August Aftermath: Plants Solidify Sunshine

[lifeaftr_mods]

AUGUST AFTERMATH: OVERGROWTH

Who: Everyone
What: You're back, for better or worse
When: August 19th and onward
Where: The Storyteller's Temple on Ensō, and anywhere else
Warnings: Please mark as you go!

Optimism Doesn't Change the Facts

By the end of the 17th, the last of those suffering from the Overgrowth have either pulled through or succumbed entirely. For the next two days, their bodies will decompose and the flowers will feed on their remains, flourishing into bright patches of color.

If you perished and choked on your flowery words, never fear. Come the 19th, you will be stirring awake in the Storyteller's Temple. You will be experiencing a few...side effects, as it happens, while your body readjusts. It will take something like a week for those symptoms to disperse, though the Storyteller isn't around to inform you of this.

What is around? Aside from your own freshly revived selves, there are a great deal of flowers, and all of them are sickeningly familiar. Scarlet gladiolus. Blushing dog rose. Soft yellow buttercups. Garnet-colored geraniums. Dark nodules of fly orchids. Rich violets. Periwinkle hydrangeas. Peppered yellow speckles of goldenrod. Jade green zinnias. Red spears of snapdragons. Pale begonias. Pink spangles of mountain laurel. The very flowers that killed you are now growing all over the Temple, inside and out, in rich abundance, cloying the air with their perfumed fragrance.

Don't be concerned. These ones certainly aren't going to be spreading to your flesh anytime soon.

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If your character died during this event, please let us know if you have not already. Death penalties have been reduced for this event, but we still need to account for them!

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LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

[postictal]

[Maybe it would be, if he doesn't still remember the hollow disc of white emblazoned in his mind, the empty black pits of eyes staring flatly through a viewfinder. It's not you. It's not you.]

[He doesn't know sign language. Doesn't know how someone's supposed to speak through it. How do you communicate when you can't speak, can't indicate anything with a flicker of facial expression, can't can't can't?]

[Eventually, he stops shaking in place. Manages to peer between his fingers at the little shape that hasn't budged. Glances out, across the temple. Is anyone else here?]

[Doesn't know how to communicate it. Doesn't know how to ask: is anyone else here? Tries sketching it in the dirt with one finger. The mask makes it hard.]

Who is h e re?

[lightlessfuture]

[ They tilt their head at the clumsily written words. Gauging what he can see, at what angle, from where he chooses to write them.

They take a little longer than they would otherwise; they're focused on making their words bigger, more legible. Easier to see.

many people
some coming back
some mourning
do not want people ?

If he'd been jumpy about being touched, he probably wouldn't want people around. That's a fair guess, they think. ]

[postictal]

Need to GET OUT

[He taps the last two words for emphasis. No one should see him like this. No one should be able to see him and figure out - what he is, what he might be. The kids. They're not okay, and they're not going to be okay when they come back, but he's in no position to make sure of that, is he?]

[He can't even appreciate the extra effort the Knight is going to, to make sure that he can read what they're writing.]

NOT SEEN

[lightlessfuture]

[ A problem has been presented. The solution is straightforward, not like the complex tangle of buried feelings they've had to navigate over the course of this illness.

will help
if you want
guide you out
when less people

...They do feel slightly concerned about his survivability, but

he'll, be fine, maybe? Hmm. Well, someone in a mask like this scrambling around shouldn't be too hard to find? They can check up on him?

you = struggling
mask = new?

They assume it's a wholly new thing for him, considering his panic. They're...incorrect, but they're working with what they have. ]

[postictal]

[His lies don't choke him out anymore.]

[He nods, because it's easier to suggest that. Yes. The mask is new. He didn't spend hours carving it, whittling it, smoothing its corners and edges so that he wouldn't wake with a faceful of splinters after a bad night.]

no one can see

[lightlessfuture]

[ That mask doesn't look particularly new but the Knight decides that is clearly none of their business right now.

There are still many people around, but they think they can probably keep an eye on things for a while. Wait until people have tired themselves out. ]

watch
wait until others gone
will come get you

[ He shouldn't be too hard to find.

They scuff out their words in the dirt, small footsteps receding into the distance as they go to watch the other people moving about in the temple.

It will be a while before they return, before the temple has emptied out enough to their satisfaction. But they do return, in time, when night has fallen over the island.

Rather than touch him to make him aware of their presence, they tap their sword against the floor. A rhythmic, metallic sound. They wait expectantly for his attention. ]

[postictal]

[They leave quickly to make good on their promise, presumably. He's in no position to check and ensure that they do. He has little choice but to put faith in a tiny creature who, to their credit, has managed to earn Chara's fondness, which at least counts for something.]

[He curls up in the corner, and makes himself as small and unimpressionable as possible until a soft metal click against stone heralds their reapproach.]

[He unbends, stiffly. He's not certain how much time has passed. He's not sure he needs to know.]

[Instead he simply stares at them, wondering if something of his desperation leaches through.]

[lightlessfuture]

[ They beckon to him to follow, whisking their sword away. No holding hands, like they'd usually do to lead someone; that would make things worse.

But, true to their word, they lead him out, and since nobody seems to be making a fuss, it appears that they've succeeded in finding a time when people just aren't paying attention as much.

Once they get outside, they look up at him inquisitively, head tilted. Is he going to be all right on his own? ]

[postictal]

[He creeps out into the open with slow, careful motions, glancing over his shoulder, shooting periodic looks out to scan at the jungle. How the hell will he take his pills, his...]

[His pills. His pills were on him when he died. Fuck. Fuck. Jesus, fuck. He has to get to Umui.]

[A low, rattling noise. His hands clench into fists and out again, and he crouches to write quickly in the dirt:]

th NKS