January Aftermath: What Would It Take

[lifeaftr_mods]

JANUARY AFTERMATH: WHAT WOULD IT TAKE

Who: Everyone!
What: The sun is reborn; time to recover
When: January 28th and beyond
Where: Everywhere! Ensō, Monsun, Chol, and the Islets
Warnings: Please mark any additional warnings as needed!

Quiet Like The Snow


Come the sunrise on the 28th, the sun will launch itself into the air with a victorious shriek, its wings trailing plumes of fire behind it. The phoenix takes flight, reborn from the ashes. Though not all the shadowy beings have gone from the world, the reappearance of the sun is enough to make them slink off into the shadows- a fight for another day...or another evening.

Now, it's time for the hardest part. Now, it’s time to clean up.

Chol

The grounds of Chol have reshaped seemingly overnight- as the morning light filters down across the land, characters will find most of the land has been blackened and charred, with many fires still raging inland. The Jormun will assist anyone who hasn’t yet to the western coast of the island; where not nearly as much of the phoenix’s impact has been felt, and a safe corridor of passage to the mana pool resides.

The shores of Chol are littered with corpses, both shadowy and scaled, along with an even smattering of crumpled paper and splotched inkstains. Despite the triumph of the fight, it did not come without its costs. The Jormun gather their dead and prepare to mourn them quietly. Those who perished in the fight will not see the sunrise from this unique perspective, watching the murk of the night tint to soft, milky yellow and pink, and then to a glorious new day.

Munin will greet the survivors with a mixture of solemnity and relief, thanking them profusely for their help. There is not much more that her people can offer you, at this point - they must grieve their dead, and she must return to the sea to prove that she has cemented her worth as a leader in the eyes of the other Jormun - but that does not mean that your stories will part forever.

Ensō and Monsun

Ensō too, has seen its far share of battle. The full scale of just how much the Storyteller had kept at bay around the temple is revealed through the copious piles of shadowed corpses, several wane Jormun already at work on removing them. They assure anyone who seeks to assist that below the ocean, there is effective manners of disposal; such as large, active volcanoes to demolish the flesh before any untoward magics can give them new life.

Heat will slowly begin to return to the island, with slow coming to a halt and ice beginning to thaw. Whilst rugging up is still a requirement, characters will be capable of making their way back to the mostly unscathed islets to rebuild their own lives, or wherever else they may call home.

A notable change to Ensō, however, is as easy to find as looking up. Literally. Several floating land masses can now be seen high above the island itself- too far for anything distinguishable to be made out and too far for those capable of flight to reach. Those who watch these masses may be interested in how, over the course of a day, these strange masses seem to change shape entirely- almost as if they were simply a very unique cloud coverage that seemed ready to become a permanent fixture overhead.
Much like Ensō, Monsun sees little wear, past the additions of many felled creatures. Again, a party of Jormun are slowly navigating their way about the island-- though if they get to the corpses before Monsun’s native meat eaters do is anyone’s guess. In the stillness of the coming days, the usual monster attacks will seemingly dwindle to nothing-- even a god of Balance seems to understand the need for recuperation.

Additionally....
Though the Storyteller is once again nowhere to be found, exhausted adventurers will find three MREs in their packs, for anyone who could use a day off finding and preparing food. Currently, it's the best they can offer- though the Jormun promise that they will have their own spread to share after finishing collecting their dead.

---

Event Specifics

[ ♆ ] The 30th will see the return of any who may have died throughout the duration of the event. All revived characters will awaken at the Storyteller’s temple; remember, if your character has died, let us know here!

[ ♆ ] Item trades with the Jormun can be found on the OOC plotting post here! The number of Jormun available will dwindle through the following weeks, leaving entirely on the 10th of February. Even if you were only recently accepted, you are free to participate!

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

[ratsinadaze]

It's really not your fault, no matter which way you spin it.

[There's an edge of finality in Gobbet's voice. She's not changing her mind about this. Not unless he's about to tell her he purposely attacked people under the guise of blacking out. But he wouldn't tell her that, even if he did, would he? Either way, she doubts it's the case.]

Think about it - all of these things, they happen to you. It's not your fault you need the meds, it's not your fault the sun died and you couldn't tell when to take them, it's not your fault that you black out. None of this is your fault. Why is that so hard for you to consider?

[postictal]

Does it matter?

