lifeaftr | October Event: Crystal Clear

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October Event: Crystal Clear

OCTOBER EVENT: CRYSTAL CLEAR

Who: Everyone!
What: Your exploration takes a turn.
When: October 20th - 26th
Where: The caverns situated underneath Ensō
Warnings: Character death, body horror, descriptions of illness. Please mark any additional warnings as needed!

Part I: Attack, Attack!
Congratulations! You've successfully gone where no Storyteller has gone or can go, and woken up in the network of subterranean caves buried beneath the island's mass, along with your designated supplies: a miner's cap, a week's worth of food, and both your knapsacks and their collective contents. And the further along you go, the vaster and more sprawling these almost labyrinthian tunnels seem to get. There’s certainly evidence that civilization once thrived here - old buildings hewed from the rock of the cave walls may very well contain old tools, or even salvageable supplies. Careful examination of structures and cavern walls alike will reveal sigils resembling those carved on the doors, each of which will need to be destroyed entirely at the Storyteller's behest. Whatever was down here was advanced enough to dwell without sunlight. But that raises a rather pertinent question...

If there were once people here, where did they all go?

Fortunately, one will soon discover that there's plenty of natural light underground, exhibited by the crystalline growths on the walls. None of them appear to be dangerous, and those attracted to shiny things might even find them useful for picking up or chipping away in order to better light their way. The crystal has about the thickness and hardness of quartz, and bathes its surroundings in a luminous green glow.

The closer you come to the center of the mass, however, the denser the crystalline growths seem to become, until one has to be quite ingenious in navigating them. Eventually, they'll simply be too dense to be squeezed through, even by the smallest and most agile of your number.

That’s when they it will start to become apparent.

Something in the crystal is moving.

Huge chunks of crystal are starting to detach from the center and move slowly, inexorably, toward those unfortunate enough to have explored the caverns. Unmistakably humanoid silhouettes, distorted by awful crystalline growths, most of which have completely swallowed any recognizable features.

...most.

The good news is that the creatures can be shattered, and beaten back. The bad news? Well...

Part II: Retreat, Retreat!
Those who get close enough to the crystalized beasts to get a good look at them will soon make a horrifying discovery - the fact that, underneath those thick layers of luminescent quartz, there was once something that might have been recognizable as human. These quartz monsters aren't native to this region, or indeed, to any region of the island at all. They were formed.

Formed out of the very crystal that you explorers have been touching, picking up, sleeping on, and just generally remaining in prolonged contact with ever since you set foot down here.

Indeed, anyone who has been in contact with the crystal for extended periods of time - sleeping on it or getting dealt a swipe from one of the crystalized monsters, for example - will find that tiny, quartz-like growths have started to sprout on their skin as well. Once the virus has taken root, it will spread rapidly until it has swallowed you whole. Indeed, the unpleasant symptoms will reveal themselves within twenty-four hours of the initial exposure: in addition to clusters of crystalline growths pocking the affected areas, the inflicted will begin to experience intense stabbing pains all over as the crystal begins to grow - both inside and out.

The transformation is slow and arduous and painful, and vocalization tends to be one of the first things to go once the crystals sprout in the mouth and throat. Within the span of about three days since the initial exposure, the transformation will have sheathed most of the physical body in crystal entirely, sealing the victim in a humanoid cast of glasslike green.

It has not been confirmed if the inflicted are sentient and aware of their state of being once they are completely consumed. Whatever their intentions, those are easily overridden by the virus's innate desire to spread to as many organisms as possible.

As this is an event with a high risk of death, the Storyteller will impose death penalties for one week only. Additionally, deaths succumbed during the event count towards the character's total. There is no known cure to the virus, but that doesn't mean characters can't or shouldn't try!

Event Timeline

[ ♆ ] October 20th: Spelunking begins. Points of interest will be provided.
[ ♆ ] October 22nd: The Quartzalcoatl make their presence known.
[ ♆ ] October 24th: The final sigils are broken, and the Storyteller will return all uninfected to the Islets.
[ ♆ ] October 26th: All deceased will be returned at midday, suffering from a reduced death penalty.

Event Specifics

[ ♆ ] If your character perishes in this event, please let us know!
[ ♆ ] For those who opted out, please see the top-level below!
[ ♆ ] Item claims can be found on the OOC plotting post here!

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Some people come when they're called. Sometimes it's for no reason other than because they have to; Frisk, come here. Stop. Get over here now. Sometimes it's because someone out there really cares about them, and if they're not there, how can they be loved? How can they be seen and touched and accounted for? Frisk, stop. Stop running away. Stop ruining everything. Stop making mistakes.]

[They don't stop.]

[They run, and their body clenches in on itself with every organ, crystals buzzing in their skin, tearing at their tissues as their blood surges through them. Stop won't be a choice, soon. Their ears are a little too full of static but they don't need to hear to know that Chara is pelting after them, and for all of Frisk's athleticism, they know they're not going to get much out of their body this time.]

