October Event: Feeling Like a Ghost (Part I)

[lifeaftr_mods]

OCTOBER EVENT: FEELING LIKE A GHOST

Who: Anyone and everyone
What: Your past returns to haunt you
When: October 10th and onward
Where: All over!
Warnings: Character death, as well as potential for discussion of trauma and suicide ideation - please mark as you go!

Try and Hear Me, Then I'm Done

You can find most of the information you need in the OOC info post! In the meantime, feel free to use this log as a catch-all for the duration of the event. While this log will focus on the past portion, you're free to use it for the future portion. As always, you can also make your own logs if that's your preference! Come the 21st, however, we'll likely get an additional log up for those who want to play around with their future echoes as well. Remember also that the present portion will be played out in Mu, during this month's Storytelling.

Remember to let us know if your character dies during this event. Bear in mind, however: death penalties will NOT be reduced for this event.

Event Timeline

[ ♆ ] October 10th: The ghosts of the past appear.
[ ♆ ] October 20th: The warped Storytelling occurs, the Storyteller returns, and those who have died are revived.
[ ♆ ] October 21st: Future echoes replace the ghosts of the past.
[ ♆ ] October 25th: With equilibrium restored, all visions vanish, and life returns to how it was.

---

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

ota! cw for suicide

[ladytakamaki]

[ i mentioned this on ooc plotting, but i'll write it here too: ann and shiho's history deals with sensitive topics, namely sexual/physical abuse and suicide. if these topics make you uncomfortable, please feel free to let me know here! comments to ann's permissions post are screened. ]

A.

[ shiho should not be here.

that's first thought when she sees shiho's form appear before her, warped and faded. she knows that it's false, she knows that it's not her. but she can't help the goosebumps on her skin that appear when shiho tells ann she can't live without her.to anyone who sees ann in this stage, she's staring into thin air, eyes wide, hand over her mouth. ]

Shiho... Shiho! [ ann reaches out; but her hand goes right through her. her chest hurts. she thinks about how she'd let shiho down, how she let kamoshida push shiho to her limit. ann thought she'd moved past that guilt, but it's only starting to bubble to the surface again.

she's not as strong as she thought she'd be. ]

You're...you're not real. You're not her!

B.

[ as shiho continues to stick to ann's side, there are moments where ann can be seen talking to herself. and it's all she seems to be doing, at this point. if you try to talk to her, ann will say hello and try to start conversation, only to be pulled back in by shiho's presence. her touch is so real. she's as warm as ann remembers her being. to anyone else, it looks like she's talking to nobody; but ann is becoming more and more convinced that this really is shiho.

at one point, however, shiho lures ann out to the beach. shiho laughs and wades into the water; ann laughs happily and starts to follow her.

but there's a pack of lightning eels in the water. they're dangerous. they can kill anyone who crosses their path with an electric shock. they start to swim near shiho, and ann hesitates, stopping right at the shoreline.

Ann...you'll always be here for me, right? You'll save me, won't you?

Or will you let me die... Just like last time?

ann looks at her, and the guilt starts to sink in. even though she fought back against kamoshida, even though she helped put an end to his crimes... she doesn't want to let shiho down yet again.

she starts to head into the water. ]

b.

[hyperlit]

[The Drifter moves at a staggered pace, at an awkward limp. Their dark twin remains persistent behind them, a drone of intention boiling at the back of their neck. They walk like a shadow separate from the Drifter's crimson cloak, and Judgment's eye stares always, always, always out at them.]

[They've tuned out the litany of formless words being issued at their back, ignoring it in the way they never could dismiss Judgment - ]

[ ᴄᴀʀʀʏ ɪᴛ ᴄᴀʀʀʏ ɪᴛ ᴄᴀʀʀʏ ɪᴛ ᴄᴀʀʀʏ ɪᴛ ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɪᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ʙᴜʀɴ ɪᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ʙᴜʀɴ ɪᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ʙᴜʀɴ ɪᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ɴᴏᴡ ɴᴏᴡ ɴᴏᴡ ɴᴏᴡ ɴᴏᴡ ɴᴏᴡ ɴᴏᴡ ɴᴏᴡ ɴᴏᴡ ]

[A steady, endless stream of words funneling into the base of their brain. It pulses pain behind every step, behind every blink. They've not been able to sleep. They've not been able to do anything but strain to keep it from reaching them.]

[There is someone in the water. There is someone in the water, and the static crackle of lightning fuzzing the surface. She is advancing, and if she goes any closer...they can see the potential of what might happen before it does.]

[They do not like the water.]

[ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅ ɪᴛ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅ ɪᴛ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅ ɪᴛs ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴ ɪɴ ɪɴ ɪɴ ɪɴ ]

[They sprint forward anyway, a charged dash of violet streaking out into the shallows. Snap out with one gloved hand, the slightly claw-tipped points of their fingers, and close around her wrist. The cobalt of their skin is stark beneath their gray helm, their eyes twin dark pits.]

[They shake their head.]

[Don't go in.]

mira | ota

[antepone]

one.
[ It starts with a shadow at the corner of her eyes. She thinks it's just Mu again, like at the temple, and she doesn't pay it much mind. It's vague, a hallucination from a fair amount of sleep deprivation; even with Daisy at her side, she's just... too wound up from all the thoughts swirling in her head.

So she decides to take a walk. The shadow is still in the corners of her vision, but she tries to ignore it. Still, it's frustratingly hard to ignore, and if she comes across someone... ]

Are you seeing things, too? [ she asks softly, unsure. ]

two: specify time frame.
[ It's not long before the shadow becomes something more. She's feeding Kaltenecker her daily treat of greens when she hears her name called from behind her. It's a voice she hasn't heard in a little while, a voice she's been wanting to hear since he disappeared.

Mira whirls around, her eyes wide. ]

Lance?

[ And throughout the next few days, she's significantly more weighed down by grief. Each time he talks to her is a fresh stab of pain, and Mira can't bear to listen to what he's telling her. It's even harder to ignore him, though.

And it becomes harder and harder; eventually, she follows him to a certain area of Enso. She's almost desperate to reach him, to join him, that she hardly registers that she's close to... well. Something distinctly not safe. ]

three.
[ By the time she's able to recognize that, no, this is not what Lance would actually want, she's severely shaken. And she's sure she's not the only one who's having certain... issues. So. Mira decides to take time to try to ensure that no one else dies. Or... nearly dies. ]

Hey-- [ she says quietly, to someone who's visibly shaken. ] It's okay. I don't think they're real, whoever it is you're seeing.

one

[yourattention]

Yeah. It's just like that.

[It literally hasn't occurred to Connor that something's wrong, because he's used to people that aren't really there touching him. Seeing things that don't exist. After a moment though, Mira's question actually sinks in and Connor startles.]

Wait. You're seeing things too?

Rei Ayanami | OTA

[youngmother]

[He could not be real. Of that much, Rei was certain.]

[His form warps around the edges, feet not fully formed and his eyes missing behind the too-bright frames of broken glasses. And he follows, always follows from just a few feet behind--exactly the pace she would keep with him, before.]

[You are still needed, Rei. Come with me.]

[She knows that. She knows that her time here is limited, passing with every moment. Eventually she will be called back, and erased, and...]

[Rei, listen to me.]

[Would he be this way? Would he drive her to such ends, disregard her unique self so easily?]

[...she knows the answer, but she doesn't want to.]

[Rei walks along the shoreline, seeming to be lost in her thoughts. If she can hear footsteps behind her, or a voice that makes demand after demand...she makes no indication. But the line of her mouth is taught, and anyone that crosses her path is met with a sharp stare.]

...does it haunt you as well?

[forwearemany]

Haunt?

(They tilt their head in confusion.

They have their own ghost, in the form of Creator Tali'Zorah. She follows them, demanding and frustrated at the lack of attention.

She acts as though she is owed. They owe her nothing.

It is possible this is what Ayanami-Rei refers to. However, as they are not certain, they wait for clarification.)

October 10nth

[want_to_belong]

It was a cozy morning. Maybe he should have been up already, but he was sleeping in and trying to get some much needed R&R. They were doing okay on food and supplies. Their home was in pretty good shape. They had some minimal furniture, which was quite a luxury on the islands. They even had some sheets, thin as they might be, that he was able to curl up in.

After sleeping in - which was only to about 8 for him - he stretched out lazily and started rubbing sleep from his eyes. It was then that he caught sight of something and woke quite quickly. It was unmistakable. Noct slipped from his room into the living room. He'd come back with the newcomers?! He wished he'd been woken up.

