, that's not...that's not 'long rest' material, he strongly suspects. But maybe. Does he have a shot at being the optimism twin? He honestly doesn't remember but he thinks not.

If the actual optimism twin is feeling about ready to crumble under the hollow horror of that failure again, he's definitely doing that roll with disadvantage. She only wishes she were that dulled to it, but all she can do is to bite her lip as more tears are stinging in her eyes. Can't she even have this, this stupid insignificant way of being what she used to be, which is someone who can flavor a damn soup. But emotional vulnerability hour is over, this is eat your soup and go the fuck to sleep hour, so she rubs her eyes with the heel of her hand and drops the wand between them. It's his soup anyway, he's the one who's been cooking for the past ten years, why did she even fucking try.

"Yeah, maybe," she agrees with whatever fake bravado she's still got left because yeah it's bullshit, but it's good of him to try. "Maybe cantrips run on slots now and we just missed the update. Fucking-- the fucking signal's gotta be real shitty out here." Aimless soothing rambling isn't really her wheelhouse and she gives up quickly, but she's all outta bolstering speeches too. She hates this, hates how reduced this is making her feel, how needy for more of his reassurance after he's already done so much. Boy's as tired as her, probably more, and she's a big girl. There's gotta be something she can still do to be useful, without magic, without cooking, without optimism. "Listen, I'll take the first watch when we've got this meal over with, alright? One of us needs their beauty sleep way more desperately than the other."

Wow, yeah, that's really not her wheelhouse, is it, but he snorts quietly anyway. Not a pity laugh, more like gratitude? Yeah. Her commitment to their shared bravado is wholly appreciated. It's...important. It's dire. They have to just roll with this shit for now, like every dumpster dinner before this one, stretching back through literal decades. They're tired and disheartened and this thing with their magic just doesn't stop being so incredibly unfortunate, this is an infinite drama generator that they have to just forcibly unplug. And he has started to understand, now, the special horror wrought into that loss, her fears of being nothing, being forgotten, being useless. Which is all the more reason, he is absolutely dedicated to not letting that get off the ground again. Just gonna tourniquet all this. They're in retreat, but it's a controlled one. See what happens when you communicate? People know shit, and let it influence their behaviour for the better. Fuckin wild, right?

All the more reason he's not gonna let it be a thing that she kinda just stepped in it right out of the gate. There's not a good night for Wonderland callbacks, but if there were this wouldn't be it. It sucks and he hates the reminder, and the fun new added layer--wow! What a time for magic as a whole to shit the bed! And of the spells he's tried and flubbed today, Disguise Self defs isn't topping the list but it's just. Another thing, that has happened. Just one of way too many. Same shit, different plane. But what's really the worst here is the possibility of Lup feeling even more out of sync and emotionally left-footed than she already has. It's an act of real will not to pin his ears, let any defensiveness or plain old hurt creep into his bearing, but hey, that's not something he took a hit to, right? Plenty of stubbornness left. They'll get the hang of it. The generator has to be unplugged so they can get this turd of a day over, dammit. "And yet you're still volunteering. Your sacrifice won't be forgotten." It almost sounds right.

It sounds hollow, is what it does. Despite his admirable efforts, just hollow enough for her to notice, one ear twitching in surprise at him taking this lame joke the wrong way somehow. What, what is it this time? What supremely shitty thing did she miss by being locked away and forgotten and unable to stand at his side, again. It's not like, well alright, he is vain and so is she, but he's also practical enough to know their disheveled state is the least of their problems right now. So it's gotta be the worse option, like every other damn thing on this beach tonight.

She's fully blaming her utter physical and emotional exhaustion for how long it's taking to figure out, in the moment before it clicks. Sacrifice. She heard it in his voice alright, but she heard it in another elf's voice before that, only, what, a few days ago at most. And it's like ice in her heart to realize what she just stepped in, and she can't keep herself from really looking at him, wondering... how much of it is being tired and gross and caked in sand and tear stains, and how much is gonna be-- different, now.

But there's fire too, a wrath and protectiveness that's never going to extinguish until she herself does, and she offers him the only thing she can think to give. "You know I made Edward pay for everything he did to you, right?" she says with an echo of viciousness on his behalf in her voice, even now. "I crushed him."

Well, it was an admirable effort, until she had to go and really scrutinise him, and now it was all for nothing, because he is all averted eyes and cringed ears and frankly annoyed set to his mouth. Which is unfair, and unnecessary, what else is new. It's not even, look, the vanity is real, he's not gonna lie, but. How fucked up is it they're less identical now over some shit that didn't even have to happen? And how fucked up is it that there's nothing he can do about it? Giving something up but sweeping the rug out at the last minute and getting to keep it is a signature Taako fuck-you move, the down-and-dirty third option that's just 'my way, actually.' And this was certainly a less than perfect execution, but the sentiment remained for sure. And he doesn't get to keep even that! It's complicated and dumb and probably not real and he didn't want it looked at. Not to mention it just, isn't important right now, because they're surviving, fuck off. No more crises, no more missteps, that part of the night has been over and this wasn't her fault, wasn't A fault at all.

He's gearing up to express just that, but doesn't get the chance. He hears the viciousness in her voice and knows probably better than anyone still alive how that tends to shake down, and the involuntary teeth-baring grin it puts on his face probably does a lot more to make them identical than spellcasting would have. "Good." Who knew retroactive, vicarious bloodthirst could be such a warm fuzzy feeling? No one loves justice quite like people who don't see it that often. "I mean, I didn't know at the time, and I've been, uhh, a little busy since then. But now I know. He couldn't have ended up in better hands." He looks a little less thrilled about murder, but honestly, that was a good gift just now, Lup, and he still looks pretty bout it. "Sorry I said some stuff I didn't know I didn't mean, at the time. Basic liches get stitches. Better?" Please let them just. Put all of this away. At least for tonight if not forever.

She knows it was the right thing to say by his sharp grin, and it's a relief, and it's the same wild spiteful delight that's made them the last thing a lot of suckers have dared to mess with, no matter how many hits they may take. Anyone thinking one twin without the other was bad news? Wait until someone tries to get at them now. The corners of her mouth tick up in sync with his and her earlier inspection is moot; she could be looking in a mirror right now.

Also, her brother's approval is, as always, appreciated, especially considering it was the only thing she could do for him at the time, while she raged herself ragged in her prison, hearing his losses, feeling the weakening force behind his spells, utterly terrified of what would happen if the Game didn't end in time. She only regrets she didn't get to Lydia too.

His tacked on apology earns a genuine snort of suppressed laughter, tension gratefully draining away. It was a damn good zinger, which means he doesn't need the encouragement. "I dunno, how basic were they? I mean, you did applaud them like a fucking dork," she points out, tilting her head to look up at him with a shit-eating smirk. Yeah, all in favor of putting this away for tonight, how about pissing on their dead tormentors' graves instead.

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August Intro: You Think...You Wink...You Do A Double Blink...

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the unjust got eaten by the just's umbrella

vore justice, or vorstice