lifeaftr | February Event: Just One Mist-ake

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February Event: Just One Mist-ake

FEBRUARY EVENT: JUST ONE MIST-AKE

Who: Everyone who ends up on the floating islands
What: February's event
When: February 15th to February 20th
Where: The floating islands above Ensō
Warnings: Mark as needed!

Sky High

Those curious floating landmasses far above Ensō have only grown more prominent in the coming days. Whether you've chosen to explore the islands purposefully or have ended up there via a mana pool malfunction, you'll doubtless discover their unique properties soon enough. You might even take advantage of their impressionable nature to mold them to your own desires, shaping pieces of the places you once knew, or maybe a place you wish you could be.

Either way, the repercussions to using the floating islands as your modeling clay will be evident by the time midnight rolls around, each night, and the islands impose a regular reset cycle to wipe away whatever changes have taken place, including that peculiar, almost volcanic texture that seems to affect the lands sculpted by your mentality. Just make sure you're not caught outside the depressions in the shape of mana pools centered on each island, lest you bear some unpleasant consequences for a day.

If you haven't signed up for a Reset Penalty and wish to, you can still do so here!

Check Your Wishlist

But of course, it's not all doom and gloom. It's quite the opposite, in fact. If there's something you've been wanting, simple or complex, something that has been making its way into the texture of your thoughts with a frequency that's almost noteworthy, the islands will attempt to see to it that this wish of yours, this yearning, is satisfied in some way or another. Some of the effects will be temporary. Some won't.

Regardless, at some point during the event, if your character visits the islands, the possibility is there.

If you're interested in a Wish Request, let us know here! Remember that filling out this form is required if you want to take advantage of the islands' "giving" nature.

Event Timeline

[ ♆ ] February 15th: The floating islands appear
[ ♆ ] February 16th: The mana pools begin malfunctioning, and characters begin ending up on the floating islands
[ ♆ ] February 20th: Monthly Storytelling occurs, along with a vote as to the next land adventurers will brave. Upon waking, the Storyteller returns everyone to Ensō, and shrouds the islands in cloud once more

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

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[His mouth tugs downward, gummed viscera stretching uncomfortably on his lips. He's suddenly... annoyed. And that's annoying, that such a distinctly petty emotion can penetrate this cocoon he's trying to slip away into.]

Me, [He says sharply.] I'm the waste, idiot. C-can't you tell even that?

[He already suspects the answer, though: of course they don't. They're too kind of a person. Like Ren, like Jyushimatsu, like Karamatsu, Osomatsu... any of them. Anyone he knows who bothers to smile his way. Ichimatsu's fingers dig into the blanket, his nails pliant and soft; like he means to shrug it off. But he doesn't. His good eye drills into the Drifter, calm and clear.]

Why don't you... ever think about yourself for a change? Why help me?

[They have never been particularly eloquent - even before the sickness festering in their lungs shredded their means of speaking aloud, they were not much for vocalization unless strictly necessary. They cannot paint pictures with their words; they cannot translate thought into something someone else might easily read or discern.]

[It is not often that they wish that they could.]

[The faint puckering of the skin between their eyes, the silence as they must consider it, and perhaps it's apparent that the question has thrown them.]

[He is alone, and in pain. As they once were.]

[In an existence of sustained isolation, broken only by the throwing of stones, the flinging of harsh words, the skittering of those who could not bear to remain near them, they had long since learned not to ask for help. They had learned not to expect it. They had learned that the world would not deign to demonstrate compassion in their direction, and reacted accordingly.]

[Until someone picked them up off the ground, for no other reason besides the fact that they could.]

[And suddenly, they have their answer.]

because one kindness can change the world

[One kindness can change the world.]

[It's so -- it's -- it doesn't answer anything. It's like out of some freaking manga, where heroes find their family and save the world with their kindness. Osomatsu's favorite cookie cutter shit. It says everything about the Drifter, but nothing about Ichimatsu. Kindness? What kindness? What fucking kindness has he earned? Why should someone like him, who left the Drifter to their demise in some godforsaken cave, who's treated his brothers with nothing but contempt for most of their lives...]

[Something warm and wet trails down his cheek, carving through grime. If there's any justness in the world, it's his eye swelling with blood.]