[The U-bend comes up on them like a spray of freezing oceanwater. They skid, slam their shoulder hard against the wall, feel something in their palm smear across stone. Shaking and hauling themself forward, they take off down the slope, forcing their feet to carry them with the downward momentum.]

[They keep going, stumbling against the walls, until one time their palm doesn't catch against stone but against air, and they tip over until they're flat again on the ground. Dragging their clouded gaze upward, they spot a break in the wall, a place where the ground juts out in a peninsula of uneven stone over a vast, empty cavern.]

[Their lungs hurt. Their back hurts. It might be time to stop, soon; but not yet.]

[Gritting their teeth with determination, Frisk starts crawling towards the outcropping.]

[They trip up more than once, toes catching on the rough floor. And it's not their downfall- it's Frisk's. It's their error, and once again, they won't be the one to pay for it. It's always Frisk, it's always someone who shouldn't have to, it's always-

In their panic, their own turn is as blind and unwieldy as their Partner's. Chara hits the wall hard, crashing to the ground with a heavy thump that steals the breath from their lungs and knocks their chin against stone. Their cheek isn't stinging, but they taste the copper, anyway. Struggle to push up enough to search the darkness ahead of them.

And there's their Partner. And there's a hole.

Frisk is closer to that than Chara is to them.

The sound that escapes them is not a name. Not a warning, or a laugh. It's loud and horrid and a culmination of every fear they have, an understanding of what is currently inevitable.

Chara screams. As if it will change anything. As if they could ever change their Partner's mind.]

[No no no no no no no - ]

[They're taking matters into their own hands. They're taking matters into their own hands and launching themself right on over and he can see the way things are headed even without knowing where they are.]

[Chara screams.]

[It rips from their throat in a desolate cry, and he has to tear forward to try and - he has stop it, he has to try, he has to do whatever the hell he can to ensure that scream doesn't translate into a horrifying reality, but they're so much closer to the outcropping than he is.]

Don't -

[The screaming is new.]

[It hits them with enormous hilarity. The feeling of shells crunch between their teeth, their smile splitting and bloodied with crystals unfurling from their tongue like tender shoots of grass. They've been through this... a lot. Fire cleaving their SOUL in two, magical bones crushing their physical ones into shards. Poison creeping in their veins. That one was the closest; the feeling of rigid phalanges loosening from theirs, a guttural sound of dismay as a portal closed over their head.]

[So many times they've felt the familiar creep of darkness at the edges of their vision, of their everything, but.]

[There's never been screaming.]

[It's raw and painful in a way they can't process, can't pull apart and identify for the anguish it is, because louder in their ears is the unbalanced bassline of their own heartbeat. But then it breaks through with the hot tip of a knife. It hurts, not because there are crystals twisting up the space in their lungs, but because it's Chara, it's Chara hurting, and nothing else in the world matters more than that. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.]

[Determination.]

[The red gems set into the walls of the cavern wink down in the darkness, on the child that crawls towards the edge of the outcropping, then stumbles, then drags. A hand bent by the crystals jutting out from the joints of their knuckles meets nothing but thin air, and Frisk collapses with nothing to hold their weight, curling in on their side, blinking hazily into the gaping mouth of the tunnel.]

[At Chara, screaming. At Tim lunging down the bridge and, trying, trying, to SAVE someone the way nobody ever saved him.]

[No; now you need to SAVE someone else.]

[They should say something. Apologize, or smile. It'll be okay. It's just another number. Just one more.]

[It'd be kinder to get it over with.]

[Frisk props their foot against stone and shoves with all of their might. Slinking off the edge, into the red-flash dark, feels the same as any other fall.]

[Perhaps one day, far away from here, Chara will be capable of thinking about this calmly. And in that moment they'll find themself wondering if it made it better or worse- to see the smile on Frisk's face, but to have nothing said to them. To watch them accept the fate they had allocated to themself quietly, and without a struggle.

But by then, it would be far too late. It is already far, too late.

Chara only ceases screaming when they run out of air. They only cease when their voice cracks, when their throat throbs with pain at the noise they're making- something they haven't done for months. For over a year, perhaps. Except there's no one to call to, this time.

No one can help them. There's nothing to be done.

Frisk falls away into the blackness, and it's all Chara can do to wrench themself forward, fingernails scratching against the rock as they haphazardly get to their feet, as they rush ahead with no qualms. The phantom sensation of a hand in their own burns as they see a golden light in their mind's eye- the last time they feel. Because when one of them falls, so does the other. Because they go together.

Chara rushes ahead with every intention of following Frisk down that hole.]

[He sees it happen in slow motion.]

