lifeaftr | Let's Train in 100 Times Gravity

Entry tags:

Let's Train in 100 Times Gravity

Who: Anyone who wants to come by! Tag in, thread with Yuka, thread with each other, whatever you want.
What: Combat training/practice.
When: Sunset, each night for a week minimum.
Where: East end of Islet 1.
Warnings: Possible blood if things get out of hand, implied 80s training montage songs

Yuka chose this location because the ground was level, there was enough space for people to move around, and nobody was really using it for anything else. No wild beasts, no fish people to disturb, no strange psychological effects... the ideal place for people to gather for an hour or two and get some good-natured fighting in. The snow on the ground wasn't ideal, she supposed, but that stuff was everywhere, so they'd just have to make do. It'd probably be snowing during the invasion, anyway.

Each evening, as the sun inched towards the horizon, Yuka set her other tasks aside to come out and wait. Jug of wassail sitting at the edge of the space, bundled in warm clothes and scarves, Yuka paced, wondering if this was really going to be worth the time. Are there people willing to spend that much time to train others when there's so much else that needs doing? Can someone even learn enough to make a difference in this little time? For that matter, are these shadow monsters something you can even fight with your fists? If nothing else, it would be good to do some physical activity in just to get her mind to stop going in circles.

For those who arrived early, there would be less to do, but even just talking through what different fighting skills people had would be useful for later on. Once more people arrived, those who use similar weapons could work together, and those with more combat experience could work with those with less. Or, people who know each other or are curious about each other's abilities could seek each other out for a sparring match.

So: Fight, teach, learn, take breaks, drink, chat. Bring your own wassail if you can - Yuka's can only stretch so far.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[I mean you got the job done, didn't you?]

[...don't say that.]

[You're here to understand the situation and see what comes of it. Don't blow it, and don't just bury your discomfort in jokes.]

When you say you're not a fighter, you don't mean that strictly physically, do you? You mean you're just not the "fighting back" type overall?

[A soft huff of air. How'd she guess, right?]

Not generally, no. Just never really grew up that way.

[Sit down, shut up, and listen to the doctors, the bigger and smarter adults who no doubt know what they're doing, who'll figure you out, who'll figure you out and make you better. Just trust them, trust that, and maybe you'll have a shot at something normal.]

[It'll go so much faster, and so much easier, if you just listen.]

[Gobbet frowns and her brows knit together. She's tried to block out most of the memories regarding the cave and crystals and everything that happened for those few days. But she remembers enough to know that Tim fought for his life that day. If it had come down to facing the creatures head on, maybe it would be a different story.]

[But...]

Why did you follow me that day in the caves, Tim?

[It isn’t really a bad question. Honestly, it makes sense that she’d ask his instinct for self-preservation might far surpass his devotion to it, but that hasn’t exactly been unwavering since he woke here. Short-term endurance for long-term net loss. It’s a flawed ideal, but it’s his.]

[More or less.]

‘Cause I got some people I’m looking out for.

I guess what I'm not getting is why you can't - or won't - just live for your sake.

[People like him don’t live for their own sakes. People like him, assuming they live at all, don’t have much worth living for. Maybe something about the wry twist to one side of his mouth communicates a smile, because it doesn’t much pass for one.]

There something about me that looks like it’s worth sticking around?

I'll be honest with you, I don't know you well enough to give you a list of reasons. I know you care about others, though. Way more than I do. You care enough to protect someone, to help prepare for the upcoming shitstorm, and to make amends.

[To all the people she's hurt, directly or indirectly, there's probably not much worth in keeping Gobbet around either. She's a lazy criminal scumbag who only cares about herself and spends all day stuffing her face and avoiding her own PTSD. But she still lives for herself. She's all she's got and her opinion is the only one that matters to her.]

[Gobbet's voice is surprisingly quiet, but even, as she adds:]

It's all about the value we place on ourselves. I know you don't place any on yourself, but it doesn't have to be that way.

[For someone who’s a liar by default, by nature, by self-admission and self-reflection, he can still acknowledge when someone else’s honesty is...appreciated. And it is, no matter how Gobbet might gauge it. She’s direct. She’s blunt. More and more, he’s finding himself drawn to that.]

I’m pretty sure whatever good I manage here won’t really come close to making that worth it.

