December Undercurrent: Opposing Viewpoints

[lifeaftr_mods]

DECEMBER UNDERCURRENT

Who: Everyone!
What: Oh, inverted world...
When: December 3rd to December 20th
Where: Everywhere!
Warnings: Nothing of note; please mark if anything comes up!

I Wish You Could See the Wicked Truth

The island of Monsun is known for the split down its middle, and how it tends to bring out people's best and worst sides, depending on which side you're on. Some might remember it from previous appearances, but if you've never been, you can read up on the island's details on our Locations page and get yourself caught up to speed! Just like with the previous month, the Water is taking it upon themself to summon the island to the archipelago. And just like with the previous month, this will entail some effects upon the local populace: you.

Given that Monsun hosts the avatar of Balance, don't be surprised if things start to get a little inverted, a little out of balance, a little flipped, a little turned upside down. What do we mean by that, exactly? Well, it can mean all sorts of things. And you get to pick how many of these inversions if any, are going to be affecting you and yours for the duration of the month, at least until Monsun surfaces...and how much each one affects you. Starting on December 3rd, adventurers may find themselves influenced by any of the effects listed below. You are free to vary the intensity and level of each, as well as how many end up being relevant to you. They can start as a slow build and ramp up gradually through the month, or emerge at full force right out the gate. You can be affected by multiple at once, or one every few days, and so on. The only limit is what you're willing to do!

[ ♆ ] Friendflipped: Do you have someone that you love in your life? Perhaps a best friend, a significant other, a member of your family? They might even be on the island with you. That just makes what's about to happen even more unfortunate, if that's the case, because all of a sudden, you're going to learn that you can't stand the sight of them. That's right: your best friends become your most hated foes. You'll find yourself positively despising those you would ordinarily get along with, all with a vicious, unchecked enthusiasm. Perhaps even more unfortunately, that goes the other way, too: your worst enemies are now your best friends.

[ ♆ ] Casual Obsession: One of the critical aspects of having any sort of hobby or preference is balance. It's always good to not go overboard! Which is why you might find yourself losing all inhibition. Your likes, dislikes, hobbies, desires, and so on will become utterly stripped of any balance the might have had. Do you have a mild sweet tooth? Well, now it's a full on sugar obsession. Do you dislike golf as a sport? Now you hate it with a fiery passion - and all those jerks who play golf, they can go to hell too!

[ ♆ ] One or Nothing: Most people will agree that emotional balance is something we should all strive for. That's about to get a lot more difficult. You might find yourself experiencing only one emotion for an extended amount of time, with only varying degrees of intensity to indicate any actual shift. Alternatively, you find yourself experiencing no emotions at all: a complete, deadened shutoff of any emotional instincts you have.

[ ♆ ] Skill Swap: Hobbies are one thing. But what about your personal skill-sets? Well, those are about to get some serious remodeling. Are you a talented musician? Now you can't read music, much less play it. Are you good in a fight? Not anymore, you're not! Now you can barely throw a punch without bowling yourself over. You'll find that your abilities have become seriously scrambled, to the point where you've lost any natural or trained skill you might have in certain areas. This can extend to magical knowledge, technological know-how, or even basic proclivities like stealth or how light you might be on your feet. The flip side of this is that you might find yourself preternaturally skilled in other areas that you've never so much as touched before. Maybe now you're a pro at climbing, or intensely good with social charisma and persuasion. In general, these swaps will work with a one-to-one ratio; one skill will suffer and another will be boosted as if in compensation, but you're welcome to experiment! Maybe you just want to make your character a completely useless loser for a few weeks. You're certainly free to do just that!

[ ♆ ] Interface Screw: In case it wasn't opposite day enough, you've also got the chance to have your personal orientation of the world completely reversed. By which we mean: left is right, right is left, up is down, down is up, and so on. This might manifest in varying ways. Maybe the sky looks like the sea, and the ground is so far above your head...and you feel like you're walking on thin air, even if to everyone else, the world appears more or less normal. Maybe this isn't even a purely perceptual thing as opposed to a literal one, and to everyone else, you're actually walking upside down. How this manifests is ultimately up to you, but you can interpret it as you like.

These effects will all die down by the time December 20th rolls around. Again, you can choose the rate at which this occurs, and whether it's a slow and steady decrease or a complete shut-off all at once. Either way, by the 20th, you'll all have been restored to whatever passes for your mental and emotional equilibriums, and Monsun will resurface on the archipelago!

But I Settle For a Ghost

Of course, there's a lot going on in the background as well. You're free to use this log as a catch-all for the duration of December's Undercurrent Event, as well as any of the other minor events listed on our Monthly Rundown post. You are very, very free to let your dreams about magical mistletoe and snowgoons become reality, and you are always free to create your own individual logs and posts as needed.

If you have any questions, please feel free to ask them over on the Questions header on our Monthly Rundown post!

December Timeline

[ ♆ ] December 1st: "Attack of the Deranged Mutant Killer Monster Snowgoons" begins and lasts until December 31st
[ ♆ ] December 3rd: "Opposing Viewpoints" begins and lasts until December 20th
[ ♆ ] December 10th: "Mistledon't" begins and lasts until December 22nd
[ ♆ ] December 20th: Monsun returns to the archipelago
[ ♆ ] December 21st: "Breath of Cold Air" begins and lasts until December 31st

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

York | OTA (using this post as an intro first; will add more prompts in a later comment!)

[infailtration]

arrival

[ York comes to slowly, something he hadn't expected to happen at all... he remembers the dream, but also what came before. The shots piercing his armor, the sensation of falling, the sting of biofoam in his chest, the coldness of his life slipping away. The regret, the worry for D. It's difficult to piece his thoughts together, but suddenly he's conscious and alert, sitting up in... where the hell? The bunny didn't say, did it? The Storyteller. Why is he having so much trouble thinking straight, he was just about to -- ]

D? D, come in. ... Delta?