[He knows the intention that slams someone over an edge, and he knows the crack of rock and the trickle of dust, the patter of falling gravel to serenade the trajectory of their fall as they spiral down, down, down - into the ink-dark, a fading flash of blue and purple and not nearly enough red.]

[Chara's already pitching forward.]

[Like hell.]

[Like hell he's watching, allowing, another child to hurl themselves off that edge (Isn't that what you already promised you'd do? Are you making another mistake? Are you telling another lie?) and this one, this one, at least, he can still help.]

[His arms close around their abdomen in a gesture both abrupt and unforgiving. There's the heated blood-pound in his neck, in his temples, in his cheeks. He may very well get a knife to the ribs for his efforts, for awakening the phantom clench of fingers in hair and shirt collars jammed up to the neck with how tautly knuckles fisted into the fabric at their back.]

[He doesn't care.]

Stop. Stop.

[He doesn't care.]

[If he's breaking a promise, if he's telling a lie, if he's closing this circuit with the hot spatter of kerosene over Frisk's live fire, now dying.]

[He cares that the list of casualties doesn't leap to two, while he can prevent it.]

[And he's holding on for as long as he must, to prevent it.]

[It's so cruel. Arms seizing round their waist, flesh and bone that might as well be stone for all the good Chara can do against it, shrieking their distress out for the world to hear as they claw at his hands, as they kick and twist in a ferocious effort to remove themself from this equation. Three minus two is the proper sum to make, not three minus one. Not this.

It feels like a punishment- like they're being held back away from the edge of everything they need at this very moment of time. Soon, they'll be restricted further- a hand over their mouth as the other secures their arms, as they're hauled from one room to the next, until they can be stifled in a space that is small, and quiet, and so very, very dark. Until they're given the time to stew and think of every little thing they've done wrong before the real punishment begins, and yet the entire time, their shrieks vocalize the name of someone who can't answer, inter-dispersed with choked out demands and panicked orders to let go, let go!

Frisk. Frisk. Frisk.

Stop, Tim says to them, but there's nothing to stop for. There's nothing to stop for. There's NOTHING TO STOP FOR]

[They fight like hell. They always FIGHT like hell; kicking, screaming, clawing to an objective, raking their way through the dust and the dirt. The ragged, furious litany bursts from their lips in an endless train, but he doesn't]

[doesn't let go]
[he can't.]

[He'll let them bruise, scratch, tear every part of him they can reach. He'll let them do everything but the one thing he won't allow, again. There's only the heat on his cheeks and the lead in his throat, and the locked, immovable grip he keeps around them as he starts to move, slowly, inexorably, irreversibly, away from the ledge.]

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

[Choked out, rasping with the way his voice feels torn, and maybe not even audible over everything else.]

We're not losing you too.

[They hear him apologize, eventually- and the screams abruptly turn to laughter. Just as loud, just as unhinged, just as...wild. They buckle in his arms, scratching fingers digging into his flesh as they hang in the hold of someone older and stronger than they, wheezing brokenly as they laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

He's sorry. He's sorry. Sorry never fixed anything, Tim! Sorry never brought anyone back from the dead! Sorry never helped a child climbing a mountain! Sorry might as well take on the complete opposite meaning.

Sorry, Chara. Sorry you couldn't do anything. Sorry Frisk threw themself into a hole. Sorry that you aren't there to catch them, this time.

Sorry.

They laugh. Tears fall down their cheeks. And when they're too breathless to laugh, the tears don't stop.

Hanging over his arms, the laughter turns to sobs.]

[There's nothing he can say that will make this better.]

[There is nothing in the world that will ease the pain of losing the one person you were supposed to protect. There is nothing, no utterance, no whisper, no magical set of words, that will ease the agony clenched tight around one's heart.]

[The shrill echoes of laughter turned into sobbing rebounds harshly off the cave walls. He doesn't let go. He doesn't let go, but he adjusts his grip, so it's - less of a prison.]

[More of a hug.]

Breathe. Breathe slow.

[Sorry, Tim. The number you have called is not available. Please hang up, and try again.

Which is to say, they barely hear him. A hum in their ears- a low tone that's unmistakably his voice, and nothing more. They stop fighting completely, and regardless of how they feel about contact, it stays as it is. If he throws them, if he hurts them- does it matter?

Does it matter?

No. Not right now. Not when they can barely breathe through the aching wails that escape their lungs, voice cracking intermittently as their vocal chords become more and more worn. Very quickly, he's the only thing holding them up at all as Chara

gives up. Blind to everything but the sight of Frisk throwing themself over the edge of the abyss without them, over, and over, and over again.

For the moment, it's the entire composition of their world.]

Shh. Shh.

[He's not sure when the shift occurred. When his grip on them went from ironclad to shifting up to the back of their head, stroking awkwardly at their hair, holding them up against his chest in a clumsy parody of a cradle. He's certain they can feel it, the thunder of the blood in his chest and the roar of the adrenaline in his veins, the tension locking every muscle solidly in place.]