"Noct!" he shouted excitedly. He sprang from the bed and ran straight for the living room, only to find that Noct was already heading outside.

"Noct! Dude! Wait up!"

He had so much to show him. The chicks. The new tattoos. New pics. He bolted out the door to see Noct already heading towards the mana pool.

"Come on Noct! This isn't funny!" he cried in frustration, unsure why Noct would leave him hanging. He had to have heard him, why wouldn't he stay still?

[suspecteverything]

Prompto's voice drifted over and caught Dagger's attention while he was busy trying to distract himself from his own ghost. He paused in his sword work and glanced up. Stopping only made the inexplicable pull toward his "mother" to increase, but it was easy to ignore. There were two, perhaps three, people that he knew without a doubt would never call for him like that no matter how much he wished they would. His mother was one of them. It made it pretty easy not to be tempted.

Following the voice, he eventually spotted Prompto chasing after nothing and speaking to the thin air like something was there. Even though Dagger couldn't see it, he could guess what was there. At least there in Prompto's head.

"Where are you going?"

Chip Abaroa | OTA | suicide cw, mention of child abuse cw

[demonpuppy]

[Some part of them knows this is...a trick. Something messing with their head, making them see and feel things that aren't really there. But the longer they try to ignore her, the worse it gets.]

[Sweetheart, why won't you come back? I miss you so much, I never meant this to happen.]

[You trust Mommy, don't you? You know I love you. Just follow me, it'll be alright.]

[It twists their stomach in ways they hate, makes their guilt weigh even heavier around their neck. Climbing up a steep hill, they have to stop and huddle under a bush as it threatens to overwhelm them.]

[If you just listen, it'll be fine, won't it? You can be good, can't you?]

[They're standing at the top, a sheer drop in front of them compared to the slope behind them. They don't...they don't want to be here, any more than they'd wanted to step inside that church, or wear those horrible charms every day. But she was always scared, even when they were trying to be good, when they tried so hard...]

I...I'm scared...Mom, I'm scared, I-I don't...I don't want to...!

[lightlessfuture]

[ The ghost that haunts their own footsteps is - not of no consequence, no. But this distorted shadow of him is something they can safely ignore, because there is no trace of the person that they truly miss.

But they don't understand what their friend is seeing; they don't know why they're huddling beneath a bush, halfway up a hill.

They tilt their head, a little curious but mostly worried, and approach. Tucking themselves into the space beside them, putting a small hand on Chip's arm, looking up at them questioningly.

What's wrong? ]

tim wright | ota | i'll match your formatting

[postictal]

[He's always seen things. Impaired reality. Hallucinations. Imaginary friends. They're just not usually so tangible.]

[The wine-colored stain at the lower part of his side is a familiar fixture. The hollow hauntedness imprinted underneath his searchlight gaze just as much. The weight of his hand closing around Tim's shoulder, tightening just enough for the nails to dig tiny crescents into the skin beneath his shirt - not so much.]

You never came back for me. You left me there.

[Ignore it.]

You gave it away, didn't you? That camera was all you had left, and...

[Ignore it.]

Why won't you look at me?

[He grinds forward with grim, weary determination. Occasionally he'll stop, shake his head, clearing his mind with a firm jerk of motion, as though trying to clear it. There's static in his veins. Jay Merrick is hounding his footsteps. Jay Merrick is feeding spidering fingers around his own and trying to tug at his hand, in a way that the man himself never would have. Jay Merrick lurks in the corners of his vision with his pallid, blood-drained face, drawing Tim's eyes, always, to the dark patch fluttering his shirt.]

[But for the most part, he keeps moving. He doesn't act in a way that would suggest he's seeing anything strange - no more than usual.]

[Because he isn't. More than usual, that is.]

[Jay's words are dead leaf whispers dragged across his ears, and Tim seldom if ever responds. Though, if you catch him alone, you might hear him muttering under his breath:]

Shut up. Just...you're not him. Okay? So shut up.

[yourattention]

What shitty haunt are you stuck with? [Connor gestures to the side, though there's nothing Tim can see there.] Zoe's right there and yelling about how I'm selfish and uhhhhh . . . I ruined homecoming.

[He sounds incredibly unconcerned by this development, but it's kind of there, in the way he holds himself. The beat-up military jacket he'd started not wearing is back, suddenly. His arms covered again, some confidence drained from his posture.

It's fine to talk other people through their first experience like this, but there's a desperation in Connor's eyes. He's asking Tim because he knows Tim has seen things before too. He knows that if Tim can't see her then she isn't real. Isn't here, the way Evan now is but shouldn't be.]

Dogo | ota

[jackal_style]

A.

[He saw her flickering in an out of existence at first, and Dogo found himself chasing after visions of his mother, whether she went. Sometimes she'd call back to him, and it was her voice and she was here-!]

Mom, mom! Don't leave! I'm right here!

[She looks back at him, as if expecting him to follow. So he does, not caring if he accidentally ends up tripping over anyone in the process.]

B.

[At some point, he does catch up with her. And she seems more solid than ever. She finally found him! He wasn't going to be alone anymore! He feels a weird sense of anxiety, like she's going to disappear or flicker out of existence again. But she wouldn't leave him alone again, right...?

She gives him a little nuzzle, and then pushes him towards a black hole, hovering a few feet in the air. Dogo's never seen anything like it before, and he's a little afraid of it. His mother gives a sigh of relief.

"Here we are, Dogo! The way back home!"]

Can we really get home this way? It looks... dark...

["Of course we can, Dogo! Just one little leap and we'll be back in the Outlands! Don't you trust me, Dogo? I came all this way just for you."

Dogo shakes off his fear. He's gonna go home, he's gonna be safe. He just has to go through that strange black circle.]

I trust you, mom!

b.

[hyperlit]

[The needling buzz-blaze of their shadow's not-words still prickle at the posterior of their brain, but the Drifter ignores them just as easily as they did the images of Judgment carding through their head. Their steady refusal to acknowledge them has its pitfalls, however.]

[In attempting to flee from their dark, ethereal twin, they've tramped up a slope, and it's only when the invisible pull starts to catch at the edges of their cloak and slide their boots through the dirt that they realize they've come frightfully close to the Center of Gravity.]

[They're mere minutes from turning away and heading back the way they came when they hear it: a thin, piping, child's voice. Peering through the haze of the black hole's swarming murk, they see the source of it. Recognize it as a jackal, and some part of them still parses that as a holy animal. A jackal, and a child.]

[The Drifter does not hesitate.]

[They stream outward, unraveling like a banner cloaked in scarlet, their blue skin stark against the red and gray of their drifter's apparel.]

[And if Dogo doesn't stop them, they're going to try bowl him back from the Center of Gravity entirely.]

the knight | ota

[lightlessfuture]

Well? Why do you ignore me?

[ The Knight is restless, bothered, always seeming like there's something clearly on their mind. Which there is, of course; the ghost that only they can see follows them, getting increasingly more--

Someone else might say it was distressing, those constant cries for attention from someone they have wanted to see for a long time. To the Knight, however, it's simply...an annoyance.

This thing, this copy taking the face of someone they found precious, someone they had grown to love as something close to family - is annoying. And so, as they wander, looking for their friends and wondering what purpose this serves, they seem to be increasingly grouchy, rather than sad.

Still, they're polite as always, greeting people by waving or nodding when they see them, running up to check on the people they know. Apart from the persistent hints of a bad mood, they're the same as ever, seemingly unaffected otherwise.

And if sometimes they can be found taking out their pent-up frustration on a rock or something similarly durable and not alive, lashing the target of their apparent anger over and over with strikes of their nail, well

that's probably nothing to worry about, right? ]

[prettypurpleparlor]

[Muffet doesn't appear to be terribly pleased, herself- her posture is as impeccable as ever, but there's a stiffness to it that seems as though she's holding herself to propriety through active effort, instead of her usual refined manners.]

[When she catches sight of the Knight slashing repeatedly at a stone, though, some of the tension leaches out of her shoulders, replaced by weary sympathy.]

Hello, little one. I take it you've had a rather difficult day, too...

the drifter | ota | i'll match your format!

[hyperlit]

ᴀ. ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ ʟᴏᴏᴍɪɴɢ

[A shade. A shadow. A whisper. There is no hot leak of blood, no moment where the static uncoils from around their staggered gait, and they double over gasping. They wake, rolling out of their hammock, and quite suddenly - they see them. A single, hot-pink eye glaring out from the featureless void of their expression, burning emptily.]