[ But his mind feels empty. No, more like a hole's been ripped in it. Something hollow and raw left behind, and he remembers the talk of traumatic ejection, about what happens to the AI when an Agent dies. York's throat closes up and his chest seizes with grief, overwhelming and terrifying. He's alone in his head and it hurts like hell.

He forces himself to put the pieces back together, to parse his own memory. His story is about to begin anew. His story alone. Storytelling. Mana pools. And his story back home will be just as he left it which means... this is all he has. Stone ruins, offerings left behind dusted in snow. He can hear the wind outside and forces himself up, still in armor. When he pulls his helmet off he can feel the cold, and forces himself forward out of the temple to see where he is. It occurs to him to call out, that there must be other people around, but isn't sure he'd make any sense if he tried to speak, his mind is so jumbled. Instead he just stands there, staring up at the sky, helmet dangling from his fingertips, and feels the icy flakes melting on his cheeks. That's all they are, really.

One thing at a time, he tells himself, D wouldn't want you to fall apart. He knew what he was doing.

Okay maybe it's not just melting snow on his face.

Then he catches movement in his peripheral vision, a figure off to his right, and glances over. He can't make much out through the snow and the blur of tears, but lifts a hand to wave. If that bunny was real and not a dream, this kind of thing must happen all the time. Hopefully this person will be friendly. And if they're not, well. He does still have both his guns, it seems. ]

Hey! [ His voice is rough, and he clears his throat and tries again. Keep it light, be you, don't fall apart. You've been through worse than this. Except that's a complete lie. ] Hey there, I could use a welcome wagon!

[motherfucking_ghost]

[Life on the islands is always weird. It seems especially so when you're a robot. There's a whole lotta survival, but he doesn't have to worry about a good chunk of it. Argue with gods? Sure, yeah. Argue with his...fffffriends? Cohabitants? That's just Blue Base but like...on steroids.

So what's another face around here to Church? Except. That's sure heavily familiar armor. Doesn't recognize the face or the color, so, maybe Freelancer, but definitely someone he doesn't know. No, he'd definitely know a voice like that.]

Guess that's me, then, huh. Welcome to the weirdo islands of fucking mystery and bullshit magic. Bunny give you the deets?

...I only ask cuz, used to be all the newbies arrived all at once, but now they just seem to trickle in whenever. It's a little weird. But not as weird as this entire place.

[uptightness]

[Events always do seem to be happening on the island, and while some might be amusing and others frustrating, it does tend to keep one on one's toes. Retired life had been hard for her, although perhaps less hard with the company that she had kept. If nothing else, she can turn to those memories, recalling how they had decided to see how Sarge's attack on gravity would go, and joining a band as a singer. She sucked, big time, but no one had said anything about it.

That had come to an end though with her arrival here, although she had met familiar faces, and the faces of those she would have never thought to see in the flesh and bone. Some had left, like CT, the Director (good riddance) and Maine, but others had come, herself included, with Wash being the constant staple.

One of the good things about this place is that one doesn't need to sit around and watch grown men act like idiots 24-7. It's both constant and changing, and may have helped to teach Carolina to lend a helping hand and not tug that hand down to claw higher. She had heard about these snow creatures, which explains her presence further away from the cottage, although she seems to have gotten off on the wrong foot. It had taken her double the time to get dressed in her armour, and even then, she had fumbled with some of the pieces, as if the knowledge refused to remain in her head.

It is sheer stubbornness and the inability to admit defeat that had set her out. She had been tripping over her own toes when she heard a voice, and she almost stumbled again, managing to catch herself at the last minute as her helmet turned towards it. Time may have paused then as that familiar coloured but completely different suit halted, standing there, as if to move would make the sight before her poof out of existence. All she can manage is his name, an odd tone to her voice.]

York?

[It is that half turn, and oops, she's lost her grip on her multi-tool, as it goes flying from her hand toward him.]

[counterblows]

[He's seen ghosts before.]

[He's seen ghosts in the shapes of old friends who weren't really there - who people couldn't see but he could. That was par for the course even before he was ripped violently from one world and deposited unceremoniously in another, but he'd like to think that he'd done the requisite work in ensuring that he wasn't splitting at the seams and seeing things that didn't exist on a good day.]

[There just aren't a lot of good days anymore.]

[Copper-colored armor, a familiar tone. Blink. Shake your head, Washington. Make sure this is real.]

[His own armor looks subtly different, a few marks advanced past the type he wore back in Freelancer, but there's probably no mistaking the yellow-on-gray patterning. And there's definitely no mistaking the voice, the way the word cracks in faint and fading astonishment:]

York?

[thermalwind]

[The man that walks out into the open is wearing armor too. His black hair is tied back into a braid that follows the curve of his white and red shoulder armor. He flicks it back over his back.]

Sorry, [His voice is deep and his ears come to dull points, matching the inhumanly oval shape of his pupils.] All our friendly people are busy, you get me.

[His smile is briefly there and gone again as he adds,] Might be better that way, I’ve been here a while and I know things you can believe or not. I’m Keith and this is Enso one of the islands in this pocket in time and space.

You remember any kind of dream?

[vagabone]

[Someone's there, yes! But someone who is only going to make things stranger, simply by existing. By moving without muscles, walking around without any skin... and yet somehow still having hair. And eyeballs. And a goatee.

And... a friendly smile? That's always a good sign. Just think of him as a very very skinny fellow, don't think about it too hard.]

Oh! I take it you just woke up in there?

Chip Abaroa | OTA

[demonpuppy]

Fresh Prince Joke Goes Here

Chip wakes up, and immediately knows that something is off. For one, their sense of magic has...shifted. Rather than detecting the inherent presence of magic of the world around them, they can instead feel the flow of its effects--and as well, the unique static that is given off by living. At first it's not so bad; weird, but interesting enough to keep their curiosity. But the constant pressure of it, like a slow and constant pressure, starts to lock their head into a painful vice.