[Or maybe they can't feel much of anything.]

[The only thing holding them up at all - he holds onto them, and won't let go.]

[And they almost hate him for it.

They almost hate him, for comforting them now- like this, after holding them back from following their Partner into the dark. As if he could pretend he cares now, except that care is precisely the horrible, selfish tool that makes people do things like this. Hold them back when they don't want to be here. He doesn't like this plan anymore, Chara- since when were you in control?

The words are on the tip of their tongue before another thought crosses their mind. Errant, and desperate, and so painfully slim- but that doesn't stop them from jerking upright in his arms, breathing labored as Chara's SOUL appears in an outstretched hand, held out towards the hole.

They're calling, Frisk. They're calling.]

Please...Partner, please.

[You're supposed to answer.]

They're gonna be back. They're gonna come back. It's not over.

[How can he know that? He's riding off of sheer assumption here, off the idea that that's just how things were, so why wouldn't they be that way now? A soft hum of crimson diverts the flow of speech and thought, a bright red soul bobbing in an open palm.]

[He doesn't dare go near it. He's treaded that ground enough. Broken enough boundaries, today.]

But right now, we need to go.

[No response. They call- in voice and with every single ounce of their SOUL, pushing their strength and DETERMINATION into the physical manifestation, a floating heart that briefly flares like a beacon.

Nobody came. But they're going to be back. It's not over.

Chara continues holding their SOUL in their hands, staring ahead blankly. It's not over, he says, but really, what kind of comfort is that?]

Put me down, Tim.

You're not going over that edge. [He doesn't comply immediately, which might be the worst choice he's made since this shit started in earnest. It's a quiet, calm command, and he knows there's hell to pay if he doesn't listen, but even the slightest chance that they'll go careening over the second that he lets go?]

[He's not risking that.]

[Not with them.]

I'm gonna let you go, but you're not going over. Okay?

I am not going over the edge, Tim.

[Again calm. Their voice is even- the perfect pitch as they internally shut off their emotions, consciously choosing to claw their way into that numbing space that isn't quite part of their body- muscles tense, but not feeling even that much.]

Now, put me down.

Okay.

[If they go over anyway, he knows - it'll have been his fault, for trusting that they wouldn't. Slowly, gently, he eases his grip away, shifting back by increments to let them stand, sit on their own.]

...okay.

[Don't follow. Please, please just - just don't follow.]

[They opt to stand, staring over at that black abyss for several, long moments.

And then they turn away. Glassy-eyed, but that calm remains, a half smile on their features as they address Tim once more with that level tone.]

You should return to the camp, Tim. Perhaps someone has found a way out.

[He watches them warily, not quite trusting that they won't go over anyway, not quite trusting that they'll be able to resist that impulse. He stands slowly, knees scraping against the dirt, sore and scuffed from their paired strugged.]

I'm not about to leave you, Chara. [Not now. Not after that.]

Yes you are.

[They aren't asking him to do so. They're telling him, fishing out one of their knives, holding it in a loose grip. Their eyes are still glossed over with tears, cheeks redder under the weight of recently expunged emotions-

Chara has nothing left to feel. There is nothing, at all, to take from this situation.

They're done.]

You're going to leave, Tim. And I am going to continue in these caverns, until everyone else has been freed. In one way or another.

Your presence is not required.

[Shutdown.]

[It's not like them to lie. He's the liar, not them. The possibility that they mean it, that they intend to stay down here for the betterment of everyone else, to spread the news, is very real. But once you lose your anchor, everything gets tipped out of alignment.]

You know there are too many reasons why I can't do that.

[Some are rattling in their pockets. Some are curled up in crumpled, crystalline stillness at the bottom of a gorge.]

[Some are better left unspoken.]

I know. Which is why I'm not giving you a choice.

[Because if there's one thing Chara has going for them, it's that they're faster than him. Faster.

Not a smoker, either. They offer him one, more glance, a face entirely devoid of what they're feeling as their body coils like a spring-- and then they're off, darting past him as if he wasn't there at all, dashing into the darkness.

And if he follows, he'll find that those footsteps are far too quick to die out, leaving him to navigate the darkness with no idea of which direction they've chosen to hide.

Sorry, Tim.

But not really.]

[What did they expect from him? He follows. Of course he follows. He follows even if it’s hopeless, and he loses the thread almost at once. And when he can’t hear the purposeful tattoo of rapid footsteps over rock anymore, he keeps moving anyway. ]

[Just in case he runs into them.]

[Like them, it seems he never really knew when to QUIT either.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

October Event: Crystal Clear

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cw: body horror; suicide

cw: continued suicide for the rest of this thread.

cw: oblique references to child abuse

cw: referenced child abuse.

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