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

"Well... before the last world I got pulled into, I was human. The horns and everything happened while--"

Ah. Right. He can't be too surprised that Faust would ask about that; the pattern of bruises created by Epsilon's vines is bound to look different from those that would be left by a pair of hands, or friction from a rope. But that doesn't make answering an any more comfortable prospect.

That discomfort flickers over his face, his brow creasing for a moment. "No, it... happened during the conflict."

He doubts he needs to specify which conflict he's referring to.

The mention of a 'last world' immediately piques Faust's curiosity. If young Ginko was human before...where in the dreamscape could they have gone to have received such extensive and remarkably bizarre - even by Faust's standards - mutations? And what is the risk of any of the other islanders being pulled there instead? Or having been pulled FROM there? Could it be that-?

"...ah, I see. Wait, then...oh. I'm sorry, that must have been awful...are you feeling okay?"

It's been a while since he's had to indulge in the more emotional side of a patient's health, but he has the sneaking suspicion he'll need to shake off any rust he's accumulated extremely fast.
Perhaps Ginko will notice the slight creak of the bed as a familiar bag-adorned familiar awkwardly walks between the dunes of the sheets, offering out a coconut cookie with a sympathetic look in their face. If they had a face. Or the ability to change their bag's expression.

"I'm fine. Barely hurts at this point." That part's entirely true. The damage to his throat doesn't seem to have been too bad, and, so far, he hasn't noticed any sign that the lack of oxygen caused any long-term damage.

He glances downward toward the sound, and smiles briefly despite himself. "...Thanks. Alright if I take that later?"

Kind of hard to eat cookies during a medical check.

"...I was not talking about your physical injuries, young Ginko."

He's not going to be asking for explicit details on his fellow employee's current mental state, but it's his responsibility as Ginko's doctor to ensure they are in adequate health - body, mind, and soul.
Regardless, Faust knows he isn't going to be getting much else out of his patient's marred skin, so he'll step back to give Ginko some breathing room and produce his still half-full cup of herbal tea from his suit.

"If someone I was acquainted with suddenly stopped recognising me, and then proceeded to try and harm me...I would be rather shaken by the whole ordeal, if I'm being perfectly honest."

Faust sips from his cup as he monitors his patient's reaction, ready to ascertain if his preliminary diagnosis holds any water. He'll politely ignore his familiar as they deposit the cookie in Ginko's lap, giving them one last empathetic look before rapidly scuttling away to goodness knows where. He should really keep a better eye on them - he still has no idea where they got that stick from.

Dammit. Of course it wouldn't be that easy.

"It's not as if he was acting fully of his own volition." As far as he's concerned, there's no reason to let himself be shaken up by Epsilon's attacking him. "If anything, I'm more worried about how he's taking it."

Of course, that issue would be more likely to be avoidable if Ginko had been able to get through to him. But he couldn't. He doesn't even know if it would have been possible, given the state Epsilon was in.

...He's just going to go ahead and eat that cookie now, actually.

...this is starting to sound suspiciously like deflection, though given the current circumstances - and Ginko's completely acceptable choice to not use any names - it's hard to be certain. Evidently it's somebody they're familiar with, at any rate.
Wait. Could it also be someone Faust himself is familiar with as well? Come to think of it, Ginko's not the only employee he's failed to perform a more detailed background check on, and there are others similar to the half-troll actively working within the clinics walls...and there's one such individual fitting that description who hasn't been coming into work since the event kicked off, and that's...!

"...that's completely understandable. If you don't mind me asking, Ginko, were you able to ensure their safe return? Or...do, do they..."

...do they still need rescuing? Has one Yukio Okumura been abandoned upon that godforsaken isle, left to die with memories that are not their own? No. No, Ginko wouldn't withhold important information like this - they may very well have not even tried to return to work if they weren't certain their fellow employee was safe...but then, who? Who hurt his fellow compatriot, his fellow medical worker, his...

...his friend...?

Epsilon knew where Ginko was the same way he always knew: the plantlife of the island kept track of the troll for him, and the grasses and trees were always happy to point the way.

So to speak, of course. No literal pointing was required.

He follows the sound of voices inside, and that's where he's caught by surprise. The packed-earth walls are deceptive; the frequency with which medical supplies of metal and glass means Epsilon is somewhat unprepared for the wooden furnishings within. It's a familiar, unpleasant form of shock--always reminiscent of a hundred other unpleasant surprises, from the hundreds of robot bodies beneath the earth to the festive grotesquery of the yule party.