[He knows it's not.]

[His throat is too hot. Too thick, when he resigned himself to the slick coat of blood. He curls down as tight as he can, everything in him compacting, because it's all going to come out. All of it. The things he didn't give a shit about losing, and now the things he does.]

Y-... you don't... get it. I'm not gonna change anything... the world? Don't be stupid.

Don't...

[He doesn't care about the world. He cares about his brothers. He cares about Ren, and Tibia, and the fucking Drifter. He looks at them with one half-lidded eye, his voice thick and uneven, dragged over every rib.]

... don't leave.

[he needs help.]

[he doesn't want to be alone.]

[It's not altogether clear, the mechanism through which that shift twitches from denial to admission. There's a trickle of something almost startlingly clear, and it feels like a cruelty to be watching, the way they are. It is too late to look away. They've glimpsed the sort of vulnerability that drifters and warriors endeavor never to display, akin to standing in one place with one's arms spread wide, presenting oneself for the taking.]

[He is not a drifter, nor is he a warrior. He is a sick, scared soul, and he does not want to be alone.]

[The Drifter rocks back from their crouch. Rearranges their position so they are sitting more comfortably across from him, instead.]

ok

[He has asked that they stay. And so they will. He might insist that it will not change anything, but they suspect that it would; that leaving would make a difference, regardless of what he might insist.]

[Now that they are set to remain, they can hold out the jug of water a third time. Just...in case, maybe.]

[With his thin, sorry admission, Ichimatsu allows himself a mute second to marvel at how the world hasn't seemed to implode on itself. Weird. Weird, how there's the feeling of being both gouged empty and so bloated with sick and slime that he can't hear himself think. If this were one of his brothers, it would be easier to show weakness. Ichimatsu bristles, and he claws, and he spits, and his brothers are gentle and know he's fragile anyway.]

[He doesn't have his brothers. He doesn't have anyone that knows him so intimately well that they can brush back his spines or just grab them and bleed without caring. He doesn't have his family to carry the burden of deciphering every one of his terrible, combative moods.]

[But he has friends, now.]

[He guesses, in the end, it's only fair to make knowing him a bit easier on them.]

[The Drifter holds out the jug a third time, and Ichimatsu eyes it warily. Then he unfolds one arm from his stomach, stifling a knob of pain by sucking air through his teeth, and extends his hand to receive it.]

... thanks.

[for the water. and et cetera.]

[Success.]

[Perhaps it won't help, but it cannot exactly hurt, can it? He doubtless needs something, some measure of sustenance to enter his battered and bleeding body, and it's doubtful that he can hold down anything tangible. They wouldn't dare risk trying.]

[If Ren were here, she might even try to grab his hand. Hold it tightly. If it were Ren, perhaps he would not mind it.]

[They are not Ren. They cannot intuit what is best and then do it, unthinking, providing the ease of comfort with a song or a twine made of woven flowers or fingers closing around one another.]

[They can do very little of use - but they can still assess his condition.]

how much can you move

[The jug shakes when he tips it, scattering just as much water down his chin as makes it into his mouth. More waste. Ichimatsu swirls the water around with his tongue, cringing at the cold sting against the sores pockmarking the inflamed lining of his mouth. He parts his knees again and spits directly into his own sick. The backwash is tinged pink, blighted with slips of pale, fleshy film.]

[He stares at it for a moment. Then he raises the jug again and takes another small sip. This one he swallows down, doing his best to ignore the chilly wash that flows through his roiling guts.]

[It helps. He thinks. At least, he wants it to now.]

... dunno. F-feels like... I'm falling apart inside. [and not even metaphorically.] Don't think you should touch me. M-might be... contagious.

it would be tragic
to be sick

[That's the Drifter's best attempt at a joke. How horrifying it would be, to feel as though you might be decaying from the inside out. What a tragedy.]

[At least Ichimatsu is drinking. It's something, even if it isn't much. They have other jugs in their possession; this one can be used to ensure that some measure of his paint is eased, at least incrementally. It's not quite the same as spitting up blood, nor is his the vivid pink that the Drifter's trends toward. Still, the blobs of jellied sarcoline he hacks up do not imply anything good for the state of his internal organs.]

