lifeaftr | August Aftermath: Make Me Okay

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August Aftermath: Make Me Okay

AUGUST AFTERMATH: MAKE ME OKAY

Who: Everyone!
What: After the harrowing events of mid-month, it's time to process what you've been through
When: August 24th and onward
Where: Ensō and/or Nastrandir
Warnings: Discussions of violence, injury, forcibly altered mindsets via magical influence, and character deaths. Other than that, tag as you go!

Nastrandir: Can I Fight When I Don't Know How
The morning of August 24th, the day after a Storytelling that was notably later than usual, you will wake to the restoration of your average selves, barring any extenuating circumstances due to recent deaths. The dead will rise again on Ensō, at the Storyteller's Temple, while everyone else will simply wake where they last laid themselves to rest. There's nothing left to do but, perhaps, try to come to terms with all that's just happened.

You've probably witnessed some terrible things, over the past few days. There's a very good chance that you were the one doing the terrible things. Whether you were responsible for the slaughter of a fellow adventurer, watched the fray from the distance, or suffered the spontaneous combustion that seized everyone who hadn't managed to shake away their false memories in time, it's at least all over now. Or...mostly.

Any stray sirens that haven't been smashed by the event's end are still shrilling away, though their dangerous effects seem to have been rendered inert without the aid of the broken merotome spilling its memories into everyone else's heads. Likewise, a handful of automatons still wander the island of Nastrandir. Those that have not succumbed to mud and rust and irreparable damage are still capable of firing upon hostiles. Anyone who may have fought by their side before will discover that they're now far less friendly, and will treat former members of the Red Team just the same as they would with any other intruder: with deadly fire.

So you can pick yourselves up off the ground and clean up what remains, or you can say to yourselves: Fuck That, and instead head back to Ensō. Or you could elect to keep exploring Nastrandir, if you're truly a glutton for punishment.

Ensō: Am I Bleeding From the Neck Down
On Ensō and its accompanying islets, it's begun to rain.

It's not a genuine downpour, but more of a gentle, melancholy drizzle. The rain is cool and likely refreshing, particularly if one is just coming away from the humidity of Nastrandir.

Potentially as a form of apology, anyone who goes digging through their belongings will discover that one of the following has ended up in their packs:

[ ♆ ] If you were a member of the Red Team, you will discover that you now own a rather awkwardly-shaped object, about three feet in length. A set of written instructions will inform you that this is known as a redsword, and that, upon placed upon any wet area or body of water, will drain and dry it out over the course of five minutes. This item is single-use, and only works for a ten-foot radius.

[ ♆ ] If you were a member of the Blue Team, you will discover that you now own some very fetching footwear. A set of written instructions will inform you that these are called skip-skops, and can be used to walk on water or wet land without sinking or getting wet. Standard limitations when crossing between islands or attempting to go beyond LifeAftr's limits will still apply. This item is single-use, and will dissolve after one hour total.

[ ♆ ] If you were Neutral, you will discover that you now own, er, this. A set of written instructions will inform you that this object is called a furball, and that it works as a sort of miniature, diminished version of the sirens you spent all that time destroying on Nastrandir. Once planted, it will rapidly grow into a tall, screaming tree full of lorby-like creatures that automatically causes all natural animals in the vicinity to become aggressive for one hour, maximum. This item is single-use.

It's not much, but it might make some of the hell that you suffered through over the past few days worth it! Almost, anyway. In the meantime...relax, lick your wounds, and try and forgive yourselves for what's happened.

Please remember to let us know if your character perished in this event! Remember also that death penalties will be reduced following this event; characters will only need to contend with them for a week, and participation in Non-Compulsory AC will not be necessary in removing them.

If you're interested, the following links may prove handy:

[ ♆ ] OOC Event Info and Plotting Post
[ ♆ ] Nastrandir's Intro
[ ♆ ] Nastrandir's Locations Page
[ ♆ ] Search Requests Page
[ ♆ ] Deaths Page

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Michael and Janet's Lenscrafters selfie beams down on the scene!

