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

[Standing is slow, and shuddery, and almost at once, Tim starts to cough. It takes several long moments of low, guttural retching sounds, but at least he doesn't actually throw up. Yet.]

Don't think it really works like that. It's not...smart.

[Oh - water, water, does he have water? Michael finds a bucket that he absolutely does not exclusively use to refill Florida's water bowl and offers it to Tim.]

You said it took orders before. Gotta be smart enough to do that.

[Another brief coughing fit interrupts him. When he looks up, there's a bucket of water being offered out to him like a free drink, and he...he doesn't know what else to do but take it.]

[He needs water, anyway.]

Yeah, but it's like...either it hits things, or runs away. That's all I've ever seen it do.

[Seen it do. On film, back when Jay had him filming himself, for confirmation. Back when he had a camera to make sure he wasn't losing his mind. Back when he had a camera that worked.]

[Back before he gave it away.]

Those are basic survival instincts. Fight or flight.

[And yeah, he did not enjoy those instincts when they were directed at him. But now, in the light of day, this seems to Michael a lot more like a problem to be solved. What's one feral alternate self in comparison to all the other shit he's had to deal with? It's gotta be workable!]

Look, I may be out of line here, but it seems to me like your weird Jason Voorhees self is lacking in direction. It's got nothing to do, so all it can think of is running around in the dark tackling people. If someone else had it in hand before, you should find a way to give it that again! Maybe keep it from wrecking people, when it gets out.

Who's...

[Never mind. Not important.]

Look, it's not usually a problem. I - it's only happened a few times since I got here. Even if they end up killing me, or...whatever you did, at least it stops it.

You can't just let people kill you! I mean, doesn't that have side-effects, here?

[Granted, it has an awful lot of side-effects in other places too, but the main one is kinda absent here.]

It's not the worst thing that could happen, right?

[It's temporary. It goes away after a while. And it's not like he's here for anyone, now. He's on his own. No one needs him around, really. Hell, even Denny can manage well enough without him.]

Still can't be fun.

[Mmmm. This is sitting weird with Michael. Why not try to deal with an issue, instead of just letting yourself literally die every time it crops up? He'd press it more if Tim were a friend - he wouldn't stop pressing - but the guy's really more of an acquaintance. Should he?]

And what if there's more to it? Are there...limits, problems if you die too much at a time, anything like that?

It doesn't matter.

[His shoulders hunch slightly, one hand creeping up to wrap around the opposite arm, squeeze at one of the bruises that now dapples the skin of his bicep.]

I don't...

[I don't care.]

[Michael pauses, looking over at Tim. Is he...

He's feeling very out of his depth all of a sudden.]

You're not hurt, are you...? I don't have healing powers, but I could find someone who did.

I've had worse.

[Broken leg, for one. Coughing up great red gobbets of blood, for another. All things considered, when he matches this little experience against the last time this happened and he ended up with a broken arm and something that might've been a concussion, he got off easy.]

Nothing serious.

[Michael casts Tim a frankly doubtful look. But he knows he didn't hurt him all that badly, so...maybe it really is fine.]

You want something to eat?

...probably shouldn't eat right now.

[He already feels like he's gonna throw up. Best not to risk it. And, hey, at least Michael isn't asking him about his well-being anymore. That's always nice.]

Well, take as much time as you need. Not like I have anything going on. You wanna listen to some tunes or something...?

[Michael is still concerned about Tim's well-being! Just. Clumsily.]

Uh...tunes?

[You have an iPod, bro? You have music?]

Well, we weren't generally permitted to just listen to music for fun, but I've got some stuff from my last work project!

[He swipes up his holographic screen out of thin air again, paging through a few screens. All of it is in indecipherable runes.]

Ariana Grande?

Doesn't...sound familiar. But my memory's not, uh...great.

[As evidenced. Besides, he's from 2014. Not that Grande wasn't big by then, but he also spent most of the last five years losing his memories and then later living on the road, which wasn't great for familiarizing yourself with pop culture.]

[Michael, who doesn't seem to feel much of anything about Ariana Grande at all, selects a song at random.]

I guess she's okay? Jason had a weird crush on her, and Eleanor called Chidi by her name half the time, so this was a pretty multipurpose choice for me.

I, uh, don't know who any of those people are.

[He sounds more than a little apologetic at that, but even despite the ringing in his ears, he leans forward to listen.]

[He doesn't have any particular taste, other than a general liking for music, so he doesn't mind it - the sound of it, the beat, the words. It's the musicality and instrumentation that always draws his ear first.]

[He'll have to give this stuff a listen when he's not feeling sick and like he was just beaten within an inch of his life.]

Friends from home.

[Oh, maybe he shouldn't ramble at length about people no one knows? He just wants to talk about them constantly.

Michael goes to take a seat, still casting curious glances at Tim. Is he really okay? Surely he can't be. Leaning on the table, his gaze falls on the confiscated mask.]

You gonna want this weird thing back? [He holds it up.]

Oh.

[As always, any sort of reply feels insufficient. Unwanted. He's not great at this, but he'd be less terrible at it if it were coming off the wake of something less significantly awkward. Does he want the mask back? Not really. Should he have it back anyway?]

[Yeah. He probably should. Tim grimaces, folding his arms around his chest.]

Not really. But I should probably take it back anyway.

...are you sure? I could throw it in the ocean. That's what I do with everything else I don't want, it's sort of fun.

It'd get another one.

[He shrugs, like he's just talking about his other, dissociative self picking up groceries and not getting its hands on mask after mask, probably provided by a friend in low places.]

[Michael shrugs and leans forward to hand it over.]

Creepy thing of it to do.

And somehow the least harmless.

[He grimaces at the thing as he takes it in his hands, staring at the impassive features. He carved this one himself. Just because he knew that, if he didn't, things might get worse. It wouldn't be happy. He just...knows that it wouldn't.]

Thanks. For...keeping me down and out.

[Not for untying him, no. For tying him up in the first place.]

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cw: suicide ideation

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