[There it is again. The question of how much gets said. How big a risk he ends up taking.]

It’s not...I’m not really in a position to judge, if that’s not what you believe. I’m just not much in the way of...worthwhile pursuits, I guess.

Mm. [Gobbet shakes her head. That one she can't let fly. It's not about disagreement, it's fact.] I've known worthless folks. You're not worthless.

[And she's talking about society here, not the worth of you to yourself.]

[For example, back home she's worthless in the eyes of society, but worth more than words can describe to herself. Tim, she's coming to see, is exactly the opposite. She doesn't agree, but she understands. Sort of.]

I'm not going to tell you that you're a shining saint, because you're not. I'm not. But you're definitely worthwhile. Otherwise I wouldn't be talking to you right now. As long as one person places even a little value on you, you're not worthless.

Well, hey. That’s why I’m still around.

[Not because he meant to be. But because a couple people needed him to be. They asked him to hold out until the very End, and he agreed, because there was so little he would not do for them. They deserved something that he didn’t get, even if it was all for the sake of a bitter end result.]

‘Cause some people need me to be.

[...she was hoping you'd have an epiphany and realize that maybe if others saw value in you, you should see it in yourself.]

[Gobbet lets out a long breath - not quite a sigh, but enough to convey her disappointment in her failed plan.]

Well, it's better than nothing.

[She sets down the wassail jug and stands up, turning to face him.]

But what's the part you're not telling me that's making it impossible for me to understand where you're coming from?

The part where people who know me tend to - end up badly.

[That would be putting it delicately. If she won’t eschew him for irrational reasons, maybe the rational ones will be a little more efficient. After all, she’s gotta have a pretty sky high sense of self preservation. She’d have to.]

[So people who plan on staying alive shouldn’t be hunkering down with him.]

I dunno what you’d call it. There’s just something sorta - over me. Something bigger.

[And It doesn’t like to share.]

[She crosses her arms over her chest. Regards him curiously.]

[End up badly. You could say the same about the people who chose to let her into their lives, too. There were very few people she knew back home who weren't dead or in constant danger of dying because of her.]

[But that's more of an occupational hazard thing, not a curse - which is what it sounds like Tim is describing to her.]

So you're...what, cursed?

[Honestly, it's not a bad analogy. He more or less implied to Chip that something...something had possession of his soul, some irrevocable hold that he could never quite shake, and that wasn't quite a lie either. His life has never truly been his.]

Probably the best way of putting it, actually. It latches onto everyone I meet, and I - I can't take the risk that it won't happen again.

[He keeps his distance. He prays that It never comes. He doesn't get near people, not close enough for them to discern anything fishy. But then, did Brian or Alex or Jay need to know any part of him, for It to draw near?]

[Maybe they're really all just...doomed.]

[Dying terrifies Gobbet.]

[Less so, now that she knows she'll come back, but she's not sure how many times that'll work before she's gone for good. The last time she died had been during the crystal clusterfuck. She'd bared her soul to a stranger, faded into the dark, and...and she couldn't remember the rest. That's what terrifies her the most. That death was just the flicking of a switch - she was on and the next minute she was off. No pearly gates, no fires of hell, nothing.]

[But curses and the threat of death do not terrify her. They thrill and interest her, to be quite honest. So long as she's convinced beyond doubt that she'll survive, there's very little she won't challenge. After all, if you're going to live a life where you pump a demon goddess full of lead, what's a curse gonna do?]

Alright, so we've met. Now what happens to me?

No idea.

[That's the honest bottom line. He doesn't know what happens, what the threshold is. It hasn't showed. It hadn't showed in the Castle and It hasn't showed here, but that doesn't mean It won't. How long did it take for him to realize It was still real, back home?]

[Years.]

It's not like I decided to experiment on what kind of...timeframe It takes. Last time, it took years for any of us to realize that anything was even...

[To realize their number was slowly dwindling.]

Okay but what happens, Tim? You're cursed. Theoretically, I'm cursed now on principle of having met you. That doesn't mean shit if nothing actually happens. Is my face going to melt off, am I going to drop dead at random, is something coming after me in my sleep...?

[Gobbet tries to keep the edge of irritation out of her voice. She just wants answers, wants things to be explained so she can just have an opinion and move on with her day. It doesn't occur to her that this is exactly what she did back at Mu.]