Michael keeps his eyes shut against the light until it feels a little less bright through his eyelids. It lets the attacker land a few surprise hits on him, and break free enough to scrabble backwards, but then he gets a good look at them. It's...

...uh. Does he know this guy? Michael, who met Tim as a child and only talked to Adult Tim maybe once, does not make an immediate identification.]

Hi! Nice to see you! Why is this happening?

[It keeps spewing words at them, like it expects an answer. Things always seem to expect answers. They have nothing, no answers at all. This face isn't like their usual one. It's carved from wood, too heavy, all wrong, but it's the closest they can get.]

[It's enough to hide the face they wear underneath. That doesn't mean they appreciate the spotlight.]

[They strike out wildly with one hand, swiping at the offending light, as if trying to slap it out of Michael's hand.]

[Tim's body lacks the requisite demonic bits, so that hand just phases right on through the display. It doesn't feel like much of anything, though the picture flickers a little.]

What, that's too bright? Well, the tackle was a little too rough, so I'd say we're approaching even.

[ugh, let's...Michael swipes it open, pulls down the settings, and dims it a little.]

Better? So what's your deal, man?

[Obviously he's recognized, at this point, that talking doesn't seem to be on the table here. But Michael's not exactly the kind of person to just stop talking. Anyway, he doesn't have any reason to think that this person doesn't understand his speech at all; even if they aren't gonna answer, he can say his piece.]

[The light doesn't fade. It doesn't even feel like anything. It's just...squares (static) and lights (static) and it's something they can't touch even if it's something they can see (static) ]

[Lights. Static. Lights. Static. The lights are dimming. The lights are getting quieter. The static gets louder. Words don't cut through it. Nothing cuts through it. Just the loud, loud, louder storm of white noise buzzing the bits of their skull that don't belong to them.]

[Why is it still talking.]

[The talking is unbearable and the noise is unbearable and there's only one way they can think of to make it all stop and that way is to hit it until it stops making noises. If the talking stops, maybe the sound, the crackle of static, will finally, finally stop.]

[Hit it again.]

[Michael steps back and turns, taking the blow more on his shoulder than his face.]

Hey! I was being nice!

[He's turning the fucking phone back up, then!]

[The pace and ferocity of the attacks increase. There is something to be said for the amount of power behind them - slightly stronger than your average human, perhaps, but only slightly.]

[More notably, they're unrelenting.]

[Fuck.

Michael tries to shield himself from the blows. When he can, he lashes out - and he's certainly stronger than your average human. But he lacks whatever manic energy is driving this masked attacker; if anything, he's trying very hard not to attack in anger, because he knows what he does.

All of this commotion has not gone entirely unnoticed. Florida the Lorby comes and goes as he pleases; he's an outdoor Lorby. Upon seeing this scene as he snakes through the trees, he opens his weird little beak and starts to do the horrifying lorby scream at the top of his lungs.]

[There's a sound even more like white noise, like static, like a world gone tilted to one side and shrieking in agony. They turn in time to see it.]

[A horrifying thing. An unfurling flag of fur and noise. Unnaturally elongated. Unrelenting.]

[They scramble at the dirt. Hands find a rock. Seize it. Dart at the thing in an effort to try and smash its skull in. Stop the noise. Stop the noise. Stop the noise. Stop the noise. Stop the ]

Hey!

[Florida shrieks louder and slithers up into higher branches at the sudden movement. Michael lunges forward, entirely unnecessarily, and snaps his fingers. You won't stop, fine - he can make you stop.]

[And then - ]

[They do.]

[They don't have a say in it. They don't have any means of counteracting it. One moment, they're lurching forward, and the next they're collapsed in the dirt, their makeshift weapon rolling from limp fingers.]

[Shutdown.]

[There is a strong and undeniable impulse within Michael to kick them directly in the ribs.

