lifeaftr | October Aftermath: Crystal Clear

October Aftermath: Crystal Clear

Who: All!
What: You're back, for better or worse. Time to recover.
When: Backdated to the 24th and beyond.
Where: The Monkey Compound, Islets, etc.
Warnings: Mark as you go.

No matter where you are on the morning of the 24th, things will very abruptly go dark.

Unless you're dead. In which case, things are already dark. And you do not see this.

For the rest of you, however, the Storyteller appears only briefly. Gone is their seemingly indifferent nature; as the rabbit hops too and throe, the pages of their tome flick back and forth in an erratic pattern, stopping on a blank page for only a moment, before continuing on. Despite the pages always turning in the one direction, there seems to be no end to them, not at all.

"I'll keep this brief, for the moment. All of you have now been removed from the caverns below," A haggard sigh- and a reluctant addition. "Those of you still alive.

"Your efforts have allowed me access to what lies below. I have sealed off the entrances- from now, the responsibility of cleaning up the mess is upon me."

And that appears to be it. Darkness returns, along with the sensation of lying upon the sand. Birds call out from the jungle, joining the rhythmic shift of the waves. No matter where you were on the island; underground, or above, you awaken upon the shoreline near the Storyteller's temple, along with the rest of the survivors.

"For what it is worth, I am truly sorry."

[[If you have yet to do so, make sure you confirm your character's death here!]]

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[A shake of their head. It is not healing that is the problem. It is not the sickness - though that certainly does not help. For once, it is not that that has them so at odds. It is the lack of anything to stabilize them, the one piece of equipment upon which they most rely to orient themself at all times.]

[The fact that it is gone.]

[A ragged dry-burst of air drags past their torn esophagus, something short and pained and frustrated. Gradually, they form the words with their hands in the vague hope that she might understand. Might.]

Do you speak without words?

[Muffet is not, in fact, fluent in sign language- she had a class on it back in school, a very long time ago, and has forgotten nearly everything she learned.]

[But when it comes to 'speaking without words', she can certainly read very obvious body language. Her eyes dart between the Drifter's hands and their unusually-darkened helmet display, seeing them clearly trying to tell her something, and she winces as she puts two and two together.]

I know... maybe five words of sign language, all together? I think I can remember 'yes' and 'no' at least, there's that much.

Was it broken before the Storyteller revived you?

[So...no, then.]

[They slump against the dusty wall, defeat evident in every sloping line of their stance. A solemn nod of their head, and they have to crouch, slowly, to kneel over the dirt. They resorted to this once before. They will resort to it again. No one here listens in ways that are easily interpretable, and so they must make do. As always.]

[Swiftly, they sketch the words in the dirt, upside-down and facing her with an ease, despite the trembling lack of balance to their position, that suggests this is something they have had to do many times.]

FAILURE
ILLNESS OBSTRUCTED FUNCTION

[She watches them, expression solemn, and nods in understanding.]

There was little any of us could do, it seems. But we destroyed enough of the sigils that the Storyteller could act, and they removed us from the caverns and sealed the place off entirely.

[Before they can try to answer this time, she briefly looks around and picks up a small stick for them to write with, so they at least don't have to scrape at the ground with their hands.]

Ah, here.

[A stick.]

[A stick like the kind Ren swears by. A stick like the kind they gave her. A stick that she earnestly insisted would protect them and would be better, far better, than an unbreakable hard light blade because she had been so deeply certain that a blade would break and that one would need a stick, would need many dozens of sticks, to replace the lost weapon and defend oneself from the monsters in the dark.]

[The Drifter looks at the stick and tries to put aside all associations that it summons in a swirl of grit and glittering rock, and mostly fails. They put the tip of the stick to the dirt.]

[It's slightly less unpleasant than scratching at the dust with their fingertips, but slightly more difficult to manipulate. They're not in a position where they might address the costs and the benefits to its useage, and so because it was given to them, because it reminds them of Ren, because it is absurd and sentimental, they continue to use it.]

YOU
MADE IT BACK?

[Muffet notices their hesitance but doesn't ask the reason for it, not wanting to add any more pain to what they're likely already going through.]

Yes, I was one of the survivors the Storyteller brought up two days ago. None of us seem to have carried any traces of those crystals with us, thank the angels- I've checked carefully.

[A nod, then. Good. They were one of those who succumbed to the illness borne of crystal, but...given their history, that is not so surprising. Better they, who could bear it and knew how to bear it, than someone who had never undergone such a protracted suffering.]