[The Drifter tenses as they regard them, equal parts wary and inquisitive. Everything from the tense bow of their lithe body to the slant of their gaze communicates it: you should not be here. I did not call you. But did they ever call them, really? Were they ever anything besides this shadowy twin, this echo of void garbed in nightmare? Judgment's neon brand simmers away in the center of its features, a pulsing eye sizzling through the fabric of one world and into the next.]

[It never spoke before. It does not truly speak now. It simply...issues some shadowy semblance of thought molded into something tangible, an unholy tangle of emotions that prickle into words, jittering uncomfortably against the confines of the Drifter's skull with all the pressures of a migraine and none of the relief.]

ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ sᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴛᴇʀʀɪғɪᴇᴅ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀs, ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʀᴜɪɴ ᴀs ɪᴛs ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏsᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴛʀᴀɴsᴍᴏɢʀɪғɪᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʙʜᴏʀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴄᴇʟʟ sᴛɪʟʟ ғᴇsᴛᴇʀs ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴍʙᴇʀs ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ.

[It hurts to hear it. It hurts to look at it. They are not words; they are impressions, prickling-ball spines of them digging into the soft and delicate parts of the Drifter's brain and shrilling the way the Cell had when they killed it.]

[The Drifter draws their blade and tears for it in a blaze of cerulean. Their blade cleaves nothing but shadows. It lingers behind them, regarding them with that same placid, empty gaze.]

[The hot-ping burn of its stare shivers beneath their skin.]

[The Drifter digs their stance into the soil and charges again.]

ʙ. ᴛʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴅᴇsᴘᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴ

Eventually, they stop trying to rip the thing apart. It still jangles unpleasantly, like a dense ball of nerves, and the glare of Judgment's eye sears at the back of their neck and tenses their nerves. It is impossible to displace it, or ignore it. The Drifter stops and starts erratically. They move with a halting, start-and-stop cadence utterly unlike their usual direct self.

At times, they stop and glare at the empty air, squinting very hard as though attempt to ward off a headache.

It is not real, they know.

It...perhaps never was.

But if that were the case, they would prefer that it not be so persistent in its attempts to refute that. At times, the Drifter will ignite their blade anew and swipe at the air in several direct, deliberate arcs, cleaving through nothing at all.

They inevitably abandon the effort when it does nothing but intensify the magnitude of their headache.

B

[forwearemany]

Drifter's not the only person really ... irritated? ... Upset? ... Immensely inconvenienced and also really pissed off? By their ghost.

Legion, for one, with the way they're stalking and glowing red, almost looks like they'd welcome a fight.

They know, however, that the spectre of Creator Tali'Zorah cannnot be banished via violence.

Some friend you are. the Quarian huffs, crossing her arms over her chest as she catches up to them.

"Drifter. These images are false. You cannot dispel them in this manner." Tali's words are ignored entirely as they stop to watch their ally swing their sword.

Troupe Master Grimm | OTA

[fireindreams]

[A.

Due to Grimm's nature, more often then not his dreams were nightmares of things past. Memories that burned in the seal of fire that made up his soul and body, people he once knew.

And today it appears one of his nightmares has come to visit.

Brumm has not changed a day since Grimm last saw his musician. The black and red that marked the bug as one of the members of the Grimm Troupe along with the mask, instrument clutched in his hands and playing that oh-so familiar tune. One of the first that Grimm had offered the choice of joining after he was born.

One of the Troupe Master's oldest friends.

Brumm's translucent form hints that not all is right, however. But Grimm cannot help but speak to the empty air where the musician stood.]

...it has been a long time, has it not? My dear friend.


[B.

[Grimm was no fool. Brumm was someone who favored silence, someone who spoke when they had something to say and no more. He did not demand attention like this, that Grimm's eyes were to be on him as much as possible. He did not...

(Go somewhere you can't find me, Master?

He did.)

The Troupe Master knows he should not listen and has every intention to do so. But as the spirit of Brumm grows more and more solid it becomes more difficult to ignore. It becomes impossible to sleep so by nightfall Grimm leaves his home to stand by the ocean's edge, staring out to the sea.

A dance between water and flame, he hears suggested and shakes his head.]

I would rather a song.

[It is attention and the spirit soaks it up as Grimm can hear that familiar tune begins to play. He hums along quietly as he watches the waves roll in.

How ironic for the God of Nightmares to wish for this nightmare to end.]

B

[lightlessfuture]

[ As irritable as they are due to the constant pestering, and as tempting as sleep is, the Knight has their own reasons not to rest, especially as the ghosts grow more urgent, more real.

No, they aren't taken in for a second. But they're smart enough to figure out what others might be seeing, and that's more than enough to keep them up.

But sometimes, they do need a break, of sorts.

They don't quite understand what keeps Grimm up, what he's seeing that drives him to stare out at the ocean where he has plenty of reason to dislike it. But like the little ghost they were once called (perhaps are still called), they eventually follow him.

He's not hard to find. They plant their nail in the ground in front of them and sit beside the Troupe Master, opting not to stand in this case; whether it's keeping him company or keeping vigil, it's hard to tell. Both, possibly.

Their usual inquisitiveness seems dulled; they don't look at him, don't outright ask what are you seeing? because it seems too personal for that.

It's someone important, they know. They don't want to pry.

(Quirrel's ghost sits beside them and looks out at the sea, glances down at them and says Look there. You could go a little further, couldn't you? and they jerk their head away in an almost furious motion to avoid giving this pale copy even the barest hint of attention.

Part of them almost wished it was better at mimicking him, though it was a dangerous thought to have. But, at least, it might feel like he was really there, for a time.

It's a passing, fleeting thing. Overtaken quickly by reality; no matter how good the imitation was, no matter how much it drew from their memories, it would never be able to capture him properly. They had encountered him only a handful of times over the course of a long, long life; even a perfect copy of him could not tell them more about the things they missed and could never ask about.) ]

connor murphy | ota | cw: suicide

[yourattention]

i. why should i play this game of pretend?

[It's impressively hard to tell if Connor is actually seeing anything at all. He's so used to seeing things that aren't there, dealing with people he doesn't want to be seeing, that it's not hard to ignore the fuzzy specter at the edges of his vision. It's not hard to ignore Zoe when she becomes solid. Becomes real, wraps her hand around his arm and tugs on it in a pale imitation of the way she used to when they were younger.]

Look. At. Me. You don't get to ignore me, Connor. You don't get to pretend like I don't exist after you ruined my life!

[If you catch him in the right moments, he'll have his eyes squeezed shut, breathing in and out shakily. She isn't real. She isn't real, but he knows the words she's saying. He knows her anger because he doesn't remember a recent moment where Zoe wasn't angry with him. She took after their father, Connor thinks. She has his anger.]

You don't deserve any of this. You kill yourself and what? You get everything you ever wanted and leave a mess for us to clean up? Typical. You don't care about anyone but yourself, do you? You just want everyone's attention, because it's always about you, you, you.

[She isn't real. She isn't, but she still leaves Connor unsettled because she feels real. She sounds real, and Evan's already here, isn't he? What's one more spectre of a past he'd rather forget?]

ii. why should i start to break in pieces?

[In an uncharacteristic gesture of kindness, Connor will stop if he sees someone that appears to be struggling with whoever they've seeing. He knows what it's like, how hard it is to ignore faces you know saying words they never would - or words they've said all too frequently.]

Hey. [It's quiet. Gentle.] Look at me, not them. They don't matter, 'cause they're not real.

[When you're crying in the forest and there's nobody but a hallucination around, after all, all you want is for somebody to find you. That's something Connor gets. That's something he's all too familiar with, really.]

iii. why should i go and fall apart for you?

[For anyone that happens to be by the beach, occasionally Connor can be found there. He's never in the water, but he does stare out at something in the water extremely intently. There's nothing there, of course. He's the only one that can see Zoe in the water, calling out to him.]

Come on, Connor. You love swimming! Don't you remember when I used to time your laps? Don't you want to be good at something again?

[For the most part, Connor doesn't bother to respond to her. When she wants him to join her, Zoe has an unnervingly sweet quality to her voice that makes it easy for Connor to remember she's not real. She can't be, because Zoe would never talk to him like this. The longer he stands there and doesn't join her, though, the angrier Zoe becomes.]

This is exactly why you have no friends, you know! You never want to join in, you're always - you think that if you stay in the background, nobody will notice you, but that's not true, is it, Connor? [Connor doesn't answer, and Zoe grabs the front of his shirt, making him stumble forward and bend to her height so she can look him in the eye.] Is it? They're all looking at you, you know, and they all think you're a freak.

Fuck you. [It's quiet, hoarse, but then he seems to gain his voice back.] Fuck you, Zoe!

