minecraft is unrealistic

[vagabone]

Who: Héctor, anyone
What: His spirit is as dead as he is.
When: July 25th
Where: Enso
Warnings: Mild injury, and a truckload of d e s p a i r to start with.

It's mid afternoon, one year and then some after he first arrived on the beaches of the island. The thirteenth month. Thirteen's been said to be an unlucky number. Certainly it's not doing him any favors.

As good and kind as everyone is... it's just not enough. Not every day. There's only one thing that ever will be, one thing which he always seems to be denied, one way or another. Granted, not much about his situation is new, when it comes down to it, but then neither are these deep black moods. There were no failures this year. No bridge. Nothing to try. Everything's perfectly fine until he can't fake it anymore, because everything is not fine.

He had four pleasant days with his family, after so long dreaming of them. Was that it? Is that all he'll ever have? And there's no reason for it, seeing as there's very little he can do someone else can't do better. Of course, if he hadn't been so stupid, he would have had many years with them before being drawn to this world, not only four days... stupid, stupid, stupid. He's always been stupid. It explodes outwards as anger first, for a few minutes, but that's hard to sustain for him. So...

He's just lying on the ground, in the leaves underneath a tree, no smile on his face and cracks spiderwebbing through all the bones of one hand. Don't punch trees if you have no padding on your hands, you won't like the results. He doesn't want to get up, he doesn't want to goof off, joke around, play games, none of that. There's... nothing. No point at all.

Comments

[eudaimonikos]

"None of them are that hard to break."

Which is, on second thought, not a nice thing at all to say? He only meant that Hector's not really that much worse than anyone else. Michael kneels down to see the damage closer; it's not all that bad, though without his normal magic to fix it up, he can see it being problematic. "Do you heal on your own?"

[vagabone]

"No. I'm way past that point." The point of no return, when a person being forgotten is no longer able to recover from anything major... that's when they know it's almost over. "Not remembered enough for healing."

[eudaimonikos]

"There's a lot of people here who know you exist." Like, how does that work? Especially when he's isolated from his own world - Michael's not super affected by his own world's laws, anymore, or he shouldn't be able to use even limited magic among the living.

He shifts to just take a seat, reaching out for Hector's hand and only stopping himself halfway through the motion. "Can I see?"

[vagabone]

"It doesn't count. It's my actual life that has to be remembered."

It says something that he holds up his hand without much hesitation. What's Michael going to do? Smash him up some more? Who cares?

[eudaimonikos]

"No human gets remembered forever. Except maybe by an immortal."

Michael, interpreting that as full-on permission for whatever, takes Hector's wrist lightly in one of his hands, using the other to move the fingers a little as he inspects them. What's the status here, are parts of this about to legit fall off?

[vagabone]

"I know, I know. It happens to everyone. I'm no different." Actually. "I got lucky, you know. I'm being remembered a little better. Things were looking up... until I woke up on a beach."

No complete fractures, just a good many cracks, all stemming from the knuckles. He's holding together as well as he ever does.

[eudaimonikos]

"Does it not reach here?" That would make sense to Michael; half his own powers don't seem to transfer across dimensions right.

He studies the bones thoughtfully. A fracture, he would sort of know how to deal with, but he's not sure what humans do with this, other than...just don't make it worse and let it heal? He is not particularly skilled in fixing human bodies. "What do you do with these, fill the cracks with something?"

[vagabone]

"Sure it does, or I'd be dust. It's not much better yet." Four days of slight improvement and then... well, he supposes time stopped for him. Hopefully. If they wake to find he's disappeared, everyone is sure to assume the worst. And oh, he doesn't want them to suffer too. "Plaster. If I had any. I just use duct tape."

[eudaimonikos]

"Plaster...that's water and flour?" He could make it magically, of course, here and now. But the things Michael creates on the islands tend to disappear after only a day. They're not ideal for any long-term solutions.

Making that would take time, and supplies he doesn't really have right now. So instead, he snaps his fingers and magics up a thin roll of white tape. "Now, this is going to last for twenty-four hours, and then it'll vanish. Save you peeling it off, I guess..." How should he wrap these? He's just gonna do the whole thing.