They retreat further into the wild areas of Enso than they normally do, seeking some level of peace from the silent cacophany they're now burdened with. Chip sits with their back pressed against a large tree, their phoenix resting on a nearby branch and watching them with a concerned look (or, at least as concerned as a bird CAN look). Whatever they're mumbling under their breath is too soft to make out, but when anyone (or anything) gets close enough Chip's head snaps up, and they go from surprise to misery in record time.

"Go awaaaay..."

Calvin Ain't Got Nothin' On This

Eventually the shift of magical alignment becomes...at least less of a problem than before. Escaping the constant buzz around them is impossible, but they can filter it out a bit better now. Which means that typical small childing is back on the schedule, and with snow finding it's way to Enso that means only one thing!

...well, it means several things, but for now Chip is keeping themself busy by making a sizeable congregation of snowmen around the mountaintop temple. They ran out of carrots to turn into noses a while ago, but they've expanded out into palm frond mohawks and flower eyes, which they think is a much cooler look. But their work hasn't gone unnoticed, and several snowgoons of the more literal variety have started to insinuate themselves into this gathering. Chip hasn't quite cottoned on yet, but they're definitely giving some of them a funny look. They don't remember making that one...

flipped turned upside down :)

[postictal]

As far as Tim's concerned, it's a normal, ordinary day. Shit sucks, and the day is slightly less ordinary for the people that have been slipping out of his life and keep slipping out of his life - alone again, just like you never wanted to be - but feeling like shit is nothing new.

He treks out into the jungle for a reason, that reason being an excuse to get away from the yoke of his own grief that feels like it's soaked into the grain of the very fucking wood in every plank of that place. He's used to emptiness. Used to feeling alone, to being alone. It's fine. He just needs to suck it up and deal with it. He can do that, can't he?

Hence why he's out here. Combing through the undergrowth on the hunt for something he can use as an excuse. Sometimes the wild plants that grow out here are worth gathering. (Onions. Leeks. Chinese cabbage. Still remembers the names of all the things he found the day he uncovered the place that would become the site for Denny. Jack hadn't been the first to vanish, but Tim's memory of him is so hazy that he might as well have been. She'd been with them, then. Muffet.)

(A lot of things had been different, then.)

He picks up on someone muttering something or another, not far away. Straightens up, frowning, trying to figure where it's coming from. For half a second, he can't pick up on who he's looking for. Then his eyes settle on a familiar shape hunched against a tree, and -



The wave that breaks over him is abrupt and unmitigated. It's so complete that he has difficult recognizing the emotion; it clots behind his teeth like acid, has a taste like something molten and dripping down the back of his throat. It's impossible to ignore. It's nothing like the muted gray that's become of most of his thoughts these days, and it's because it stands out that it takes him entirely off guard, so he doesn't recognize the complete lack of a filter when he snarls out, apropos of nothing:

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

trip down to bel air

[yakyuuman]

The real Winter is coming, and that's when Jyushimatsu'd duality comes full force. His forever childlike side wants to play in the snow when it comes up, but his visceral hatred for the cold temperature prevents him from staying outside for too long of a time without at least getting some movement going. That's why, as he's wrapped up in a fur coat thankfully gifted to him by a inhabitant after he helped axing some wood, the absolute madman is running through the jungle to get some heat in his muscles. Would be best if he had some company, but everyone else seems busy with making sure they won't freeze to death.

He hears some noise coming from that large tree over there, and his shoes slide to a halt. All questions pop in his mind, but he just shakes them off and boldly steps over to the source, wanting to find his answer himself. Then he peers over the trunk and... finds a kid, huddled over and visibly suffering. He opens his mouth to say something, but he's soon told to go away.

"Why? You don't look so good! Are you injured?"

That wouldn't be a surprise since the jungle, just like most places in the island, are full of dangers a human can hardly withstand, let alone a small child.

Kiri | OTA

[mockiri]

( a: attack of the... bird child. with snow. there is snow here. )

[Kiri is wont to roam at the best of times - too much to see out there! - but she tries not to wander too far from the safer areas, mostly because she does not want to cause trouble for those looking after her. That changes when she catches sight of something curious and pale falling from the sky off in the distance. A child of more humid regions, while she might be tangentially aware of the existence of snow, the sight of it is... very new. Hence she scurries off to follow the sight, venturing into the regions now blanketed with the stuff.

Her first step into it is startled and squawking, scrambling back and shaking the slush off her foot. Curiosity draws her closer, first another step, then two. Then a hop. She kneels, sprawling her hands in the stuff. Before long... have you ever seen a crow in the snow? That's her, now. Rolling about, feet kicking, throwing chunks of snow into the air and trying to catch it with hands or beak. She's absolutely covered in the stuff and having the time of her life.

Come play with her!]


( b: mistle-NO )

[She doesn't need the berry effect to scare her- when Kiri is stuck beneath the boughs, any of them, she's startled, frightened, and too confused to know what's going on. Nothing's caught her or wrapped around her, so why can't she move? She wrestles and struggles against the unseen bindings, rolling about on the ground, feathers poofing out, trilling and shrieking for aid. Come help her before she hurts herself, poor thing.]


((pick a colour, or it will be RNG'd!))

A

[shatteredlenses]

[As much as Ignis would like to enjoy the snow at the moment, he is worried about how far it will come down and if he has the right kinds of materials to winterproof his garden. It's gotten chilly before, but it's not threatened this much cold since the sun died.

Of course, thoughts of preparation slip away from his mind when he hears the sound of someone having a great time playing in the snow. Ignis is unsure of who it is until Leo makes a soft half chirp, half purr sound that he's taken to making when Kiri is around.

As, that makes more sense.]

I hear a mighty big bird, but I wonder what she is doing.

[There is a soft amused sound in his voice as he speaks.]

Is the snow attacking her? Do we need to save her, Leo?

a

[yakyuuman]

[ He saw birds play in the snow before, but he knows the context here is much different because Kiri's not just a crow but a crow... person? It's funny to think about, but everything that inspires the slightest happiness affects him easily and, in need to scald his muscles so he won't freeze and get his hatred of cold reach his brain, he joins up with her.