[He steps backward, pushing her away. She stumbles. Falls to the ground, and then Connor loses his determination. He shakily steps backward, breath coming in gasps until he just . . . collapses. He's kneeling on the beach, hand pressed to his chest and trying to remember how to breathe. Trying to remember that he's better than this.

Zoe rises, coming to sit beside him. She pets his hair, too gentle to be anything but a figment of his imagination.]

See? You wouldn't have to deal with this if you just joined me in the water. Drowning's not so bad - you've done it before, remember?

iv. i will sing no requiem tonight

[Wildcard me, baby. Connor is most frequently found in the area around the Monkey Compound, but he can be found near anywhere really. I'll also match format, if you prefer prose.]

iii

[lightlessfuture]

[ They've started to linger on the beach more often than not, as the spectres become more real. The water seems to calm Quirrel's imitation more than anything else they've found so far; it stops speaking for long periods of time, though sometimes it does urge them to sit. Perhaps it remembers what they remember, that last memory of the lake, though its words are far less kind than his.

They cannot drown, but looking out to sea--

If you go far enough, my small friend, the ghost says, we'll meet again. It should be easy for you. You've gone so far. What's a little more?

It uses his voice, and it sounds like him. But the words will never be his. (Quirrel would never have demanded or pleaded for anything from them, would never have been insistent in the way this shadow, this copy, this thing is. He would only have asked, and waited for their response, their choice.

They miss him.)

Someone they vaguely recognise, collapsed on the beach, breaks them from their thoughts, and they run to Connor. Expressionless they might be, but the way they lean close as they look him over, gently patting his shoulder and arm with small hands in an attempt at being soothing, speaks of nothing but worry.

They won't ask what he sees, but if he's not breathing right, that might be something they can fix. ]

The Guardian | OTA

[smallkindness]

[It has only been a few days since the Guardian's arrival. A few days to adjust to being alive again, the sound of their heartbeat when they wake. By whatever reasoning the Storyteller has for bringing them here, it appears to be holding strong for now.

The silver flashes they still see out of the corner of their eye was concerning. The Guardian had been warned of the dangers of these islands, that they were not completely safe. It still pulled at old reflexes to draw their blade when something jumped out at the Guardian. They may have passed away but it was bone-deep to respond to surprises defensively after living in a place like Buried Time.

But they do not expect to see who they do when the Guardian whips around to catch sight of yet another bit of swift movement.

(Their child always had their mother's smile.)

They are used to hallucinations, Judgement's appearances that came to torture them even when they were awake and as their sickness began to get worse and worse. This was no different...yet it was not going away. It said much about the Guardian that hallucinations of them being killed was the norm but it was indeed what they were used to. A spirit playing the long game was not.

The Guardian does their best to ignore the spirit, but this sight is rubbing old wounds open again. Listening to their child laugh again, trying to pull them along because "Mama is over here! I know you're happy when you're with mama." and knowing they were right.

It is common to stumbled across the Guardian standing around with a hand pressed against their chest, trying not to look at the increasingly solid form of their child. One of the things Judgement took away from the Guardian without giving them a chance to say good-bye.]

[hyperlit]

[The shadow sees them before the Drifter does. Its attention shifts, that alien, warped curiosity that lights on the familiar silhouette with its fur-ridged cloak. It stares at them, hungrily, Judgment's eye blazing like a searchlight.]

[ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴠɪᴄᴛɪᴍ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴠᴀsɪᴏɴ ]

[Everyone is seeing someone. The Drifter is seeing...someone. Someone they cannot put a name to, exactly, someone the do not want to see, someone who blisters under their skin, like a scab across their soul. But the Drifter had no one else to see, no one else they would imagine would be captured in stilling candleflame of their mind.]

[The Guardian had more to lose than the Drifter ever did.]

[They demand it abruptly, shortly. Lack of sleep, the incessant buzz of their twin's not-words simmering in their skull, has blunted what few social niceties they've accrued.]

what do you see

Asgore | ota

[journalname]

[He knows she isn't real.

It isn't because of how long she's been gone. When Toriel first left, there were some who wondered if she had fallen down somewhere, in whispers where they thought he couldn't hear. Things like that can happen. If a monster goes to dust quickly, somewhere that the dust isn't easy to see, it's as if they just vanished. But Asgore's always known she was alive. She was not one to fall down, not even then.

No, he knows it isn't real because she's so, so happy to see him.

Gorey! she exclaims, her ruby eyes glittering somehow even though he can almost see right through them. I have missed you so much! Stay here with me - you can take a day at home, can you not?

Toriel wouldn't say things like that to him. She'd probably not try to draw him away from what little work he still has, yes, but she'd certainly never say she had missed him. So, it's an illusion, then. Some false thing wearing her shape, trying to get him to do...what? Whatever it is, doubtless it's a bad idea.

So he keeps his head down and goes about his business, trying to ignore her. It's difficult; he looks hunched and strained at times, ears shifted oddly and eyes fixed on the ground. Ignoring her isn't something he's practiced at. He's only ever done it out of stupidity and anger, and look what happened. They always did say that she was the brains behind the throne - people say a lot of things that they think he doesn't hear about.

Gorey, you seem stressed. You are not taking too much on, are you? Perhaps we should go for a swim. Come, come join me!

It's tempting to just listen to her, like he should have done all those years ago. But he knows she isn't real. And what's more, this is clearly happening to others - doubtless there are people who have it much worse than he. So Asgore stays around Enso, forsaking his work on Nuidan for a while in favor of checking in with anyone he sees who looks particularly distressed.]

Excuse me. Would you like someone to talk to?

[Holding another conversation might help drown it out. Maybe a little.

And if he's looking for a few people in particular, well...if he hadn't been certain already, he would have been once Toriel told him to stop trying to check on Chara.]

[prettypurpleparlor]

[Muffet isn't looking happy at all lately- though perhaps not for the reasons one might expect. Some people have been haunted by lost loves, some by terrible struggles, some by beautiful never-weres...]

[And then there's this asshole.]

Now, darling, I know we've had our little difficulties-

Oh my, is that what you'd call them? How interesting a way to phrase it.

[It is quite possible that there is no winter out there more icy than Muffet's perfectly polite tone right at this moment. It's legitimately amazing how much withering disgust she can pack into such a light and decorous sentence. But she isn't backing down an inch.]

[Because even though it's been a long time since she's seen him, she still hasn't forgiven Mettaton.]

[You might run into them bickering- or at least Muffet bickering with him, invisible and inaudible to you as he is- anywhere around the island as she goes about her usual work, refusing to give any incarnation of this metal bastard the satisfaction of disrupting her routines.]

[By the time a day or so has passed, she's moved on from expressing her general contempt for himself, his life, and his choices and into something she knows will annoy him even more- ignoring him completely. He certainly does seem to be getting more desperate, though she hasn't quite caught on that this is something more serious than Mettaton's usual demand for everyone's attention yet.]

[He tries constantly to force her to acknowledge him, by whatever means he can find- shooting off ridiculous glitter-filled displays from various robotic compartments, whirling to pose dramatically wherever she's trying to walk so that he can block her path forward, and singing.]

[Always, always singing.]

[Still stubbornly ignoring him and going about her business, Muffet breaks off suddenly as she realize that she's been absently humming a very familiar tune.]

Oh- hmph! [Her lips thin, pressed firmly together in an effort not to swear aloud. Mettaton crows triumphantly.]

There we go~ I knew you couldn't ignore me forever, not when I can put on such a good show. Wouldn't it be nice for you to always have such charming entertainment in this dreary place? Why don't we just let bygones be bygones and bury that old hatchet?
I've always thought it was a shame we never made up...

[Her ghostly, glittering companion leans in to try and sling an arm around her shoulders as she attempts to turn and walk away. Eyes fixed firmly on the middle distance, Muffet reaches up and plants one delicate hand right in the center of his smug, shining face and shoves roughly without slowing her pace, stalking off into the woods with all the speed of barely-repressed anger.]

[A short distance behind, he follows.]

[vagabone]

[Don't look now, but someone else is following you, Muffet. His own phantom is a lot less solid and not nearly as annoying. It can be ignored for now.

Damned if he knows what he's going to do to help her out, though. Be louder and drown out whoever's pestering her?? He'll just have to wing it, like usual.]

He-ey, Muffin! How's it going?

the hollow knight | ota (mostly)

[sealedvessel]

i.

[It's glimpses, at first. A white figure, small, out of focus. Even vague like this, there's no mistaking it, though. It has to be who they think it is.

But there's so little of him there.