Ginko isn't looking his way. That's probably for the better--he knows his expression is hollow and heavy, a level look that draws a fine line between woeful and baleful.

He trusts Ginko doesn't hold this against him, as this is not the first time, but...

Still, he'd sooner give the Troll a little space. Just because he came to see Ginko doesn't mean he wants to press him.

Instead, he extends one woody tendril; the vine touches the bag-headed man's arm and starts to wind up towards his shoulder.

The good doctor's eyehole narrows in response to the tiny, gentle sensation pressing against his arm, and he instinctively uses his free hand to try and assist Mini in their attempts to return to his shoulder, still nodding at Ginko in acknowledgement as the half-troll continues to talk. But as it turns out, Mini has as bit more of a distinct shape than Faust's hand finds, and his curiosity demands he turn and gaze at it proper and oh GOOD GRIEF WHAT IS THAT WHY IS IT CONSTRICTING HIM OH-

"-!!! WHAT THE-?!?!?!"

Faust's eyeball bounces out from his eyehole with force that could rival that of a bullet, and in one flurry of almost liquid-like motions, his cup is swapped out for the scalpel from earlier, and he makes a clean swing for the vines! And yet, inexplicably, the scalpel pings off of the aggressive fauna as if it's made of titanium, sending the implement hurtling to the floor on the opposite side of the room...!
Naturally, the good doctor makes his thoughts known on the matter:

"-WH-WH, HOW...?!"

At his wits end, he slams the devils horns into the offending tendril and surges as much ki as he can muster into it, creating a very audible sizzling noise that echoes throughout the room, akin to sausages upon a heated grill. Subconsciously, Faust pleads with whatever deities that will hear him: Please let this work...!

Ginko doesn't notice the vine snaking up Faust's arm until the moment Faust reacts. He jolts to look up at him - then he leaps to his feet, wide-eyed.

"--Faust, don't!" Shouting with his throat in its current state, even after having a few days to heal, probably isn't a fantastic idea, but. He'd rather this not fall apart as badly as it might be about to.

The reaction in the wood is immediate. Rather than exploding, the wood splits along the circuitlike lines, opening up like a fault in the earth and with a smell exactly like hot eucalyptus.

Epsilon doesn't make a sound, but his vine retracts with a speed that almost renders it invisible, just for a second--his features run through expressions almost as quickly. Alarm is replaced by confusion and pain, panic and something that might be anger but is truthfully just the question of whether he needs to defend himself.

These are seconds, instants in time, responded to instantaneously as Epsilon's AI-like perception and processing updates the situation every quarter-tick of the second hand. By the time he's holding his own vine against his chest, delicately clawed hands clutching the steaming fissures, he mostly just looks frightened for Faust.

"I'm sorry! I didn't realise I was going to scare you."

He speaks with a distinct Australian accent and an apologetic tone.

Yes! YES! Thank you, merciful deity of the dreamscape! With a renewed sense of hope and his fighting spirit reignited, Faust leaps back from the doorway and reaches into the eldritch unknown within his coat, grasping for his giant weapon! He may not be able to cut through the creature's foul bindings, but his weapon of choice was specifically built to channel his ki! Without enough focus, he'll be able to slice right through their tainted mass and-!

"...wuh?"

-and there is an anthropomorphic plant inside the clinic. A very alarmed, concerned-looking anthropomorphic plant, gently cradling their freshly-singed tendrils. Ginko is on his feet, the half-troll's voice hoarse to his patented doctoral hearing, and they're staring at him like...like he just...
Oh. Ooooh no.
He's done it again, hasn't he?

"...a-ah, that...that's perfectly alright! No...no harm done...ahahaha..."

Faust all but wrenches his eyehole away from the plantoid and pulls his cup back out, hurriedly drinking the remainder of the contents down to buy himself enough time to conjure up a vaguely appropriate response to...all of this. Maybe if he chugs his tea down hard enough, he'll choke on it and save himself from the shame of the unprofessional display he just put on.

Well, nobody is dead or dismembered, and only one person is hurt, so Ginko supposes he should be grateful for that.

And at least Epsilon probably doesn't have to keep wondering whether Ginko needs space from him after what happened. The instant Faust disengages, Ginko is on his way to Epsilon's side. He'll just... deal with this while Faust is busy trying to drink his shame away, then they can sort this out. "Let me see - how deep is it?"

