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

[Wash is hardly in any position to dig in his heels. He's having enough trouble drawing breath, let alone struggling against being steered along to wherever Church wants him to go.]

It hurts.

[He tries to gesture at his throat, as if that might communicate that the act of breathing itself hurts, but then another subsequent spike of pain arrests him mid-thought.]

Oh. Shit. Uh.

[He's pretty sure he didn't shoot Wash in the throat, but who knows what happens when one gets resurrected on craphole island? He settles Wash down to the ground and hooks his hands under the helmet.]

Gonna take this off, we'll see what's going on.

[He's not a doctor oh god but he knows a doctor maybe he should get on the stones that are no longer stones necessarily and...call Faust? He eases the helmet off, trying very, very hard to clear the image of what was left when he last...saw Wash, alive or dead.]

You get hurt, uh, after waking up? Breathe anything weird? [Would he even know in this state?]

No...no, I was fine. I was fine.

[He fumbles with the catches on the helmet, thumbing at the release and then slowly, carefully, pulling it off.]

[He looks fine. The visible part of his neck looks fine. There's no evidence of any kind of injury that would have been induced by emptying an entire magazine into another man's face. He looks, physically, fine.]

You weren't. You weren't fine. Wash, you weren't fucking fine. This is fine! You're fine now, just--

You don't...you don't remember things right now.

Just breathe. Do you...have any reaction if I talk about heretics on an island or people coming from the water? None of that rings a bell? Have you heard any weird sirens or seen any flashing lights?

No. I mean -

[People coming from the water. Why does that sound familiar?]

I haven't heard anything. I mean, I haven't been hearing things. Everything just doesn't line up. It's like... [Like all the pieces got jarred out of place, and he can't quite figure out where they're supposed to come together.]

Do you want me to get a doctor? An actual doctor, not Doc. Cuz if you die this time, it is not gonna be my fault.

Doc's not here.

[He says that with relative certainty. As certain as he can feel about anything, at the moment, which isn't very.]

Is...do we have a doctor?

Yes. We do. Here, in this place you don't remember with people you don't remember.

He's ridiculously tall, has a scalpel as big as I am, and wears a paper bag over his head with one eyehole.

So I mean...I know that sounds fake as hell.

...

[Give him a minute, here.]

No, I...I remember this place. I remember you. We had a word. A word that we used. I don't remember what it was, but we had it. Right?

Oh.

Zeta. The safeword. For when we talk about heavy shit we don't want to talk about.

So you...do remember some things?

Pieces. It's like it's not all there. Gaps. I don't remember...I woke up at the Temple.

[The Temple. Yeah, he knows that. He knows that there's a Temple. That it's important.]

I don't know why.

Cuz you died.

[Wait. No. Back that up.]

--you mean you don't know why your memory's busted. I mean, it...could be the same reason, I...you'd know how it works better than I do.

I'm not dead. I mean - unless -

[Oh god. Are they both dead? No. No, wait. They just established that they aren't dead. That he isn't.]

I'd...remember something like that.

You're not dead now, but you were. Presumably it's not like a me-based scenario, cuz you've told me several times this isn't an afterlife, so you sure probably aren't ghosty.

I'd remember if something like that happened.

[He doesn't sound angry, exactly, but that's definitely frustration leaching into his tone. And the more he tries to remember, the more his head starts to hurt.]

How'd it happen? How...would it have happened?

If I say zeta, cuz I don't wanna talk about it, is that cool, or should I talk about how it very much definitely happened?

[church]

This place fucks with heads sometimes. Maybe not specifically this island, but, I dunno, maybe this one, too. Just this general...world? Mmmmultiversal hub? Here.

[Zeta. It's an important word. He doesn't remember the context, or the surrounding conversation. Just that it's a word that matters in some indefinable way.]

And my head is...getting fucked. Is what you're saying.

[Well, it certainly feels like it.]

I thought it was already fucked.

...Oh. Man. I...wonder if it has anything to do with--

Shit. So. You got shot. In the head. Is what happened to you.

[He died, reportedly. Shot in the head. Reportedly. He just doesn't remember it, but if it was death, then, well - he wouldn't. Right?]

[None of this makes sense. Some parts stir little distant pieces of him, drawing memories closer to light. Others feel as empty and dead as a burnt-out light bulb.]

So I get shot in the head, and now I...what? I have selective amnesia?

I guess, I don't know.

Great. Thanks for that, you -

[There's a pressure around his throat again, and his vision snows out. All the sound seems to be vacuumed away, siphoned into nothing, until there's only silence mantled up around his ears. His heart throbs in his chest.]

[And then it's gone.]

[When the world comes back to him, he's on his hands and knees on the ground.]

[And a frantic Church.] --ting the doctor, okay, I'm gonna call Faust and I don't know what he'll do but it'll be more than me, just keep breathing, okay, and if you gotta puke try not doing it in the pool.

[The words cut through slowly. Mostly, he just feels his heart doing double-time - feels it more than he hears it, because there's a ringing in his ears he can't shake.]

[When the world finally stabilizes, he sits up enough to stare at Church blearily.]

Aren't you dead?

...Oh. My fucking god. It gave you short term memory loss. Fuck this.

What?

[He shakes his head a little more in an attempt to clear it. All it really succeeds in doing is making him dizzy.]

Seriously, what happened? Why're you here?

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