The Hollow Knight ends up just staring at the figure, waiting... hoping for him to come into focus, to truly appear here. They can wait for as long as it takes. Still, it almost looks like a staring contest, in a way. There's a saying about a watched pot here that might apply...]

ii.

[The Pale King comes into focus quickly. There are a lot of emotions here, a lot of loss to feed on. Soon enough there's an actual bug there, clear as day, standing in front of the Hollow Knight.]

My perfect vessel. My Hollow Knight...

[The Hollow Knight, carefully, reaches out their arm towards their father. Reaches out, yes, but they don't dare touch him, faltering at the last moment. Because they know better than to ask for affection so boldly. Not anymore.

And even just as an illusion, not the Pale King but an imitation of him, there's no feeling of warmth here. He's just looking at the Hollow Knight almost impassively. Observing, not truly seeing.]

Don't forget. You have a purpose still.

[The Hollow Knight pulls their arm back and kneels down, lowering their head. Do they? Still? They must, if their father is saying it...]

iii. closed to the knight

[The illusion only grows bolder each day. It started off subtly, but the thing is, subtlety is lost on the Hollow Knight. So that saved them, at first. But eventually, the specter decides to forego that subtlety.

The Pale King speaks in a commanding voice:] Come.

[And they do. The Hollow Knight doesn't even question it. Why does their father want them to follow? They don't know. It's not for them to question that. They have a purpose. And a task was given to them.

They start to follow and don't look back.]

iii

[lightlessfuture]

[ It's impossible not to notice how distracted their sibling is becoming with each passing day. Once they realise what this must mean - have seen some of the others on the island, compared it to their own experiences - they...

They stop sleeping much. Eventually, they stop sleeping at all, too worried about their sibling. Watching over them as best they can, because what else can they do?

(They know what their own ghost has offered; a false chance, a lure, a lie. "Do this, and you'll see me again.")

A voice only their sibling can hear commands them to follow, and so they do. The Knight looks up, dropping what they're doing immediately, and follows too.

They drag at their sibling's hand, after a little while, realising what this must be. Attempting, gently, to pull them away from it, to pull them back. Soft but insistent.

Don't go. (Don't let them go, or you'll have failed them again.) ]

Keith Kogane | OTA

[thermalwind]

Keith...

[The voice is one he hasn't heard in years. He chocks it up to a dream and buries his face against his arm to shut it out. He's not going to deal with nightmares or dreams of the desert that turn to war. Not today.]

You should get up, son.

[Keith's eyes open and he rolls over. Faded and worn like the old photos tucked into his personal effects his father sits beside his bed. A stab of loss hits him like a spear through his chest. It's like when they told him his father was gone all over again. His voice cracks despite his best efforts to prevent it.]

Dad...now they're using you?

[His father shuts his eyes and slowly shakes his head.]

Is it really so bad? We get to catch up. Sit up, let me see how much you've grown.

October 10th

[Keith can be found wandering like a ghost. He often stops to talk to someone that clearly isn't there. His frown grows more and more pronounced as the day goes on. Sometimes he mutters 'got to be kidding me'. Other times he stares across the land and sighs. But as the sun is setting he can be overheard saying the following.]

You shouldn't know about that. Only Lance knows what I said that night. I told you I was trying to give them everything I could before-

[He cuts himself off and shakes his head, walking away from where ever he was going.]

I did what I thought was best.

October 11th-20th

[As the days go on Keith becomes quieter more resigned as if someone is removing the fight from him. But three days in that changes and the fire in his eyes is a spark of rage.

Whatever was said by his ghostly father who is becoming more and more real, he whirls on him with eyes gone yellow and pupils bright violet.]

You're not- Mom is fine! Last I saw her she was safe and sound. You don't get to lie me about this! You died but she's okay!

[He growls and storms away, possibly into you. The following days he just glares at where his father is and turns away from him. A rift has formed and no matter how badly he hurts from his father's loss...he has to cling to the idea his mother is perfectly fine. He has to choose a way to deal with this.

But what? The more desperate the ghost becomes the more he goes off by himself, trying to see solutions to this issue.]

Wildcard
[Got an idea? Put it here or hit me up for plotting.]

october 15

[galrarm]

[ To his credit... he's been trying to keep an eye on Keith while dealing with his own specter. Adam lingers at the edges of his vision, and Shiro feels that spike of pain, of loss, whenever he gets too close. It's hard not to. It's hard not to get close, but what allows him to come back to himself and not focus on what the ghost is saying is-- ]

Keith? [ he says gently, hands coming up immediately to rest on Keith's shoulders. Keith doesn't look good at all, and that's what makes him worry the most. ]

agent washington | ota | i'll match your formatting!

[counterblows]

a ; islet four ; we will own your thoughts

[So Agent Washington wakes up one day, and his best friend is staring at him.]

[He reacts about as well as you'd expect. He unfurls tight from his pallet and whips out his ka-bar and moves to slam it into the frontal chestpiece of the armor he once considered a lifeline, that color-coded blitz of white and gold and a domed E.V.A. helmet until he could scrub and re-remember it as a fucking nightmare and inevitably the thing that would kill him. Inevitably the thing that almost did kill him. It put a grenade at his feet back on Sidewinder and blew him back ten meters and threw him into a jeep with enough force to snow out his vision, until his helmet was a static fog to match the flurrying ice-gray sky.]

[He never called them "Agent Maine." Agent Maine died sometime in the same timeframe that Agent Washington did. Sigma cannibalized him in a starburst of burnt orange, and Wash screamed his sanity into his hands, into blankets, into a recovery ward, into a future where he set charges into the armor of his dead friends and stood back and set them to detonate.]

[The fucking wall of white-gold power armor stops Wash's clumsy swing dead with a firm grip, because of course it does, and the angle of the helmet is too intense, too immediate, too fucking human and he doesn't sleep in full armor anymore but maybe he should maybe he should because looking at this and feeling this thing with its unstoppable grip on his hand is unbearable and it would be best if it just snapped his wrist like a matchstick right then and there just to prove that he would have been an idiot for hoping.]

You're not real.

[This is how he knows he's changed. He can say this with confidence, and not be fucking blindsided by his own refusal to believe it. He doesn't see memories like this anymore, and he definitely doesn't see his own - not unless he's concussed or worse.]

[Maine - the thing that is not Maine and can't be Maine, because people only show up at the beginning of the month and they only show up in droves and they definitely don't show up in other people's houses - tips his head and utters a low, dragging sound that approximates a growl, and lets go.]

[(He hates it. That he can hear something like that and know without question what it means because too much of who he used to be has survived, and can ride off instinct.)]

No. No, [says Wash, now moving rapidly for the door, and then out into the air, and waiting for the clean, littoral breeze to chase away whatever hallucinatory dream-rinse this is.]

[Maine is still standing there. Fully-armored. Watching.]

You don't get to be here. [He points at him with the tip of his ka-bar, though it doesn't reach Maine's chest. Remember it, commit to memory, measure it in the eye of your brain: the exact amount of pressure required to slam the blade through the big man's solar plexus, shear through so many layers of armor and body-mesh, and still have enough give to tear it out and put the next one in his throat.]

[Maine huffs.]

So whatever this is, I'm not interested. Okay?

[He's not crazy anymore. He's not a fucking A.I., fragmenting and losing cohesion the longer his brain works itself into a Gordian knot of someone else's own design.]

[Maine reaches over, plants a heavy, gauntleted hand at the top of Wash's head. He tenses, waiting for his fingertips to compress - to crush his skull like a fucking egg, to compress it into rotten-fruit guts, or shift downward and garrott it tight around his throat until his neck cracks.]

[Instead, he forms a fist, presses the knuckles down across the top of Wash's haystack hair. Scrubs it back and forth until it's an even more unruly mess than before.]

[It's familiarity. Too immediate, too intensely deliberate. It closes the back of his throat and threatens to swallow him whole. That isn't the Meta. The Meta was a dangerous, hollowed-out husk of a person, parading around in Maine's battered-shell body, coiled and dangerous and braced to kill him once he found the A.I. they were searching for. The Meta never presumed to wear Maine as anything other than a stolen mantle of skin and armor.]

[He should be bolting. Should be pistol-whipping him across the face and telling him to get back in the goddamn ground where he should have belonged, sunk in the ocean, leaking silvery bubbles from underneath the goldfish bowl of his helmet - he drowned, didn't he?]

[Instead.]

[Instead, he reaches up. Out of armor, he has to stand on the tips of his toes to reach the bottom of Maine's helmet, and gently thumb the release seals.]

[Maine?]

[He stands there, and he lets him.]