Yes, an adult man rolling in the snow and flailing around and looking like he's having a blast. ]

Hahahaha! It's so fluffy! Hustle hustle!

B

[devilstongue]

Kiri!

[ Here, have a purple man trudging through the snow to help her. This is Molly's third winter, and it's somehow more annoying than any of the previous ones - mostly because the carnival had headed towards the warmer areas of the Empire when winter arrived so there was just the kind of 'decorative snow' to worry about - and there was no damn spiced cider on these islands to survive winter with.

Yet here he is, trying to save a baby bird. Like a damn parent or something. ]

What's wrong?

a.

[uptightness]

[She's in her armour today, as she tends towards wearing it when exploring and seeking information. Better safe than sorry, and it does help to regulate the temperature, so the cold doesn't bother her as it might if she were in her civilians. The light aqua cyan whatever you want to call it blue armour does stand out against the growing whiteness of the world, but she sees no need to be on too high of an alert. There's no threats immediately present, and she's keeping an eye on her surroundings.

Which is why she does pause, her forehead furrowing under her helmet as she sees... She's not entirely certain at first. Some flopping around, and she does take a few steps forward, only to pause. While Carolina had first thought someone might be in trouble, instead it appears that they are enjoying themselves...?]

A

[vagabone]

[Snow... fun fun snow. Screw acting his age, he's happy to join in, even with no gloves or boots to speak of. He can feel the cold perfectly fine--it just doesn't bother him. Playtime!!

He crouches near her and begins to make a snowball, not making a sound...]

a

[postictal]

[Tim almost assumes this is some kind of large species of bird he's never met before, native to the region maybe...but then it isn't. Although, at the same time, it kind of is? He watches the bird...person...kick up snow and roll around, and maybe it's because he's just so tired of ending up alone, but he ends up standing there and just watching for a minute.]

[Eventually, though, he speaks up.]

You good there, buddy?

b. pick your poison, I'll play along

[salutosinedelectat]

[ His making his trek to the mass of buildings from the islets, mostly thinking about the unpleasant chill and the most recent strange events. He's an ancient creature, he's seen a lot more than most humans could handle, and yet...it's been a strange couple of months.

His train of thought is interrupted by the thrilling and shrieking, causing him to stop. The last time he's heard that sound, he was handed a strange, long, fuzzy creature he did not want to deal with, so he's quite unsure about this. But the sounds are clearly made in distress, and it's well within his nature to try to help when possible.

When he does find her...he does not expect to see a little..bird...person. Rolling around on the ground, no less.

He's a few feet away, calling out in an uncertain tone.]

Hum--Hello. Are you alright?

Ignis Scientia | 2 OTA + 1 Closed

[shatteredlenses]

1.) Attack of the Deranged Mutant Killer Monster Snowgoons (Enso or Southern Nuidan, take your pick!), (Open)

[The moment that Nuidan returned, Ignis started to make plans to visit the island so he could check on the dried meat stores in the southern section. He'd had a big hand in stocking them, after all, and now that he's grown tired of the dragon meat Ardyn brought back--such lean meat can only be cooked so many ways--this seems like the perfect opportunity to leave some in the stores and then take some of what was left before to add much needed variety back into their diets.

Unfortunately, it he doesn't get very far in his quest before he is interrupted. Assaulted actually, if one is technical, and that assault has left him, Leilani and Leo taking cover behind an outcropping of rock. Near him is a pile of snowballs which he is adding to as Leo pushes more snow at him with his big paws. One snowball goes into the pile and the next then disappears into the Armiger.

Astrals, it's nice having that storage space back, even if it is limited.

Across the 'battlefield' the creature that started this whole thing lurks behind a mound of snow. Ignis hadn't even noticed the strange snowman until the snowball hit him and then it was too late to turn back. He's not completely out of his league, though. The snowman's head is just a little more lopsided that it was before thanks to a very well aimed snowball.

Care to join the fray?]


2.) A: Opposing Viewpoints: Skill Swap (Islet 1), (Closed to Ardyn)

[Ignis has both been looking forward to and dreading this moment. He's enjoyed warping the few times he's gotten to do it and had time to enjoy it, but that particular skill had never been easy for Noctis to share with them, so they made due without it for the most part. His Stormbound blades work a little like a warp in that they can pull him to a target, but there is no intangibility, and the skill is slower, easier to interrupt. Warping is much more useful all around.

Of course, both Noctis and Ardyn have a distinctive advantage over him when it comes to warping; they can see. They don't have to rely on sound to locate their target, then pray they don't miss completely.

There is going to be a lot of missing today and that, Ignis is not looking forward to.]

All right, so how shall I horribly embarrass myself to start with?


B: Opposing Viewpoints: Skill Swap (Various Locations), (Open)

[So the warp training had not gone quite as Ignis expected. Then again, neither he nor Ardyn had any reason to guess that the island had gone and swapped their skill levels when it came to warping. A few rather humorous incidents later, though, it was quite clear that it wasn't Ignis that needed training at the moment.

And he couldn't be more thrilled about it.

Ignis is well aware there is no way this is going to last and he will soon be back to embarrassingly low levels of warp skill, so he is taking as much advantage of it as possible. That is why, for the duration of the event, people may find him zipping by them, appearing and then disappearing again in the blink of an eye and the crackle of crystal. Behind him, poor Leo dashes around desperate to keep up, but also as confused as a tigerlily can be.

What is going on? Why is papa moving so fast? How is he suppose to keep him safe like this????]

1) - Enso

[suspecteverything]

[Jules just hangs back in mild amusement, watching Ignis fight to make enough snowballs. He hasn't had any issue with the snowgoons. Of course, that's primarily because of his abilities with fyre. He is a fyreblood after all. Eventually he speaks up, though perhaps not before Ignis gets pelted a few times.]

There are far easier ways you know.

Legion | OTA

[forwearemany]

A)

(They were minding their own business, gathering Juniper berries and rose hips and wintergreen on the island of Nuidan, when it happened: a snowball hit their back, right on the spine.