[vagabone]

"Probably not flour, that's too expensive." Not exactly waterproof either. He's going to take the tape and start winding it around his hand himself. He's had plenty of practice, more on others than himself.

Oh. Right. "Gracias."

[eudaimonikos]

Michael shrugs, allowing Hector to take the tape out of his hands. "Well, screw the flour, regular plaster can't be worth more than a story." Especially given that this particular repair job wouldn't require all that much of it, really.

Should he offer to pay for it? Hector probably has more saved than Michael does, having been here much longer. It's just that Michael, without the work of taping up Hector's hand, suddenly feels like he's being a bit useless. "Ought to get some gloves, too, if you're going to go around punching things," he says, filling the space with chatter. "Maybe with some metal. You don't have as much weight to put behind it."

[vagabone]

He's done. Hand's all wrapped up, a gift for someone with magical healing powers. No hurry. It's not the sort of pain that's really hurting him today. He goes back to being a flat lifeless log...

"I'm not going to punch anything else, forget that. Someone else can patch me up later. It's only a broken hand."

[eudaimonikos]

Michael leans back, propping himself on his hands. He's on the ground now, he's just sort of here. "You're so fragile when you're alive, there's no reason to go around making it worse after you're dead."

[vagabone]

That he is. They're both. Here. Hooray. Boy, look at that sky.

"I'm not. I haven't done anything. I can't make it better or worse, I don't have any say in it."

[eudaimonikos]

"Well, you did something." Michael nods down at the wrapped-up hand. "I know you weren't smashed up like that the last time I saw you."

[vagabone]

Oh. Hm. Well, what does he have to lose? Let the demon dude think he's dumb, it won't change anything.

"I punched a tree."

[eudaimonikos]

Well, Michael already figured that injury was from punching something or other, so he doesn't really react. "What'd you do that for?"

[vagabone]

Silly question. Might've gotten a rise out of him any other day.

"I hate this place. I think you do too, right?"

[eudaimonikos]

Does he? Michael shrugs. "Well, I think it's a waste of my time. I was very busy. And I didn't appreciate...any of the things that have happened, to be honest."

But does he hate it? His life here isn't too terrible, overall. There's far much more downtime than at home; he's actually been able to relax for weeks on end, just sort of putter around doing whatever he wants without stress. Without his friends too, which is the biggest downside, but at least the people here are nice...

"The people are alright," he concludes eventually. "But I want my friends here, or I want to go back within a few years. A decade at most."

[vagabone]

"I'd been..." Two words make it out before he falters, subtly hunching in on himself even though he's flat on his back. What a pathetic sight, and that's without him continuing to make it all about himself.

"I'd been waiting almost a century to see my family again, and then... I only had four days before I woke up on the beach." A beat, a sigh. "I wonder if this is one of your demon things."

[eudaimonikos]

"That sucks."

One of his demon things? Michael chews that over for a moment, before admitting, "I guess it might be. I mean, I've been alive since the beginning of time. Being stuck here for a few months or years..."

He waves a hand idly. It may not be his favorite thing in the world, but to him it's a minor inconvenience. Everyone gets stuck doing things they don't want to sometimes. Not worth getting angry over.

"You're more or less immortal too, at this point, but I don't think humans ever really get used to it. Plus, you're pretty young."

[vagabone]

"I get that a lot." he says, without any humor. Died so young, you poor thing, yadda yadda. He is still not looking at Michael. "If it is, good for you. You did a good job. I know I deserve it too."

[eudaimonikos]

Michael really meant something more along the lines of "120-ish is young", but okay. He leans back, squinting down at Hector for a moment.

"I think I may have misunderstood what you meant by 'my demon things'."

[vagabone]

"...one of the tortures?"

Seemed clear enough to him. Maybe not Michael specifically, but some demon's handiwork... Either way, he's not getting out on his own. So what does it matter today?

[eudaimonikos]

Michael interpreted it more as "you're a demon and your perceptions of things are weird". At that, he sits up abruptly, eyes narrowing. "We're not even in Hell. You said there weren't any demons in your afterlife to begin with!"