[The helmet is...heavy. As heavy as he remembers. He lifts it off and - there. The reality of it hits him like a sledgehammer to the gut and he regrets it so fucking much that it burns bile at the back of his throat, but now that he's lifted the golden Duraplex face-shielding back, he can't look away. Every scar, every ridge, the too-pale complexion of someone who didn't leave space unless he had to, who was seldom seen out of armor, the way the war took decades out of him and hammered him into looking so, so much older than he must have actually been.]

[The bottom edge of Wash's thumb lingers. Running up along the pauldron that cups the crooked line of Maine's jaw. Along the skin of his throat, just visible enough for him to see the lack of it, the sheer lack of puckered skin and bio-mesh and bandages and scarring and anything that would suggest this is the man who got his throat shot out on Spiral.]

[Maine shoves him, lightly, with the flat of one hand. He's so fucking stoic. He's so fucking stoic that his expression hardly shifts, but his eyes pinch slightly at the corners, and the gravel in his voice rumbles like the purr of a car motor.]

Stupid.

[Wash runs the back of his hand across the shut lids of his eyes - standing there, in the empty air, in civvies and bare feet, looking sleepless and slightly manic with a ka-bar in one hand and his shoulders shaking the way they are.]

[What the hell else is he supposed to do?]

[It's him.]

b ; all over ; we'll leave you kicking and screaming

[Ignoring him is evidently no longer an option. It doesn't make him go away, and occasionally he intervenes in ways that make it impossible.]

[Maybe you see him snapping at no one in particular, while cleaning one of his weapons.]

Cut it out, okay? [Sharp and unflinching, delivered to the invisible hulk of his dead best friend.] There's nothing - you aren't even real, so you can stop acting like I've got any business going...wherever it is you think I should be going.

[There's no Sigma burning in the center of his mind, but he thinks he might understand why Maine broke the way he did, knowing how it feels for an A.I. fragment to pour acid down your veins and ignite your nervous system in fireworks and barbed wire.]

[Or maybe you catch him coming to himself with a sharp shake of his head, leaned up against a tree on Nuidan.]

That's not...I'm not going there. So cut it out.

[Pretending like it isn't playing utter havoc on his frayed and fraying psyche, the fact that he's seeing the man he never allowed himself to really grieve. The man who lost himself at roughly the same time Wash did, even if neither of them knew it.]

[He's not about to pretend things are different. Not even to smooth a temporary balm over a fresh-picked scab.]

[What would the point in that be?]

c ; wild card ; so you can thank us in the end

[if you want a closed starter or any other prompts, just @ me or hit me over at arrpee for all your agent washington needs]

B

[thermalwind]

I see you're getting screwed with too. [Keith looks about the same as last time. Older, scar on his face, and a look that's practically always a thousand yard stare. But he's paler and his gaze is too sharp like he's constantly treading at the edge of something. He walks closer, it's more like the prowl of a trained fighter in enemy territory.]

I keep thinking that it can't be possible but, this place has a way of ignoring that. Doesn't it.

[He kills it quickly but there's a bitterness to his tone as he sighs and leans against the tree too.]

Jules Dagger Samari - Open (read warnings first)

[suspecteverything]

Warnings: Jules is not for everyone. He purposely pushes buttons and pisses people off. He has bothered players before, so please be sure he will not bother you before you tag him for both of our sakes. As an extra note, he is going to be in a really bad mood over this which is going to make him more of an asshole than usual. Tag at your own risk.

[The Samari warsword flashes through the air as Jules tries to work through his frustration. In his hand the red stone on the pommel glows nearly as bright as his blazing eyes. He's furious, and even the work required to wield the huge sword isn't enough of a distraction. As he finishes one set of movements his eyes flicker to the side.]

Stop looking at me!

[The hate filled scream is directed at his mother, but since nobody else can see her it would be easy enough for someone to make the mistake of thinking they're the target for Jules' ire. Jules glowers in the direction of his "mother." He knows it isn't her. His mother would only want Nyk, not him. Definitely not him.]

[savedbyasong]

Dagger? [Shion's voice comes from the sidelines concerned. He can guess what's going on. A ghost of Dagger's past, here to hurt him. Knows because Rat is right there leaning against a tree smirking.

I see your tastes have turned dangerous whilst you've been gone. Shion ignored him, he wasn't there. Wasn't real.

Just like whoever Dagger was screaming at was not real. Shion knew Dagger had many from his past who would hurt him just by their presence.]

Whoever it is... Just ignore them.

ota

[scourgingstars]

[a; royal flames will carve a path in chaos]

[Ardyn was more than accustomed to seeing shadows move--but that was something more suited for the night. Not the middle of the day, just outside his run down shack on the islets. He frowned at--well, it must have been a brief hallucination--tilting his hat back out of his eyes to look upwards at an indistinct figure only he could see.]

[...No, surely not. The sunlight must have been playing havoc with his eyes. And the vague, not yet distinct voice he heard...ah, surely nothing. He ignored and denied it, and the black chocobo with him--tall enough to be nearly out of adolescence--tilted her head and nudged at Ardyn's shoulder, an insistent distraction until he turned to pay her attention over a ghost of the past.]

[This, he thought, might present a problem.]

[b; bringing daylight to the night]

[But as the days carried on, it grew harder to ignore. Eventually Ardyn's evenings were spent arguing furiously with thin air, the man in back pacing and speaking furiously with wide gesticulations in a mixture of language that could be understood...and at his most enraged, falling back into some lost and ancient dialect presumably of Solheim. From the look of it, who or whatever he was furious with was a good deal taller even than him, Hresvelgr clicking her beak almost nervously at the spectacle.]

--and you dare come to me now and ask me to follow?! After all of that, you expect me to be fool enough to ever believe a word you say? Hajan ykyeh, yvdan fryd oui tet!

[Your Majesty, spoke the apparition, I only ever wished my blade raised in your service-]

Do not even dare, Blademaster. Your sentimental platitudes mean less than nothing to me. You think you've any right to look at me and claim me your king?

[Ardyn seeming furious was nothing new, but this time was different. It wasn't anger for the sake of it, but the sort of sharp and pointed fury he usually reserved for the divine. But stranger still, there was a note of something shaken to the core amidst all his anger. Almost as if the rage of his furious pacing and snarled rejections were rooted in something else entirely.]

[Ardyn...do you not remember as things once were? Would you turn me away so fervently now?

Yes, that is in fact precisely what I am doing! Vilgehk ramm, ynah'd oui mecdahehk?! I don't care about you! I don't want you anywhere near me, if you're even here to begin with! Get out of my sight, Gilgamesh!

[Loss, pain, lack of closure...it was hard to outperform sheer spite when that loss and all that followed came out of betrayal. Harder still ]

[c; death is riding into town with armor]

[Once the rage-fueled outbursts had settled down on Ardyn's side, he and his black chocobo seemed to have returned to what passed for normal for them...except for one thing.]

[Every so often, he'd glare coldly at the open air and throw something at it. Kicking small rocks in the direction of nothing, launching a dagger at a point in a nearby tree as though someone stood in front of it, or just generally looking very upset that particular patch of open space was there at all.]

C

[want_to_belong]

[Thoroughly preoccupied with his own problem, Prompto dealt with the wearying fact that Noct just didn't seem to want to stay still. All Prompto wanted to do was sit and hang out and be close, and Noct always seemed to be trying to lead him endlessly somewhere. It was upsetting him. He swore he was going to just grab him and hold him still somehow.

The young man was trotting along the bridge of the islet - a rare thing in itself for him. It's not like he took time to pay Ardyn visits.

Suddenly, as he drew close, his demeanor changed.]

Noct! Look out!

[He ran forward and dove on top of Noct, narrowly missing a dagger in the process.]

Héctor R. | Coco | cw hallucinations & suicidal idealization

[vagabone]

October 10th

[The flickers in the corner of his eye from the days before have only grown worse. Lack of sleep seems to have nothing to do with it--he's been sleeping plenty, taking it easy and doing nothing strenuous during the day. Sometimes it looks like a little girl. Sometimes he can almost hear a voice. Papá, it says, or perhaps it's singing fragments of their secret song. It sounds like heartbreak.

He does his best to ignore it, of course, feeling like a guitar string wound too tight and about to snap the entire time. He's restless and distracted the whole day, occasionally more manic than usual, all his grins anxious ones. Everyone seems to be seeing their own ghosts, just like he is, but he won't be the one to mention it first.

What he does do is offer a way to make time pass a little faster.]

Want to play a game of cards?