[He bites his lip to avoid laughing again, not eager for a repeat.]

... guess you'd know, huh. Sorry.

[Utterly tactless. He'll kick himself for it later; if he lives through this. The first gulp of water seems to have settled inside him without immediate consequence, so Ichimatsu takes his chances on another one. It slides down his throat painfully, but easier; he wipes his mouth and sets the jug down in front of him, uncurling as best he can without losing control of his innards.]

[It surprises himself, how quickly he's adjusted to the shift in his fate.]

We... ngh. Going somewhere?

good to know limits

[That's the first thing they test, every morning. Sitting. Standing up. Deep breath. Moving slowly. Moving faster. Are all faculties still intact? Can they still cough when required, clear their lungs from the fluid gathering in the beds of their respiratory system? Can they react as necessary, swiftly and relatively ably, when it is required?]

[Ichimatsu would not be familiar with the necessity of such a routine, they suspect. But it is best that one learns to implement it sooner, rather than later.]

would you like to

L-limits, huh...

[He'd like to tack on that they're probably well past his already, but then decides that it's not worth wasting the energy on continued negativity. Instead, he shakes his head -- slowly, a weak nod from side to side. It finally occurs to him to lift a sleeve and wipe the tear track marked down one side of his face.]

... not really. But it's not like we can stay here forever.

[Also, it'd be nice not sit in his own puke at some point.]

[It would be foolish to ask where it hurts; they know the answer to that one already. It would be equally pointless to ask if there is a way to reduce the amount of pain he is currently in. This sort of pain is not kind enough to disperse, or arrive in waves. It lingers, omnipresent.]

[One simply has to grow used to it.]

then we will move
when you are ready

[It's a simple thought, and a simple deduction. Should he decide he no longer wishes to remain here, then he will not. There is no hovering in indecision, in their mind, or steeling oneself to act in a particular way. One sees the need to take action, and they take it.]

[When you're ready. It's nice of them. But when it comes to the important stuff, those allowances don't exist in Ichimatsu's vocabulary; he knows himself better than that. You're not ready, and then you're still not ready, and then you end up not doing it at all. When something needs to happen... he's not allowed to wait for ready. He just has to do it.]

[But it's nice of them.]

[Ichimatsu draws in a breath. It shakes, and it crackles, and in his mind his lungs are made of blown glass and frosting over with spiderweb cracks. Oozing black and red. Disgusting. He spites his body for falling apart, and scoots away from the puddle of vomit. His arm wraps back around his stomach, pressing up into the arch of meat under his ribs as if he's performing a sustained Heimlich on himself.]

... g-... gimme a sec.

[It's not his pride that prevents him from asking for help -- not this time. It's the memory of tossing a coconut their way, and watching them stumble. Ichimatsu is far heavier than a coconut. And he still doesn't want them sicker.]

[Give him more than a second -- about a minute, instead, and he'll find his way shakily to his feet.]

[A second, a minute - the lapsing of time doesn't matter, so much. What does matter is that it is obvious, when he finally makes the attempt to lurch to his feet. It's truly a blessing that they can loop one arm just underneath his shoulder blades and lend genuine support, no longer rendered fragile by a sickness seeded into the very marrow of their bones.]

[Perhaps this is why they can breathe easily, and stand so solidly, and be free of the taint of that sharp, sour illness. Perhaps this is why they can offer genuine support, and not something merely nominal.]

[For this. For those who are not as fortunate as they.]

slowly [they caution, perhaps unreasonably - it is not as if Ichimatsu is moving very quickly, after all.]

H-hey...

[The protest is surprised out of him more than anything; he hadn't expected that at all. Though he should have -- the Drifter isn't known to him for respecting their own limits. He turns his head away from them, bringing up his free hand to cover his mouth as he coughs with a thick, wet sound.]

[There's some kind of irony in this, somewhere. A lot of irony. He wonders if the Drifter still has that old medicine mask he gave to them ages ago.]

[Either way, he doesn't struggle against their assistance, mostly because he's sure he'd fall over if he pulled away. He heeds their advice, slowly drawing himself up to as much of his height as he can manage while still keeping his insides from sloshing about. Gulping down a bubble of something unpleasant in his throat, studies them through hooded eyes.]