It’s -

[He shuts his eyes because he has to, because he doesn’t tell people this as a rule, because talking about it only makes it worse, because he just has to hope that he’s the only source and exiting the story, ripping out the pages with his name on them, will make it right again.]

[Maybe it will.]

[His tone trembles with every word.]

It starts small. Chills, maybe. Or you feel like you’re being watched. You get sick, way often - way more often than you should.

You start seeing things. Maybe they’re real, but no one else seems to see them.

You start losing time. Blacking out for weeks. Or maybe you’re sleepwalking. Whatever it is, it just gets worse. Worse, and worse, and worse, until you’re losing your mind.

[These...are not the answers she was expecting. Truthfully she expected him to insist that he didn't know. And she would brush that off, say it was nothing to worry about then. That she wasn't going anywhere on the suspicion that he might be cursed.]

[But it doesn't sound like a curse, it sounds like a sickness. And, somehow, listing the symptoms makes it real to her. Suddenly she's not sure whether it's the wind sending chills down her back or something less natural.]

[Gobbet, what have you gotten yourself into now?]

[She opens and closes her mouth a few times as she tries to find the right words. What can you say to that? What can you say to knowing someone else has endured this for years? That they might still endure it now? That you might endure it yourself, if you're not careful.]

Fuck. I...I'm sorry. I know that doesn't...doesn't do anything.

You know the worst part of it -

[She’s trying. Fuck, but she’s trying to be nice and understand and all he can manage is a loose, shaky breath like the rustle of leaves over pavement, like the phantom crunch of footsteps behind him.]

[He can’t ever really be clean, now, can he?]

For a long time, I figured I was just crazy.

I think a lot of me still does.

[She’s sorry? Fuck, he’s sorry for saying anything at all.]

...sorry. Probably shouldn’t have said anything.

No, no - I know these kinds of things are real. I've had experience with similar forces in the world I came from. You're not crazy.

[Except the forces she contended with weren't quite the same. They ruined lives, drove people to insanity, stacked the deck in such a way that those born under the influence of the Walled City never had a chance at all. But it was highly localized and, ultimately, had a physical form that could be killed. At it's root, it was a curse that manifested in ways that damaged the psyche.]

[She has no reason not to believe him, either. Why lie about something like this? Tim didn't seem the type to want pity from others and he'd probably guessed by now that if he wanted that he was barking up the wrong tree with Gobbet.]

Do you still lose time like that? Even all the way out here?

[It's fortunate that he has the bottle on hand, now, and that Chara no longer has to carry it all hours of the day. No longer holding him on that tether, though the gesture had less to do with trust, and more with needing to ease the great weight on their shoulders.]

[He's taken them before, shaken them out and swallowed them dry. He lets them rattle as he rolls the bottle between his fingertips: a little orange bottle with the label scratched and torn, with those precious white capsules that are the sole synthetic shield between him and something - far, far worse.]

These help. Just...not always enough.

[Ah, the pills. The ones he took back on Monsun, where she asked if he was sick. This is what he meant.]

Damn. Then...what do we do about it? I mean, usually curses have a physical root that can be destroyed.

[That's right. We. If she's in this now, she's going to fight it. It's the only thing she knows how to do in the face of a curse.]

[At that point, Tim does something incredible.]

[He smiles.]

[It's crooked, wry, self-deprecating, and more than a little bit pained, warping one side of his face and ducking his head and sinking his free hand over his chest to fist at the fabric of his shirt, worn and muddied and stained almost beyond recognition.]

Yeah.

That's kinda the whole point.

[That's the joke. Got a killer punchline, right?]
[ * It's me. ]

[Gobbet looks confused, then realization sets in, followed shortly by exasperation.]

You are the curse? I though you just had it. That complicates things.

[She scratches at her cheek absently, thinking of how to kill the curse attached to an object without destroying the object. There had to be rituals, right? A spell or something? God what she wouldn't give to have access to Crafty's library right now...]

[The consideration of actually just killing Tim and being done with it crosses her mind, but she dismisses it immediately. Embarrassed, as though Tim could see her thoughts and know she thought of it at all. Besides, he would just come back if her own experiences with death were anything to go by. And he had people that needed him, according to the man himself.]

Why did you create it, then? You clearly don't want it to spread.

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cw internalized ableism

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