October 13th

[The figure's so solid and real now. As before, when things were going terribly terribly wrong, he's shut himself away in his little home. The rest of the world and the people stranded here have ceased to exist. Yesterday, he was still able to put up some resistance against it. Today... he's surrendered to the illusion, and all that matters is the little girl who's with him. Alive. Warm. Breathing. Lying with her head against his chest. It feels so real, as long as he lies still and doesn't try to touch her. She wants him to stay with her, forever and ever, and how could he possibly deny his Coco anything? He's disappointed her too much already throughout her whole life.

Some part of him must know this is all a lie, because he wants to cry even as he smiles at her. But that's not an uncommon feeling. It comes each year after another failed attempt at crossing the bridge, when both their birthdays and the anniversary of his death and Christmas come around again. He knows this ache in his heart can be endured, for there is nothing else he can do.

So this is the plan for today. Lie still as the grave in his hammock with his eyes closed and be with his daughter, talking about everything and nothing. There are so many stories he has to tell her about the Land of the Dead--colorful, amazing things. People he's met and crazy stunts he's pulled. He could go on all day.]

Snowshoes! I made myself a pair once. Petals, snow, what's the difference? See, I can make shoes!

October 15th

[Another day. Coco has not left him. Such a blessing that is. Today, something's different.

She's leading him home.

He doesn't know or care where he's going. He'll follow his little girl wherever she leads him. And, as it happens, there is something for a dead man after all.]

13th

[catpiper]

[Seto's illusion doesn't understand why she's wandering around, checking on friends and family. It's a tip off that something's wrong with him, another confirmation he's not real deal.

That knowledge doesn't make him easier to ignore. Not that she's trying to ignore him, really, because it'd be impossible to do that. She doesn't answer his requests to leave, but she does grip his hand tighter, try to guide him instead falling into their old routine where he would lead her.

It's hard. The people around her are having a more difficult time, unable to differentiate the images in front of them from reality. They can't feel how wrong it is.

Héctor is among the few she's trying to check on today and she slowly pushes at his door, trying to peek in. The sound of the skeleton's happy voice already reaching her through the small crack.]

Héctor?

The Director | OTA ; tw: suicidal ideation

[determinist]

  a. OTA

Leonard has been seeking his wife, well, pretty much ever since he lost her, in one way or another. But his quest to reach out and find her never ended, and certainly never abated when he found himself here on these islands. So when he awakens to find her in his room, he's perhaps a bit startled, but nevertheless, grateful. In the end, it seems far too easy; after all the searching he did, after all his attempts to recreate her, she's simply there, in his room, when he awakens.

He sits up when he sees her, disheveled, not wearing his glasses, only suspecting but unsure that he's seeing who he thinks he is seeing. He grabs them and shoves them on, mouth fishing for words, and then he sees that it is her, and he rises, trembling and tripping over his own feet to reach her.

"Allison," he says, and kneels in front of her, and takes her hand, and kisses it fervently. "I knew, I knew it...knew you would come." He looks up at her with reverence, a slight smile bending the corners of his mouth, ready to do or say anything she would bid him to.

After he has a chance to arise, to dress, he leads her out and about, holding her hand tightly and showing her all the places he's been spending his time in the last month, since his arrival, and planning to bring her by to meet many of those he knows. He feels like he might burst with joy at having her there—yet this is strangely combined with a sense that he has merely only just lost her, the pain of not having her in his day-to-day life for so many years fresh as it had ever been.

And when she starts bidding him to join her in the afterlife, the real afterlife, he's all too willing to comply.

As soon as he finds a way...

  b. closed to close CR

There are those that Leonard feels it important to communicate with specifically about Allison's arrival. On top of that, he needs to procure a weapon to dispatch himself with, and properly this time. Only just a few days ago he would have considered himself too proud to come to Washington's door and beg for his pistol back, but he needs it now to be able to carry out Allison's wishes. That, or he may be able to find one from some other source. He doesn't intend to do the deed prematurely, but he does intend to do it. So he sends messages to those who knows well, including his daughter, to make sure they know he's arriving to bring Allison by—and if the topic of his need of a weapon comes up, well then it comes up.

  c. Wildcard

(( Have some other idea for encountering Leonard and the shadow of his wife? Hit me with it, or contact me at texelations to let me know! ))

b.

[uptightness]

To bring Allison by. To bring her mother by. Carolina doesn't know what to make about that. She hadn't been aware of her actually arriving. It doesn't mean that it hasn't happened, but the timing of it doesn't seem likely. So that means what? What has her father done?

It is a conversation that Wash and her had had a short time ago, about what would happen if the Director went back to his old ways. Carolina wasn't going to let that happen. She is outside the residence that they've taken, dressed casually, or casually enough for this place. Her arms are crossed over her chest, mouth tight, hair pressed back in a loose pony tail, waiting.

For her father to apparently bring her mother by.

nott the brave. cw: suicide references

[flask]

I. sleep don't visit, so i choke on sun. ( closed to housemates )

[Now, Nott isn't one to shy from day drinking on a good day. It's not uncommon that she'll wake up and start taking healthy swigs from her flask immediately, especially lately, now that she's trapped on an island, surrounded by water larger than she's ever seen, now that she's lost most of her friends and regained some anew, now that she's far, far from Caleb. Now that she wakes up and is reminded all over again that she's somewhere strange and new, and he's somewhere at home, completely unaware she's gone.

When she wakes up and sees a faded, blurred imagination of Caleb lying beside her, the way he did when they curled up together in their own inn room and she leaned against his legs, she immediately reaches one hand for his arm to shake him awake and the other hand for her flask.

Caleb stirs awake, and immediately smiles at her, and Nott feels tears brimming up in her eyes and wipes them away even as she takes a big swig of infinite whiskey.]

Caleb!

[She doesn't call the others over right away, because more than her connection with the Mighty Nein in general, she and Caleb have a connection all their own—they deserve time together before he becomes the center of attention the way he never wants to be.]

What are you— Why are you so... blurry?

[She tries rubbing her eyes, but that doesn't dispel the distortion. Caleb's smile turns a little sad.

"That's because I'm not really here, my friend. This is like one of our spells." He places a hand on her head, and she flinches. That's right; she can feel him, despite his blurriness. "Like the Message you taught me."

Nott's disappointment is written all over her face.]

Then... you have to figure out how to come here. Molly's here, he's back, everyone has to come here so we can be together again and—

["No. I, ah. I cannot go there. Not fully. You must come back to me."

Nott can feel her heart break. She grips at her shirt, taking a shuddering breath.

She can't have both Molly and Caleb.

But these are close quarters, and it's certain she's been overheard by now. Otherwise, she can be found somewhere around the cottage speaking to the air, looking distraught as she does, drinking heavily. At various points, she may be more drunk or more sober.]

II. spirit of my silence, i can hear you. ( open )

[After catching Nott pointing a shaking crossbow at her own head, Beau has confiscated Nott's weapons and tied her to a tree.

So that's a thing.

It'd be sort of fine, Nott supposes, if she wasn't also still being haunted by an image of Caleb, constantly speaking lowly, but with urgency, "Nott, you must come back to me." "I don't know how to do this without you, Nott." "It's the only way, goblina. I know it's... it's terrifying. I know. I can talk you through it."

Nott sniffles, and he looks so much more sharply like Caleb than ever, like he's getting stronger and stronger, while she struggles against the hempen rope Beau used.]

Beau? ...Beau? I've seen the error of my ways now! I've... I've turned over a new leaf!

[No response. Nott sighs, leaning her head back against the tree.]

Caleb, I think she's forgotten about me.

[The worst part is she can't reach her flask like this.]

ii, cuz like, fuq

[lesbeau]

[Oh, she hates this.

Showing up on some ocean-y bullshit and being made to work for a dog was one thing. Showing up on some ocean-y bullshit and hallucinating some crap is going to drive her fucking insane. She can wrap up her own shit fairly well- or well, can sort of do so, because she's not falling for this fake Keg that's resorted to feeling her up at least once- but the rest of her team going shit crazy is making this whole thing way, way more difficult.

Case in point. Nott. Tree. An effective solution so she doesn't run off with not-Caleb into, I dunno, the void or something. Or well, more effectively, into absolute death. When did she become the goddamn babysitter?]

I'm not letting you out until we stop seeing shit!

[Beau, at the moment, can be found further up in the tree, perched and scanning the horizon for someone she knows so she can trade off someone keeping an eye on this disaster.]

Also, reminder that you're seeing shit. Again.

kravitz | ota | i'll match format

[deathfindsaway]

i. [the 10th; the storyteller's temple] i play the souvenir, of this cheap champagne year

[He awakens at camp to a calming touch he's felt so, so many times.