They whip around, but see nothing, hear nothing except what might be some kind of strange laughter.

They are unharmed. Analysis: this is likely some form of play.

After a moment, they scoop up a bit of small, and hurl a ball of their own in the direction of the laughter.

Soon enough, they and the snowgoons are embroiled in intense battle, hurling snowballs at rapid clip. Dare you brave this onslaught? Legion is perceptive and considerate, and will probably try to avoid hitting anyone who doesn't actively get involved. But the snowgoons probably don't care.)

B)

(Something is definitely wrong with Legion today.

They stagger, stumble awkwardly, and then promptly turn and veer right into a tree and fall on their ass.

Getting up proves ...difficult.

They lurch to one side, then the other, throw out their hands in an uncoordinated flail.

Their spatial orientation is compromised.

They run a diagnostic.

Their spatial orientation is ... not compromised?

They do not understand.

They cannot get up.)

B

[atailoftwoworlds]

[And as Legion is having problems trying to stand, there is a hand on their arm. Zidane has seen what is going on and has run to their side.] Whooooaaaaah - easy there! You okay?

tim wright | ota | i'll match your formatting

[postictal]

i. friendflipped ; i hate that you know you can make me feel so small

[He hasn't noticed that anything's amiss. He goes to Denny. He cleans the place up. He gets ready for the day. He acts the same way he always does, because no one else is here just yet. It hasn't occurred to him that anything might be...off in any particular way.]

[He feels the same as ever. Mostly tired. Devoid of much in the way of genuine emotional expression, because there's that thick foggy patina over just about everything in his head.]

[You might find him outside his place on islet four, whittling more utensils for Denny. Or on the beaches of Ensō, gathering miscellaneous branches and driftwood for that specific purpose. He won't seem terribly off to anyone else unless you approach him to say hello.]

[Take care, too. On the beach, at least, he's definitely armed with a hatchet.]

ii. one or nothing ; maybe we just need saving
cw: mild self-harm, self-loathing

[The fucked up thing is that he doesn't even realize that something's up in this regard, either. Mostly because, hey - being possessed with a genuine difficulty experiencing emotions is kind of Tim's default. Maybe a little bit more potent than usual, but...he just doesn't really connect as much as he should. You can find him in Ensō's jungles looking a bit more dead behind the eyes than usual, quite emotionally bereft.]

[Or you can find him at the opposite side of the spectrum.]

[Without any apparent warning, the utter nothingness sitting heavy in his chest burns away to make way for a crimson mist that fills his lungs and boils up through the wiring of his nerves until he can hardly think, hardly breathe for the way it clenches up his fists and seals his teeth into a perpetual, furious grind.]

[It's hard to breathe.]

[It's hard to do anything.]

[Fuck this place. Fuck this place and everything and everyone in it and everything that's transpired up until this point. Fuck the Storyteller. Fuck the island. Fuck every god, fuck every island, fuck everyone on these islands. Fuck Jay, for his stupidity and his blind persistence in chasing down the answers that could kill him. Fuck Alex for refusing to listen at any point in his goddamned life. Fuck Brian and Muffet and Ren and the twins and everyone else who's ever just up and left. And Chara, and Frisk - fuck them too, for promising him they'd come back and then leaving. Fuck Sans for putting them in a position to feel like they could slide out of reality. Fuck Ozuma, for dragging Tim through to some Castle like he could play footsoldier.]

[Fuck everyone and everything that ever, ever, ever led him to this point. And himself, too - can't forget that. Can't forget. Fuck the thing living in his head, fuck that emaciated monstrosity that stalks him in his sleep still, even now, and rips his mind apart piece by piece. And most of all, most of all, fuck this. Fuck this and fuck him, for thinking he could ever, ever have been anything besides what he is.]

[Tim isn't conscious of what he's doing until he feels the hot trickle down his knuckles, the sensation of tearing skin across the backs of his hands. His vision blurs with the intensity of it, reflexive, furious tears squeezing out from the corners of his eyes.]

[Beating the shit out of a tree isn't, historically, a very successful endeavor. But the adrenaline is really burning up in his head, rage like a gas fire swarming up at the back of his throat, and the urge to tear himself apart is overpowering. A scream rips its way out of his throat, unbidden.]

[He wants to grind the world into fucking dust. He wants to fucking shred it. He wants to break it all to fucking pieces.]

[The most he can do is wail on this tree, here, like that'll fix anything. It doesn't really make him feel better.]

[But he's only capable of feeling one thing, at the moment. Better doesn't get any part of that.]

iii. green mistletoe ; we get so close and then you pull yourself away

[It's like a bad joke. Again, there's no reason to believe that anything is amiss about any of this until someone actually walks up and says hi and gets to deal with Tim's already pre-existing compulsions to distort the truth ramped up to eleven. The longer the day goes on, the more pained his expression gets, and the more strenuously he tries to stretch the words into blatant, obvious untruths - so that people can maybe catch onto the fact that this is something that's being done to him.]

[He wasn't looking up when it happened, though. Doesn't think to consider that it might be mistletoe.]

[So right now, he's got no clue how to fix it.]

iv. wildcard ; don't pretend it's real

[if you want a closed starter or something more specific, just let me know! you can contact me over at arrpee or zero#8942 on discord if you need anything! i will match prose or brackets, so just tag with whatever's comfortable and i'll match you!]

ii

[atailoftwoworlds]

[There's a horrified gasp as Zidane witnesses what has just happened.] Tim!

[He doesn't know what caused Tim to be like that but oh gods, the older man has hurt himself. A lot. The good thing is that Zidane is generally good at putting emotions such as panic and fear aside if someone is in trouble. And he needs to do that right now if he wants to help his friend and calm him down. Quietly, Zidane goes up to Tim, touching his shoulder gently and speaking in a calm voice.] Hey, Tim. It's me. [And now that he gets a closer look at the man's hands.] Oh man, those look pretty terrible. C'mon, we should go and fix them up.

the drifter | ota | i'll match your format!