He's so taken aback by the bag-headed giant's reaction to his apology that he ends up with the conclusion that the best reply is not to speak to him again.

In context, it's easy to do. As relieved as Epsilon would like to be about the speed with which Ginko responds, he's extremely unenthusiastic about its cause--not to mention the sight of just how deeply these same vines bruised Ginko's throat just days ago.

His grip on the steaming vine tightens, his fingers pressing into the still-hot splits in its wood.

Which turn out to be a few inches deep, and wet with sap and oils.

"I'm not sure--but Ginko, your neck."

Faust almost doesn't notice the interactions happening between Ginko and this peculiar newcomer, but his cup is depleted of its herbal deliciousness far too quickly for his liking, and...honestly? He's quite surprised with the familiarity these two are showing one another, sincere concern bared so freely that the good doctor begins to worry if he's now audience to the kind of intimacy that he absolutely should not be audience to. Perhaps he should...give them some privacy.
He'll politely turn away and start to silently shuffle away from the two, eyehole carefully scanning the room for Mini, just in case he has to intercept any of the familiar's attempts at mischief.

"Hey-- don't do that, you might make it worse." He sets his hands on Epsilon's, aiming to pull his fingers gently away from the splits in the vine, or at least loosen his grip. And he is very gentle about it; he knows Epsilon isn't quite so fragile as he looks, but his hands in particular always seem so small and delicate next to Ginko's own. Especially considering his own inhuman strength, he feels like he's got to be careful.

He can't fully ignore Epsilon's comment, though, can he. Shit. He glances up at him and manages a small smile as he examines the fissures in his vine. "It's already healing. I'm alright."

...Of course, that's only going to be so convincing when his voice is still hoarse and the bruises are still visible and Epsilon is still Epsilon. They'll need to talk about it in more depth later, that much is for sure - but not while Ginko is looking over Epsilon's much fresher injury. And just pushing the topic back to that probably won't work very well.

One of his ears flicks at the sound of movement, and he turns to see Faust apparently trying to sneak off. Ah, perfect. That should be cleared up anyway - properly, not just with Faust stumbling over himself and then trying to leave the room.

"Uh-- Faust, this is Epsilon. He's a friend from that last world I mentioned."

Epsilon's frown leaves deep furrows in the bark around his mouth and eyes, a strange visual effect--he knows exactly what Ginko is doing because he would also rather not focus on his own injury. Although he certainly understands Ginko's motive is a bit different, there is an equal argument that the shared nature of its origin means Ginko's injuries are much more Epsilon's business than his own is Ginko's.

It may be for the better that Ginko diverts the topic back to Faust's presence, or the two of them would no doubt have their hands all over each other, arguing about whose injury demands more attention right now.

His frown fades and the corners of his mouth rise into a faint, thin, sad smile. His long lashes make it hard to tell if it reaches his eyes.

"I'm sorry about the surprise. We're all on edge, perhaps."

Ah, it appears he has been busted. Looks like his time is up, and he must now face the music.
Narrowly avoiding tripping up on the errant scalpel from earlier, Faust turns to properly address Ginko's compatriot, fixing his tie and straightening his stance until the top of his bag hits the ceiling. Make eye contact, and whatever you do, do not look at the tendrils, Faust...

"Pardon me for my earlier outburst, young Epsilon. I am Doctor Faust - I'm the deputy medical director here at the clinic, as well as..."

A physician? A surgeon? A cleric? He's many things, but perhaps after all that's happened, what he should really be introducing himself as is-

"-Ginko's friend. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. Could I offer you something for...the, uhm, burning?"

He's too busy internally cringing at his awkward attempts at salvaging this to really acknowledge the fact he just openly declared his friendship with the young half-troll, especially considering what Ginko evidently considers as proof of friendship. Better to not think about that for now. Definitely.

So far, so good. Ginko's ears give a faint, surprised flick at being outright referred to as Faust's friend. It's not an unpleasant surprise, but he rarely expects people to consider him a friend at all - particularly not after as short a time as he's known Faust. One of those things that he half-expects he should have gotten used to by now, and yet.

It doesn't hurt that Faust conveniently put attention back on what Ginko is most concerned with here. He realizes that his hand is still on Epsilon's, and quickly releases his grip in favor of turning to look at that vine again. "I don't think we've got burn ointment here that would help wood much - but there might be something to be done. As long as you don't keep touching it."