He stalks closer, actually considering it for a moment. But no - no, he knows how fragile those can be. It would be wrong, wouldn't it, to hit them when they're down? Even if he'd like to. He kicks the rock instead, and then takes a few deep breaths, curling and uncurling his fists until his more violent urges start to drain away. If they're still unreasonable when they wake up, then he'll hit them.

When they wake up. That's something he ought to deal with. Leaving Crowley out on the ground was one thing, but that would be plain stupid here.

Michael hoists the human up over his shoulder. Florida, still high in the branches above, whines loudly.]

You might as well stay out here. I dunno how this is gonna go.

[There's not much in his home to tie somebody up with, so he just manifests a rope. He's quick and efficient, and if the bindings leave them in a position that would definitely grant him access to all their internal organs,it's just habitual. Michael doesn't know exactly how long this state of unconsciousness will last, with his current power limitations, so he makes sure they're secure before he finally takes off their mask.]

...what the hell? I've helped you out in the woods like three times!

[Dick! He's not even gonna wake you up, he's just gonna hang out here until you're ready to talk again.]

[It's gonna take a few hours. Not until morning, actually.]

[When Tim comes to, it's with the same sort of pounding headache that always wakes him. The pulse of pain behind his eyelids starts to spread almost at once as he gradually becomes more and more aware of all the different parts of him, and how badly they've been mistreated in the past...]

[...the past...]

[How long?]

[Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He - it happened. It happened, didn't it?]

[He lost it again.]

[He lost it again. He fucking lost it. He wasn't watching himself and he just stopped giving a shit and of course he didn't keep a close enough eye on things, and the next thing he knows that little freak is wresting its way out of his fucking brain and he can feel it in his throat: the dry taste of a parched mouth and the coppery tang of his own blood where he coughed it up onto the dirt.]

[Head hurts. Arms hurt. Legs hurt. Ribs feel bruised. It feels like every part of him was pulverized, and that's just fucking fine, just fucking normal. He doesn't know what he did when he was...like that. Doesn't know how many people he hurt. He isn't dead, but he's not sure that's a good thing. He always aches like hell when he comes to - that thing in his head was running his body all over the damn woods without a break. It's like the soreness after a marathon, paired with every scrape and bump it picked up on the way.]

[He can feel the nausea roiling in his gut. He lurches, trying to stand to spit up whatever bile is left in the slippery ropes of his insides, but comes up against a barrier.]

[He's tied up. He's - ]

[Fuck. Fuck. Oh, fuck.]

[He wrenches against the ropes, regardless of the soreness and stiffness to every inch of him, mouth dry. Who the fuck - what did he do? Oh god, what did he do? Shit. Shit. Shit.]

Hey!

[Hearing the struggling, Michael comes over from where he'd settled himself. He has a knife in one hand, but a half-carved piece of wood in the other; when you spend half your nights awake, as he does, you've got to at least try to find some solo hobbies.

His body aches. Though he hasn't realized it yet, without a mirror to look in, there's dark bruises forming on his skin. Half the reason demons take human forms at all is to learn what pain feels like, but he's not sure now that he really did before. It feels different, when you know you can't just snap your fingers and make it better.]

What the fuck, man? Can't we just all be done with ambushing each other in the woods for a day or two? Is that so much to ask?

[Shit. Shit. His veins feel like they're filled with static, his heart juddering sickly in his chest. Things are always bad enough, bad enough when he wakes up from this shit, without there being ropes. He's tied up. He's tied up and this is, he knows, probably a good thing. It means that he probably didn't hurt anyone as much as he could have. That he was stopped.]

[It just makes him think of someone else, curled on the floor, wrists and ankles bound together with zip ties, snarling for his camera.]

[He deserves that, a little bit. Karma.]

[He knows who's standing over him, and he can tell that there's a knife.]

[The most important things come first: a question that he blurts, frantically.]

Did I hurt anyone?

[That's a weird enough question that it slows Michael's roll a little bit. He's not quite so worked up, anyway, after spending the last several hours calmly hanging out with Unconscious Tim.]