He can feel the seize in his heart as he wakes to it, the brush of taloned fingers and a stray, soft feather. He's up before he can realize what he's doing, clutching at the hand with the thought that he dreamed it, but he didn't. She's here. His Goddess, his Lady, The Raven Queen, cupping his cheek like he was never gone and whispering affirmations like he's a lost chick out of the flock. She found him, of course she did. Why would she abandon him here? He was always her favorite.

When he can pull himself together and actually speak to her, of course, it's a bit different. He insists on doing this properly, getting her to speak to the local gods, making sure he can get everyone out. So when the morning comes, he can be found not far off from camp yet, near the Storyteller's temple. It's important he introduces her in good faith.

For those who may have seen Kravitz in the last few months since his arrival, he's back to being as precisely well dressed and done up as he could be- his suit is back on, his hair tidied, and he looks as impeccable as one can on a tropical island. He stands stiff and put-together, and seems to be talking to himself as he gestures at the walls.]

They're a god of stories, and-- terribly sorry, but I don't think they're here right now, actually.

[A moment's pause.]

No, I'm sorry, this won't hold us up any longer, I just think it's important.

ii. [11th-20th] sing to me, you're so pretty / i'm a girl, i'm a ghost, i'm a gameshow

[He realizes something is wrong too quickly.

When you spend a thousand years serving someone, down to the last detail, to the laws of the universe, you tend to know them. And he knows her. He knows her rules, and her patterns, and while she may elude him plenty of times, his job from her is to seek the truth of the universe, and something is deeply, deeply wrong.

She's insistent. She claws at him like he cannot leave, picking at his hair and staying with him like a cape dragging across the floor. He can't disobey her at first, sidestepping her commands to be gone with this place with small delays, with trying to figure out what's happening so he can grab the people he doesn't want to leave. But she doesn't want him to see them, now. She has found him and wasn't it such work, coming for you? Don't you think she has other things to do, another universe to protect, aren't you being selfish as you think of these people? You have a job, a universe, a beacon to uphold and you are wasting it, Kravitz, you are wasting her time and her patience and neither of those are as limitless as she is. It twists in his gut in an uncomfortable way that is so, so desperately alive that he can't deny he is being tricked.

But that's not good for her, and she knows it. But he cannot escape.

He finds himself looking for distractions. Trying to sleep, trying to hide, anything to not have to face her. The days go on and it gets worse- she appeared to him more humanlike, more like his favored form, but she's losing it as time passes to the addition of more and more deep red eyes, feathers and wings, the scream of a murder of crows.

He has to face her. But he finds himself hiding more and more, unable to summon the strength to find anything more than a stalemate to just stay alive.]

[ooc: for the second prompt, let me know what date he's found on! for that one he'll be hiding all over Enso and occasionally on Nudian, but he's mostly needing encouragement to fight back and not just give in. Feel free to hit me up at cancerously or PM me for any additional plotting!]

i

[flask]

[Alright. So Nott can't have both Molly and Caleb. That's fine. That's fine. She just has to make a choice, and she doesn't know if she can make it. She's vowed time and again to run with Caleb if he ever chose to leave the Mighty Nein, but so much has changed. Molly died, and Nott realized she couldn't leave them, and Molly came back and she doesn't want to squander this chance to be with him again.

But Caleb is Caleb. And he's important to her. And he's so insistent. He found a way to reach her, she's sure, and that's why only she can see him, but... Apparently, he's not the only one. Or something else is happening. She doesn't know if anyone else's specter is real, but she knows Caleb is.

She never claimed to be a logician.

She's showing him around, having much the same idea as this other guy, apparently. And that's why she runs into him talking to the air and makes a face so Caleb can see, one that screams, This lunatic, am I right?]

I guess everyone's having a mass hallucination or something. That Storyteller guy really is holding this island together with duct tape.

[She then addresses the air next to her.]

That's the god whose temple this is. I have no idea what they're like. They're a bunny rabbit, which is a terrible form for a god to take.

yasha (ota)

[barberian]

01: i'm drawn in, etched into this (oct 10)

(First, it starts with visions.

This is not anything out of the ordinary for Yasha. A monsoon coalesces in her mind's eye and in the night, her God comes to her, and he speaks. What the Stormlord says is exactly what he said to her– what feels like so long ago now, when she fell asleep by the campfire after being on watch. His voice sounds like rolling thunder. It is a comfort.

You walk the right path. Be strong. Don't forget who you were... and decide who you will become.

Lightning sears across the backs of her eyes, and she wakes up with a start, feeling displaced. His giant hand is still in the room with her, palm up, waiting expectantly. Yasha pushes her bed covers aside and tries to walk toward it, but it curls in upon itself, makes a fist, and vanishes.

She can't shake the feeling that it had been gesturing to her to come.

So she's at the beaches, bare feet in the stand, staring out at the horizon over the ocean. The weather is calm. If a storm were to start, she would see it on the horizon. If he were to extend his hand to her again, surely, she would see it here. She has a tense, restless air about her.)

02: it's part of me, it’s under my skin (oct 16)

(Now, the visions are getting worse. They don't just happen at night any more. The sound of rolling thunder is a comfort still but also has her on edge, poised, constantly listening for a soft rumble from the sky. Meanwhile the Stormlord follows her about and hangs on the edge of her sight, beckons to her with both hands, trying to get her to follow.

She would do anything for him. He knows this.

You walk the right path, he coaxes, and, Come along, Yasha. It's time to go. It's time to go.)

But... Molly is here, (she says. It's the first time she has spoken back to him aloud. He hasn't ever offered her much chance to before. She usually follows his direction in silence. But now he comes to her as if in supplication; the wind cards thick fingers through her hair, and Yasha feels tired and world-weary, longing for escape. His insistence is intoxicating, and she has always been devout.

It's time to go. You must come alone. I know the way; I will show you.

It's how she ends up at sea again, standing with her feet at the edge of the surf. There's only one way off of an island, right? The water is so dark and deep and though she knows how to swim she is not so sure, but the hands of the Stormlord move, as if to part the waves. Yasha hesitates... before she dutifully follows, striding forwards, into the sea.)

02

[devilstongue]

[ Jester keeps crying and pleading with him and it's getting almost impossible to ignore, even if he knows her words are fake. It's easier to concentrate on his friends instead, trying to help Nott and bickering with Beau so she can tune out Keg for a while.

Even the tried-and-true method of getting shitfaced in the face of problems was too risky right now... and so was leaving your friends for even a moment, apparently.

Nott they could tie to a tree. Yasha would have broken every tree on the island.

The sight of his best friend walking into the ocean creates an almost feral horror in him and Molly rushes after her as fast as he can, screaming her name. ]

YASHA!

[ Please stop. Please look at him. ]

[pidgeypidge]

10th

At first, it's easy to write things off as the island playing tricks on her. Flashes of movement out of the corner of her eye, usually when she's doing something else. She's never had a normal relationship with sleep, and things were just weird after waking up in the temple a while back. So obviously she's just sleep-deprived.

Eventually, though, she does manage to turn and look. And then he's just standing there, and her eyes go a little wide because there's no way he should be here.

"... Hunk?"

He'd disappeared. She knew that. They woke up one morning and he and Lance were just gone. There's no way he could be back here. It didn't work that way. Did it? Getting her hopes up would be stupid.

"You can't be here."

11th - 20th

But he is. Sort of.

And at first, she's thrilled to have him back, because waking up to discover that two of her best friends had vanished had nearly broken her heart. So she doesn't question it. She doesn't question the way he seems to hover around her exclusively, or the fact that nobody else has mentioned seeing him. Or the fact that Lance isn't here, too. Or even the fact that at first he seems more like a faded version of himself.

But over the next few days, even that seems to change. After a while, it's almost like he's never left. So what if she ends up spending most of her time with him. It's fine. They're friends, so it's not weird to spend time together. The closer it gets to the 20th, though, the more time she's spending with him. What she doesn't do, however, is buy into it when he starts trying to convince her to join him. Because Hunk would never want her to do something like that. Unfortunately, that realization isn't enough to get rid of Hunk, and now it's just weird having him around, trying to change her mind. So she's just going to... try and hold out until he eventually cuts it out.

He's going to cut it out, right?

18th

[antepone]

Except for one person, Lance is here. He's gotten louder and louder, more desperate for her to join him. Mira hasn't been able to really sleep. She has dark circles under her eyes, and simply put, she looks like hell. Feels like it, too. The hurt, the feeling of loss, has only gotten worse, and Mira isn't sure how much more of this she can handle without breaking completely.

She doesn't notice Pidge, but Pidge might be able to hear her say, "You know why I can't do that, Lance."

And she sounds so tired.