[It's always been about that. Whose fault it is. Who should be held accountable. Who should be walking away with the guilt in their heart, body, and soul. Everything that's happened, snarled Alex, the air thick with gasoline and rancid with disgust, is your fault.]

[Something of the sharpness to her tone digs under his skin.]

[It's not like Jay, who didn't wholly realize that his actions had an impact, who didn't understand that he wasn't simply an observer with a camera, but an active part of the story, effecting change like anyone else. It's not like Alex, who was driven to the point where he could accept his actions, even as he insisted his was the only route possible.]

[It's someone who won't acknowledge it.]

[Consequences.]

That doesn't excuse it, do you get that? That doesn't make any of it okay, god!

[ratsinadaze]

If you hurt nobody you care about, got the shit kicked out of you, and came out of it alive and with nobody else dead, then what does it matter? What - forget it.

[Gobbet shakes her head in equal parts irritation and defeat. She's not going to get Tim to see her point of view, he's not going to get her to see his, it's a pointless interaction. She hates those.]

If you ever decide you're tired of shouldering a thousand burdens that aren't yours, let me know. Until then, I'm done.

[With that, Gobbet turns to leave.]

[postictal]

[He's not like Chara.]

[He doesn't a flair for the dramatic. He can't effortlessly pull out strings of words that would cut truly and deeply, words like how dare you, and don't you ever imply that this is something I ever wanted for myself again, or something that might cleave through the patina of apparent indifference that she's learned to mantle across herself.]

[His free hand forms a fist, squeezing tight.]

[He's not come out of his life rosy. He's never been someone who would be considered ideal company, and he knows that. He's made errors, some grievous and some excusable, but mostly of the unforgivable variant.]

[When someone's soul came crash-landing into his, sick and heavy with the burden of consequence like a spike driven through a coffin, they'd not needed to speak further. They'd not needed to impress the importance of accepting consequences.]

No one is above consequences. [He practically grinds it out, stuck between clenched teeth.]




Especially not you.

cw: suicide ment

[ratsinadaze]

[Especially not you.]

[Gobbet slows to a halt, considering for a moment turning around and decking this man in the jaw. How dare he, with no knowledge of the things she's done, presume that she doesn't know that? He doesn't know that she keeps herself alive by avoiding putting the blame on herself, that she only made it to 19 years old because she won't accept consequences. If she did, she'd be dead. Whether it be from catching a stray bullet in a moment of distraction or by her own hand in the depths of her despair, she'd be dead. Too many runners caught their death by their own hands, weighed down by guilt or shame or just tired of running. They don't make it to old ages. They don't even make it to middle ages sometimes.]

[He has no way of knowing that this carefully built defense mechanism is fragile and could break any day now. Doesn't know that his words cut to the bone because she knows, knows all too well, that she is not above consequences.]

[Especially not you.]

[The things she's done reach so far and wide, ruin so many lives if you think about it for more than a second, and all she has ever had to say for herself is "You gotta do what you gotta do." Every life she's taken, every life she's left in ruins, every corporation she's wounded, everything all of it - if she lets it in for more than a second, let's it get to her, she'll crack. Right down the middle, she'll crack. So she lives in a world much smaller than the real one, where only a few things matter and consequences exist outside of yourself. It's what all shadowrunners do. They look away from the consequences of their actions or they stop caring early enough to save themselves the trouble of processing it.]

[Nobody's above consequences.]

Yeah, well. I was always a bit short for an ork. I'm not above much of anything.

[Gobbet hopes her little huff of laughter covers the way her shoulders shake. She hopes she sounds as confident as Ace did. She hopes she never sees Tim's face on this godforsaken island hell again.]

[postictal]

Rolls right off your back, huh?

[Is he surprised?]

[Not anymore. Feels like he's run dry at this point, of the capacity to be truly shocked by anything anymore. But if this is how she's going to see her world, then allow him to impart a few fucking choice words, for her consideration.]

Y'know, I guess I should feel sorry for you. Been pretty informed that pity is kind of a specialty of mine.

But I'm sorry. You don't have the right to act pissed because someone out there has enough basic fucking empathy to give a damn.

[ratsinadaze]

Did I give you the impression I was pissed?

[Gobbet's voice is quiet and even. It's just the way her anger manifests - cold and calm, until it explodes into an action. She turns around, serious as death, and closes the gap between them.]