Just me, as far as I know. And you tried to kill my Furby with a rock.

[He drops down into a crouch, remembering enough of the whole situation to set his knife and wood down on the ground. We're not a stabbing place right now.]

But he's fine. What's the deal, here?

[Tim shuts his eyes. The light hurts, but so does everything, and he can't do much to ward off the stabbing headache like this.]

[He hasn't had to make this explanation for a while now. For...god, has it really been years?]

[It's never one he likes making. But what's the alternative?]

Do you know how long I was...

[No. Never fucking mind. What would he know about that?]

How long ago was that?

Couple of hours, I'd say.

[He sits back on his heels, glancing out at the morning light. He'd check his phone, but the clock hasn't really worked right since he got here. Turning back, Michael tilts his head down at Tim.]

I didn't hit you on the head or anything. Just shut you down. You shouldn't be experiencing any side effects.

[There's an implied question there, because Michael hasn't actually used that power here much. Maybe there are side effects now? But it wasn't supposed to be a full reboot - is something else going on, or did Michael affect his memories somehow?]

Shut...me down?

[He doesn't know what that means. What the fuck else would it mean besides knocking him out, hitting him hard enough to hurt? He can feel his muscles gearing to yank against the restraints, reflexively.]

[Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Fuck.]

I - that wasn't you. I just - I dunno what I did. I never remember what I do.

Yeah. Like this.

[He snaps his fingers - not to do anything, this time, just as a demonstration.]

Your brains are just vaguely electrical mush, it isn't difficult. [Michael frowns a little, examining him.] This happen a lot?

Not a lot. [Not anymore. Not now that he knows to moderate it as much as he can, but apparently...]

[Well, a lot of things slipped his mind these past few days. He thought he was someone else. Evidently, that was enough to fuck him up more than a little.]

[He squeezes his hands into fists, and out again. Breathe. Breathe. Just...talk it out. Be rational. You can do that. You'd better fucking do it, because you owe this to him in the wake of whatever that little freak pulled. Even if being tied up and left to lie here for god knows how long really, really just...sucks, there's no question in his mind at all that he deserves it.]

It's just - it's happened before. After the past few days I must've forgot -

[He almost reaches into his pocket to extricate the bottle of precious medication before remembering: right. Hands.]

I take stuff for it. Usually.

You were one of the people running around Nastrandir, weren't you?

[Whatever that was, it got a literal demon thinking he was some human who grew up on an island, as a child and everything. With people out here losing their entire identities, Michael can hardly blame anybody for forgetting to take their meds. He nods.]

Understandable. But we're good, now?

Yeah. I was.

[Not that he's pleased about it, but that's not something he can really change, now, is it?]

I'm sorry. For whatever it did, or...whatever else I did. [It's probably best, isn't it, that Tim was put down before it could escalate.]

Well, if that's how it is, then I guess I can't really blame you. I've done a lot worse in full posession of my faculties. Hold still, then.

[He's just gonna use the knife to cut the ropes, that's much easier than untying those knots.]

I didn't run into you on Nastrandir, if you're worried about that. I wasn't involved in the war part.

I remember...I remember more of what I did there than I do of the last...however long it was.

[He stiffens rather visibly when Michael descends upon him with a knife, regardless of what the end intent is. He can't help it. He's just a little skittish around people coming at him with knives, no matter what they mean to do with them.]

Whenever that thing decided to come out and play.

[Michael notices, but thinks nothing of it. He figures most people aren't that thrilled about knives happening near them.]

Nastrandir only let up yesterday. Could've just been since then.

[Just a transition from one thing to the other? Michael can't theorize, really; he doesn't have any idea what the second thing was, and only the barest sense of the first. He's a quick hand with a knife, at any rate, and he has Tim's hands freed in short order. He's keeping the knife, but you can have a go at that knot yourself instead if you want, bud.]

What is it? Some kind of possession, or...? [The way this place is, literally anything is possible.]

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