"It doesn't hurt much, actually." Epsilon manages to sound apologetic for that, which he is. Both his role in... uh, setting things off and for not feeling pain in the way a human would. Not to mention the trouble his newly damaged vine presents them, medically.

"It wouldn't really make sense for a robot to be debilitated by damage." Which is why Ginko's injuries are more concerning, by the way. He catches the troll's tiny gesture of surprise, but doesn't comment on it out of courtesy.

"But thank you for the apology..." He lets go of the vine, but the end of it coils around his forearm instead, ending at his wrist. "... and if its any consolation, it may heal on its own, given time. Trees are surprisingly resilient."

Hold up.

"...forgive me for intruding, but...you're a synthetic, young Epsilon?"

There are absolutely far more important things to be worrying about right now, and yet the one detail he focuses in on is Epsilon's apparent robotic nature...despite literally looking like he stepped right out of a fey realm. Come to think of it, such a comparison wouldn't be wholly uncalled for regarding Ginko, either...
Wait. This Epsilon fellow is Ginko's 'friend from the last world'...then...his injuries, the plant tendrils...!
Regardless of what kind of answer he receives to his inquiry, the good doctor is left effectively gawking beneath his bag from the realisation of just who he is talking to. To say Ginko's reluctance to talk about this was completely justified feels like an understatement, at this point.

"Doesn't mean we shouldn't do something about it if we can," Ginko gripes quietly. But at least Epsilon has stopped touching the split; that'll have to be good enough for the moment.

Besides, he doesn't want to interrupt right now, given what Faust just asked. He tucks his hands into his pockets and watches Epsilon quietly.

".... please, just Epsilon. 'Young' would imply I age, which I do not. Not in that way, at any rate." He smiles, faintly. Possibly ruefully; possibly just with a touch of self-awareness. As with many of his expressions, this smile is ambiguous, which is... not an accident.

However--

"I think I would qualify as 'a synthetic,' yes. Or I did. I'm more the exact opposite now."

There's a dry undertone.

Yes, he's a robot. Yes, he's a tree. Yes, he has a sense of humour.

...not only is Faust's question effectively left unanswered, but he is now burdened with even more questions about this...organic...synthetic...person. A particularly snarky part of the good doctor's brain cannot resist pointing out that the complete ambiguity of Epsilon's 'answer' may as well be a perfect antithesis to Legion's almost obsessive amount of flat honesty.
Regardless, the sheer vagueness of the current situation grasps Faust with such an intensity that even the very bag upon his head scrunches up in bafflement, betraying his real facial expression underneath.

"...I'll spare you the details: I am capable of healing magic, but it only works on organic material. If you are suggesting you are a hybrid of sorts, I fear I genuinely do not know how effective my abilities would be - if at all."

Considering the tendril's reaction to his more invasive form of ki infusion, it's very likely the reaction will be subdued enough to be rendered borderline useless. Or worse, it may bungle up Epsilon's sensitive systems and cause unpredictable amounts of damage.
In summary - it's not worth it. Doctor's professional opinion.

Well, technically, he did answer. He was synthetic, and now he's very much organic. Really, it's exactly the kind of fully accurate but potentially frustratingly ambiguous answer Faust should probably get used to if he plans to hang around Epsilon or Ginko.

So far as he knows, Epsilon is entirely organic now - but that's not really his to answer. So, instead, he just adds, "If you aren't sure, we might want to err on the side of caution. Just keeping the split part of the vine bound together should help if we can't do anything else."

Yes, he knows Epsilon already said it may heal on his own. No, he does not want to risk leaving it totally untreated.

Epsilon had thought he was being clear, and truthfully, he is still certain of that fact. Humans miss things in ways that robots don't, however, and this isn't the first time he's used less direct language (less blunt, less "robotic") and been misinterpreted due to some mistake of attention on the other person's part.

"I'm organic material," Epsilon repeats patiently. "At one time I was what you would call 'a synthetic' and what I would call a robot, but my material composition was replaced completely months ago. There is very little difference to it except that my AI can no longer be accessed or altered and memory is no longer stored on a removable drive." He pauses.

"If your magic works on trees, it should work on me. But I'd rather you not try."

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I really need an icon of this face, but I'm too tired to get it off his old account

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