I'm not pissed. And I don't need your pity. I don't need your shitty opinions, either. You're too good for people like me, I know. I get that a lot. You're high and mighty because you get the luxury of feeling emotional when the going gets rough. You don't have to shut down.

[She jabs a finger roughly into his chest on the word "have".]

How many people have you had to kill in order to live? How many lives have you ruined just to be able to eat the next day? You have no idea what it's like to really be better off dead. You only know what it's like to be scared to live another day. You've never-

[She chokes on the word, steps back.]

I don't want your pity. I want you to understand that I know you're not what you think you are because I'm the definition of a plague. Always have been, always will be. I grew up in a real cursed place, with real cursed people, and I only made it to be 19 years old because I'm terrified of what happened to them all. I will tear a bloody path through heaven and hell to keep myself alive, fuck everyone who gets in my way, because I'm a fucking coward, do you understand that?!

[By the end, she's yelling. Some overflow of emotions she keeps tucked away and buried under humor and avoidance. Even she has to break down now and then. Nobody's ever...called her on it before. Nobody's ever been in a position to.]

[postictal]

Oh, shut up.

[It curdles sickeningly beneath his tongue, swelling like a blister, snapping the words out coldly.]

Wake the hell up, Gobbet. We've all been through shit. You wanna dance around waving a streamer, screaming about how goddamn much you've suffered? We've all suffered. None of us is gonna know what it's like for everyone else unless we share our literal souls - which is possible by the way, not sure if you knew that, but it is, so that's fantastic! - and for some reason, I don't think anyone here is gonna be too eager to do that!

But you can believe whatever you want, y'know? Go ahead and keep thinking that no one has suffered like you have, if that gives you a free pass to walk around and do whatever you want, as long as you make it out in one piece.

Just don't, [he spits the word like it's poisonous,] don't you ever put words in my mouth, like you know what I'm thinking. 'Cause clearly? You don't.

[People like him, too good for her?]

[She's got to be fucking joking.]

[ratsinadaze]

[Gobbet goes cold. She let him in, in her own twisted way, and he chooses to go this route. She should have known. Never open yourself up, especially not to someone like Tim. Someone who, far as she can tell, has never seen a bridge he couldn't burn.]

[The words are out of her mouth before she can consider them.]

You missed the point. The point wasn't that I've suffered more or less than anyone else, it's that who I am and what I do means I don't get to feel empathy like you do.

[A hasty recap of what she just said, she thinks. She hisses the next words with another sharp jab of her finger.]

I don't want your pity, I wanted you to understand that you're wasting your fucking breath.

[Wanted. Past tense. Now she just wants you to realize you've done irreparable damage to her trust in you. So she will show you, Tim, what she does when people see her vulnerabilities and try to hurt her anyway. She will retaliate.]

[Gobbet's fist connects with his jaw in a blur of motion. She shakes her hand off, idly considering her reddened knuckles as she turns, again, to walk away from him.]

[postictal]

[He goes down easily.]

[Of course he does.]

[He's already been stabbed, beaten, bruised. What's one more scar atop everything else? It's not the sting of her fist that really does the damage; it's how he lands, heavily, breath rasping out in a short, pained sound he can't wholly suppress.]

[A fresh patch of red creeps out across the bandage over his side.]

[The breath is static in his lungs, and his eyes are clenched shut, but he still manages a low, derisive drawl of sound out from underneath gritted jaw.]

Yeah. Guess you wouldn't.

[Does she feel better, now?]

[He sure goddamn hopes so.]

[Now that the woudn't reopened, it'll be a pain to get it to close again.]

very bad no good awful wrap

[ratsinadaze]

[Should have let her walk away the first time.]

[That's what she repeats to herself as she leaves the temple, shedding the regret already knotting her chest with a forced grin. She will continue on, as she has been, this time without the goal of helping anyone on her shoulders. It was a burden, after all. Life will be easier without worrying about how Tim's doing, how he's getting along with himself these days.]

[Should have let her walk away the first time.]

[Maybe there was a better way to do that, she admits, but regret is not her style. Handwringing is for people who have the time and mental energy to devote to that sort of thing. She's too busy, too focused on surviving this ordeal. Gobbet isn't a handwringer. She doesn't worry about her actions. She's...she's above the consequences. Tells herself over and over as she picks her way across the beach.]

[Should have let her walk away the first time.]