[hyperlit]

i. skill swap ; and if we're all just drifting by (you've got to pull yourself out)

[The Drifter seldom wastes time, most days. They have begun to establish a tentative sort of routine - a thing they never had prior to moving into the Knight's old abode and setting about keeping the place tidy for a return that may never come to pass. They clear detritus from the garden, ensure that the flowers are all growing well. They check in on the bees, and ensure that they are in good health and good number.]

[With those necessities squared away, they set off at a brisk jog along the islets and transport themself to Ensō, where they generally spend much of the day categorizing and studying the local flora and fauna. They check on natural food sources, make note of any dwindling populations of prey or predator animals, and in general try to take stock of the island's resources. There aren't very many left to do the work. It's useful, and it's something they can do continuously.]

[They're used to being slowed by their inability to chain-dash as frequently as they'd like, but at least it's still something of which they've always been capable. Nearly always, in any case.]

[Not so now.]

[The Drifter's first attempt to go sprinting out across the sands causes them to topple and slam face-first into the ground.]

[This is, already, not going well. They pick themself up slowly, swaying to their feet unevenly. It takes them a moment longer to realign themself than it would ordinarily; they blink and shake their head firmly, the sole sign that they're at all taken aback by this. Then, almost experimentally, they try and dash forward again.]

[This time, it's a loss of reflex that halts them. They crash into the trunk of a tree with considerably less force than they're used to and rolls end over end in the dust. Again, they get to their feet.]

[They have their sprite run a quick diagnostic. It responds easily. The issue isn't there...]

[The Drifter tests each of their limbs in turn: placing weight on each leg, bending each knee, rolling their shoulders, drawing their fingers in and out of fists. The pain that sits in the frayed webbing of their nerves is all-encompassing and unending, but it always has been. It doesn't feel especially different from the chronic ache that has defined their existence for so long, now.]

[So what's wrong with them? What, aside from the usual, is wrong with them?]

[The Drifter tries to run several times over, and each time it ends catastrophically wrong. They slam into boulders, trip over roots, go rolling into the grass. They possess none of their usual grace and agility and finesse.]

[And, worst of all, they can't seem to figure out why.]

ii. attack of the snowgoons ; face to the sky (you’re gonna burn yourself out)

[The problem here is that the Drifter really only has the one combat strategy, and that strategy entails being faster and nimbler than their opponent. They cannot take hits. They cannot afford to slip up. They do so, and they're dead. They're unused to acclimating to any other kind of strategy. They've simply never had to.]

[Gone is their preternatural speed. No longer can they chain dashes. Their ability to aim a gun, their skill in swinging a sword - that all seems untouched and well and good. But their agility, their speed, those capabilities they have always leaned heavily on to make it through any combat situation...those are gone, seemingly up and vanished overnight.]

[This hasn't stopped the Drifter from trying to fight the snowgoons menacing the mountaintop temple on Ensō anyway. They've learned that their deftness with the blade hasn't suffered, and what's more is that they seem to have gained an additional function that they most certainly never boasted before now:]

[The ability to throw their sword with devastating accuracy. It boomerangs easily back to them, cutting a wide, spinning arc through the air with a deadly hum. Almost without thinking, the Drifter hurls their blade at a trio of snowbeasts that go lurching through the ice for them. The blade whizzes through each of them, separating heads from two and bisecting the third.]

[For once, the Drifter cannot fight in close quarters. They fight at a distance. As long as they don't try to run and dodge as they usually do, this almost even seems like it could work.]

[It's hard to keep up with the waves of the things, though - especially since the Drifter has no way to run anywhere with very much efficiency. And the more snowgoons there are, the closer they draw, and the harder the Drifter has to work to keep them at bay.]

[If they keep at this too long without aid, they may very well get to be overwhelmed.]

iii. white mistletoe ; (you can't stop yourself from being you)

[They didn't notice the mistletoe suspended in the branches of the tree far above their head. And even if they did - why would they think anything of it? It's not a cultural phenomenon they've ever encountered before. It simply does not occur to them that it should be something they would have to be concerned over.]

[Only now it feels as though everything is too loud and too present and too immediate - like there are things watching them, stalking their every step. A crack of a twig nearby, and the Drifter whirls around with their blade out, their dark eyes wide and glistening. A breeze through the leaves, and their gun is out, pointed at the offending sound.]

[They're shaking. Subtly, but they're shaking.]

[What's out there?]

[Something is. Something has to be.]

[Something is watching them. Someone? Something. Judgement?]

[It's not nearby. It's not nearby. They can't feel it and they always feel it but it never takes its time like this - it is always brutal in its immediacy and it does not hesitate.]

[But something is.]

[Something is.]

[Where is it? Why hasn't it made its move?]

[What's after them?]

iv. wildcard ; and please don't go, drifter

[if you want a closed starter or something more specific, just let me know! you can contact me over at arrpee or zero#8942 on discord if you need anything! i will match prose or brackets, so just tag with whatever's comfortable and i'll match you!]

iii.

[yakyuuman]

[ Maybe he shouldn't have come up to them so suddenly, announcing himself loudly as his usual. He still doesn't know Drifter well, but he feels some kind of trust going on between them thanks to Ichimatsu. However, he didn't expect them to suddenly flash their blade at him, like he's a creeper or... worse. Actually, there's nothing worse than creepers? Except lorbies, probably. Nah, lorbies are definitely worse. ]

Uwah! Sorry?! I'm not gonna fight you or anything, I just wanted to say hi!

[ He flails, agitating his long sleeves. At least it's a good scalding exercise for his chill muscles. ]

agent washington | ota | i'll match your formatting!

[counterblows]

i. friendflipped ; and i loved how the sky burned (so good now we slip apart)

[Every day starts the same, more or less. Get up. Scratch Ami beneath the chin, armor up, do a weapons check, do a general systems check with his busted H.U.D. and what parts of his incredibly battered tech still work, and then start patrolling. He's a guy in space armor walking around with a battle rifle and a sense of purpose that has to do with how often he tends to patrol the islets and also the perimeter of Ensō in general.]