You sure... ngh... t-this is okay?

feeling better today

[It's paired with an incremental shrug, small and even so as not to disrupt the support they're offering at present. They're feeling...incredibly better, in fact. Better than they've felt in years. Better than they can ever remember feeling. They'd almost forgotten how it could feel, to be able to get to one's feet without staggering, without the familiar bolts of pain to one's ankles and up into the beds of their lungs.]

[To be able to breathe without the ragged heaving in their guts, or the tang of their own blood stinging their throat.]

[And so they can offer this, in a time when he needs it most: support, and a means of keeping him upright.]

maybe this is why

[It would not be the first time that a god has imbued them with the power to endure beyond their own limits for the purposes of accomplishing a task.k]

[He stares at them for a few blank heartbeats. Then he snorts, red spittle spiderwebbing down his chin. The corner of his mouth curls upward.]

Y-yeah? Lucky.

[He feels no contempt for the Drifter. Which is odd; he's a jealous sort of guy. Well, if anyone deserves a break, it's them; and if anyone doesn't, it's him. Maybe the karmic scales aren't so unbalanced after all. Ichimatsu takes their cue and leans a bit of his weight onto them; not much, but just enough to take some of the burden of applying pressure to his middle off of his aching arm.]

... so, where to?

[as if he wasn't the one who suggested moving.]

[They, ah, don't have an answer for that? Where were they meant to go?]

[Perhaps down, if the option were available to them. But the pools are closed to them, and the only thing they can hazard as just as safe are the curious indentations in the ground, the circles that resemble the shape of the pools. The significance of that may not be obvious, but it is not lost on them.]

safe spots
i suspect

[It is fair to make that clear: that they do not know for certain, if these areas are truly safe.]

[They suspect? Well, that's fine. Ichimatsu's expectations are already pretty low; even if this safe spot they have in mind isn't the real deal, he won't blame them for it. He stopped having the right to complain about them wasting their time the second he begged them to stay like a little brat.]

Fine with me.

[The wheezing quality to his breath keeps it from sounding quite as dismissive as he was going for. He scrutinizes them again through ruddy eyes. It's hard to tell with how covered up they are, but he thinks... they do just sort of have this healthier aura about them. That's great. They deserve it. And still so damnably nice, of course.]

... thanks.

[Their free hand tips up, cupping a few inches away from their mantle in that familiar u-shape. A smile. A strained one, perhaps, given the worry in their gaze, but a sincere one nonetheless. He has not died yet. That in and of itself is enough cause for celebration.]

you are still here
live another day

[Is that not extraordinary in its own right?]

[Seeing them say that... he kinda feels like a heel. It reminds him again, of that cave, of that dark place glittering with crystals that tore and rooted and dripped with sinew and hypercolored blood. They tried so hard to live, and he... he didn't really even try at all. Not for the first time, he sense this -- sort of wall between him and them, some kind of basic understanding of their willpower that he could never recreate in himself.]

[But they don't even judge him for that, do they? Not as far as he can tell. They're a better friend than he deserves.]

[He scoffs, but it isn't a rude one; it's closer to a laugh, the corner of his mouth opening as it curls upward, showing his pinkened teeth.]

C-...counting profits for uncaught fox skins, huh? Don't set yourself up for disappointment, D-Drifter.

[Despite his words, though, he does seem to have an easier time breathing and speaking now that he's unfolded himself from the ground and given a bit of his weight over. He squints towards the horizon, perhaps trying to figure out where this supposed safe area is.]

[Well, he's lasted this long, hasn't he? That's extraordinary in and of itself. Perhaps he hasn't been doing any willful, active fighting, but he has endured, perhaps purely off instinct, and that is commendable, in their humble opinion.]

you are walking now

[They're going to point that one out as a victory as well. Even if he needs their assistance in achieving it, the cadence of his breathing isn't quite as pained and staggered as it was before. That, too, is worth celebration.

[They've a little ways to go, yet. Not terribly far in the ordinary sense, but when you're moving slowly as the pair of them are, as tentatively, then it pays to pace oneself.]

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February Event: Just One Mist-ake

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