[Better it be someone who is well-accustomed to it.]

GOOD
SAFE

[She nods in confirmation.]

As far as we can tell, yes. There have been no further issues up here in the meantime, simply resting, recovering, and waiting for the return of the dead.

[The return of the dead.]

[The Storyteller informed them of this as well, then. That would make sense. A god takes care of both the living and the dead. This god, it seems, is no mere Anubis, nor are they any mere god of life. Rather, they take dominion over both. That is not unheard of; life and death are inextricably woven into each other, threads braided in black and white, green and gold, pink and turquoise, in beautiful synchronicity.]

HOW MANY
??

[How many dead?]

[Muffet privately suspects this would be hitting her a lot harder, if she didn't have that hope to fall back on. As it is, she shakes her head slowly, uncertain.]

Unfortunately, I still can't be sure- I saw one or two personally and had a few more confirmed by witnesses, but there's always the possibility that someone I don't know well enough to keep track of went off somewhere on their own.

[An unsatisfying answer but an understandable one nonetheless. The Drifter shuts their eyes briefly. It is the only way to truly envision the scope of their failure.]

FAILURE
I OFFER APOLOGIES

[She shakes her head again, not rejecting their apology but disputing its' necessity.]

I'm happy to offer any forgiveness you think you might need from me, but it was my failure as much as yours- or any of ours, who tried to help down there. What your blade could not save, neither could my magic.

[It goes beyond that, they know. They failed a god and everyone enlisted to their aid, and what is more is they jeopardized everyone else in the process. They left those who would see them to waste valuable time over their dying, prospective corpse. They committed innumerable failures, something over which no reassurance might soothe.]

FAILURE TO GOD
FAILURE TO ALL

As I said: all of us failed, and all of us were failed in turn. The Storyteller included. You did no worse than any of us, and better than some.

[They may not believe her, she knows, but she's not going to lie to them.]

[She is correct; they do not believe her, and their fatigue drains them if the ability to argue back in kind. They stump on the spot with a tired jerk of their shoulders and, abrupt and resolute, press themself upward and start to claw their way to their feet. It takes several long moments, but they find that it matters little it all matters - little.]

[They are getting out of here. They are traveling as they once could, no matter if it takes days to cross distance they once could have closed in an instant.]

[The conversation is, as far as they are concerned, over.]

[Muffet doesn't try to argue, merely offering them a hand to pull themselves up with if they choose. She won't be offended if they don't take it- sometimes, you just have to offer anyway.]

[They stand under their own power, their resolve ironclad and all in all far more solid than they are, at present.]

[They can do so little except in glaring moments such as these, when they function in independence because they must, because it is a problem but they deal with problems as they come. As they do now ]

Edited 2017-11-09 23:32 (UTC)

Will you take the stick with you, at least? It's sturdy enough that it might make a decent cane, among other things.

[She knows better than to try and insist they rest.]

[A stick.]

[The same sort that Ren has provided, time and time again. The same sort that failed to protect them, in the depths of those caverns, for all her insistences that it would. Will they take the stick? Will they take it, despite the fact that it will do so little to save them?]

[They take the stick.]

[But instead of carrying it like a cane as suggested, they tuck it in their pack.]

[Ultimately, perhaps no one can be saved by an outside source- only by themselves. ...Or perhaps that's getting a bit too philosophical, and a stick is just a stick. At least they'll have something to write with.]

And will you take company, to walk beside you for a while?

[Deliberately phrased as a yes or no question, so they can answer with a nod or shake of their head instead of having to resort to writing.]

[She can't stop them, save them, or see the way to give them what they want. But she can at least walk in the same direction for a little bit, in case they collapse.]

[They've been stripped of the only company they've ever had through thick and thin, steadfastly and irrevocably. They may have new company, now, but what is it they can possibly do to serve or protect any of them? What is it they can do besides wither and die and serve as a pathetic liability at all hours and ages of the day?]

[And so, for now - no.]

[No.]

[Not today.]

[Muffet nods wearily, accepting their right to decide this even if she doesn't consider it wise.]

Go well, then. I hope we next see each other under happier circumstances.

[They do not go well.]

[They go painfully and slowly and with wheezing breath and with a resolve to not look back. They go with an excruciating lack of ease and her words roar emptily like crashing waves.]

[But they go.]

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October Aftermath: Crystal Clear

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Probably wrapping soon?

probably

Can probably wrap this with your next comment.

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