[He probably won't notice anything's amiss unless he runs into someone he knows. At which point...well, he tends to get along with almost everyone here, so he'll probably turn hostile pretty quick. Unless he doesn't know you. Then you might be safe.]

[But when he's packing a very large gun, are you really going to risk that?]

ii. interface screw ; all good now (i can't tell me and you apart)

Woah - shit!

[If you're on Nuidan - namely the snowy, southern part of it - you might hear Wash before you see him. He's on the edge of one of the island's southernmost cliffs that declines sharply into the frothing sea, one arm outstretched for balance. He's been turned around all day, and now he's found himself walked up to the edge of a long fucking drop into icy cold water that he'd really rather avoid.]

[It's the same place he was caught on when he was - the last time that - ]

[He shouldn't think about that. About Maine. About telling C.T. that he was on Sidewinder. About his failure to drag her out of the ocean. About any of it.]

[Right now he should focus on getting away from this sheer drop. If only he had any faith, any faith at all, in his ability to do so. He's focusing hard on how to move forward instead of back, because muscle memory is a hell of a thing, and his internal sense of direction is basically all the way inverted. However the hell that happened.]

[So he's not going to move until he's absolutely certain that he won't be going over the edge.]

iii. breath of cold air ; my lines get crossed and you wanna die off

[He didn't really set out to make visits to Nuidan a regular thing, after the kinds of experiences he's had here. (One experience.) All the same, there's something that clearly needs doing here, and he's not about to ignore that. If he were any good at controlled burns, or if he had a flamethrower, he might be a shade handier in this struggle, but he's not and he doesn't.]

[Doesn't mean he's useless, though. Wash has an incredibly precise aim, even with a medium-to-short-range weapon like a battle rifle. Watch closely, and in between one heartbeat and the next, he'll have taken off a snowgoon's head with a rattle of burstfire. If a snowgoon gets too close, he's equally quick to draw a knife or his sidearm and make short work of it before getting back to cutting the things down at a distance.]

iv. yellow mistletoe ; disintegrate and fall apart

[Wash has just finished de-armoring so he can stack his equipment up by the nearest mana pool on Ensō, leaving it to charge, when he crosses under a spot of mistletoe that he doesn't notice. The change is like a building charge; small and almost negligible at first, until he realizes he can taste the hard, coppery tang of some indefinable rage in the back of his throat. He's not unarmed - he's never unarmed - but he's not in armor and suddenly it's very apparent to him that he should be. He can't be, because it's charging goddamn it, but he should be, because right now he's certain that he's going to need to beat the shit out of something any minute now.]

[Any. Minute now.]

[His hands flex, closing into fists, fingers unclenching and clenching rapidly. Without the protective shell of his armor, he's painfully vulnerable. But - god, he needs to hit something. He needs to shoot something. He needs to - ]

[Absently, Wash rolls one of his throwing knives between his fingers. Tosses it up, catches it by the handle. Tosses it again, catches it by the blade.]

[The pressure to lash out at something, anything, is growing impossible to ignore.]

[Approach with caution.]

v. wildcard ; so just take the best of all the pieces and the reasons you're gone

[if you want a closed starter or something more specific, just let me know! you can contact me over at arrpee or zero#8942 on discord if you need anything! i will match prose or brackets, so just tag with whatever's comfortable and i'll match you!]

i.

[uptightness]

[It's like she has two-left feet, which hadn't been that noticable in the beginning, but as time had progressed, it had been annoying as hell. Carolina can't even count the number of times that she has tripped, or the bruises that she has from taking a corner too sharply, or how she has dropped her knife, pretty close to her feet. Some of it she could chalk up to being distracted, but not all of it. It is like she is a Rookie who just got pushed through because they needed the numbers.

It's not like in armour is any better than out of armour, but at least the bumps aren't as hard... It is why she is in her own, exploring again, although aside from snow and those enjoying the snow, she hasn't met anything out of the ordinary. Not that it stops her. She'd been done for the time being, planning on returning back to the cottage to change, when there is a familiar armoured body on one of the islets. She shifts her course, stumbling over her own feet, although this time she does keep from falling on her face. That had been embarrassing.

It's not like Carolina thinks anything about the gun. Why would she?]

yasha / ota

[barberian]

do you want to build a (southern nuidan)
(Making a snowman in this climate is especially easy because there is a lot of inspiration walking all over the place. Yasha hasn't seen anything like the snowgoons before, but she's got a healthy distance between herself and them and either they have noticed her yet, or they don't care that she's there at all. Even if they do she's got the Judge fastened, as always, to her back. Yasha has put her wooly hat on its handle.

She's scooping snow up with her mittened hands, packing it down into handfuls so that she can start to build a base for her snowman. People who know her well might notice her hair as they approach– it's a lot shorter than it used to be. She's cut all the white out of it. Now it's simply black, edged with gray where it reaches her shoulders, wild and wavy and somehow still tangled.

Not entirely sure what to do once she's got a solid base going, she simply starts building the shape up into a kind of spike, because she thinks that it looks cool. But she could use a consultant.)

mistle-nope (red)
(Yasha is actually a stranger to mistletoe so she does not recognise the shape of its leaves immediately; what she sees instead is a new plant that she might harvest a few cuttings from. Climbing the tree is no big deal, she simply hauls herself up after driving her sword into the ground at its base. Hand over hand and then she's at the top, peering curiously over the little cluster of plant tucked in against the trunk. Strange. She's never seen a plant do this before, it's... round. There are little red berries nestled in among the leaves.

She rummages in her pockets, and pulls out her little book, flicking through it for a fresh page. And then her vision goes black.

Surprised, she drops the book and hears it thud gently against the ground far below. At the same time, her grip intensifies on the trunk as she blinks frantically, trying to restore her sight. Nothing.)

Uh– (She's clearly still sitting on the branch with her arms wrapped around the trunk of the tree. She can feel the cool wind on her face, but everything is dark as if day has suddenly turned to night. Yasha might have thought that were the case if she could have seen any stars. What is she supposed to do now? She's stuck up in this tree.)

friend flip
(Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's just how long she's been stuck on this island for, with no clear way off of it and no clear way to take anybody along with her even if she does find one. Or maybe it's a terrible way of foreshadowing something awful that is going to happen to her once she returns to Exandria. Either way, Yasha is feeling unnaturally restless and irritated.

She can't stand the idea of having to stay inside of her house with her friends, so she's been keeping away from them, only ever coming back there to sleep. Sleep alone, that is. She doesn't want to have to share a bed with Mollymauk, even though that's usually something she is more than happy to do.

Whatever it is, she's spending an awful lot of time storming around and avoiding people, so Stormlord help you if you manage to get in her way.)

friend flippppp

[devilstongue]

[ Yasha hasn't been herself and it's gnawing a bit on Molly's insides to see her avoiding them like this. She sometimes had her swings of needing to be alone and wandering off, but this didn't seem like Yasha-ing. He tried to give her some space, but now he's on a mission to find out what had gotten into her.

Is she hurting?

She's avoiding everyone, though, and when he finally finds her she's looking like a storm cloud where she wanders. Something was obviously wrong, so he does his best to move over slowly and then gently offering some affection of the best kind.

...with the patented Mollymauk hug-n-drape. ]

Hello, love. Do you want to talk about it?

ASGORE | ota

[journalname]

i. casual obsession

[Asgore's interest in gardening is probably pretty well-known. His own yard is half-overgrown with various flowers, bushes, vines, and trees. For a long time, he'd take a cutting of any new species or recently discovered useful crop; he's only managed to stop recently, for fear of overcrowding. Because of course he's always kept it to the immediate area of his own home, unless specifically asked.

Until today.

Asgore is outside your house and/or other building, just digging up any unoccupied space to stick a blooming sheaf of bluescythe cradles there. He smiles when he catches sight of you, utterly unapologetic.]

Howdy! I thought some flowers might liven things up here!

ii. let it go, let it go

[Between his fur and his fire magic, the cold's never bothered Asgore much.

The snowgoons don't seem to be giving him a great deal of concern either. It would be the work of a second to melt them, though of course he would prefer something less violent. It's only when some of the particularly large and spiky ones start approaching that he decides to try warning them off, lifting a paw.]

Come now. There is no reason for that - I am far too hot for you, you see?

[Instead of the expected fireball, a large snowflake manifests over Asgore's palm. It only lasts a second before he cuts the magic in surprise.]

Oh! ...oh, goodness.

[Careful, he tries it again, sending first one and then another swirl of shimmering ice magic up into the air. Oh, that is very strange! And entirely distracting - but at any rate, the snowgoons also seem distracted by the display.]

iii. wildcard

[hit me up or reach out at lluosogrwydd if you wanna chat!]

I

[devilstongue]

[ Molly blinks, looking at Asgore with a puzzled look on his face as he exists the house. ]

Oookay? I mean, I'm not complaining or anything, that's a lovely thought.

[ Just unexpected. ]

Crowley | OTA

[agathokakological]

i. Casual Obsession

It's a real shame there isn't a whole lot to do on this island other than kill time. Crowley is without his car (which he practically lived in), his music, his television and movie theaters, cases of alcohol, just about every hobby the demon had was not able to be pursued due to their circumstances... except one.

Crowley had always been good with plants. Well, good is a relative term. Crowley got results, and his houseplants were frankly the only thing he paid any sort of attention to in his flat other than the television. It was a good thing that he was surrounded by very lush and beautiful plants on this island, even if he didn't know what half of them are. It gave him something to do. Unfortunately (especially for his housemate), he's hoarded quite a bit of them from the wilds of the island, and they're all replanted surrounding his shack on the islets. Even worse, his attention has solely been on those plants, and nothing pries him away from them. Worst of all? He's been yelling at them constantly, which is extremely strange for many reasons, but the only one to him is they aren't reacting to his screams the way his plants back in London did. These don't seem to care at all.

ii. Mistle-Don't (various days/types)

In his various travels into the brush to search for more plants for his collection, Crowley has encountered several types of mistletoe.

Red;

Everything went black. Crowley didn't know why or how, all he knew was it was dark. Demons could see very well in the dark, which is the reason the demon never needed to remove his sunglasses, even at night, but that didn't seem to be the case any longer. Crowley snatched the glasses off of his own face, looking around him in hopes that it made a difference, but it didn't. He was completely unable to see a single thing. He pocketed the glasses promptly, his hands then stretching out before him to feel around, until he feels the tree beneath his palms. He turns, placing his back firmly against it, and calls out every time he hears a sound. "Hello?! Oi- who is that?!"

Blue;

Something feels weird, but Crowley can't tell what... not yet. Until anything else sets him off, he's feeling extremely paranoid about everything around him, which is why one might find him darting through the trees, urgently trying to get back to his hut, fearful that he's being chased, or that his friends are in danger, among other things.

iii. Breath of Cold Air

As a cold-blooded creature, Crowley isn't a huge fan of severe cold. He is however, willing to help with keeping the areas warm to the best of his abilities, which do, in fact, come at some use for the island. He's capable of some blessings and miracles, including better luck or summoning up an object that might better distribute heat.

[OOC: For this prompt, feel free to ask Crowley for anything within his power to help.]

-

[OOC: PS- DM or message me dukevendetta for other prompts, I'm open to anything. Also feel free to change to brackets if you wish.]

ii. blue

[a_shadow]

[ Tex is not exactly hiding when Crowley approaches, but he's in such a craze she's immediately concerned he's going to barrel right into her. She's wearing her armor, which means she should be easy enough to spot in a place like this, but Crowley seems not to be paying much attention to anything around him. She steps to one side, but she also knows he could easily swerve and run into her anyway. Whether or not he does, she's ready to put out a steadying hand. ]

Hey, you all right?