lifeaftr | January Undercurrent: Growing Pains

January Undercurrent: Growing Pains

JANUARY UNDERCURRENT

Who: Everyone!
What: Hey bud, how's it growing?
When: January 3rd to January 20th
Where: Everywhere!
Warnings: This event has a potential for body horror and character death; please mark anything as it comes up!

A Notion Growing Inside Me

Those of you who weren't with us the last time Umui entered the archipelago didn't have to contend with the lethal illness known as the Overgrowth personally, but anyone who remembers it probably doesn't remember it fondly. Fortunately, this isn't quite the same strain of the illness that you had to contend with the last time. It's not unrelentingly and uncompromisingly fatal, for one! That's always nice.

For those that need a primer on the Overgrowth, it is best described as a sickness that overcomes you with floral growth both inside and outside your body that can only be cured by expressions of emotional honesty. Expressions of truths, affections, and admissions of things that you have hidden from yourselves or from others were critical in dispensing of the illness. These could be as simple as admissions of past sins or the revealing of secrets, or as grandiose and overt as confessions of guilt or love. That general idea will remain more or less the key means of curing this strain as well, though the stakes fortunately aren't as high this go around! Which is to say, if you fail to have any grand emotional epiphanies by the time this event ends, you aren't doomed to suffer a character death; symptoms will simply dissipate come January 20th.

So what's this sickness going to be like in this particular instance, then? We're so glad you asked!

You can go the standard route, of course. Adventurers' first brush with the illness saw the following afflicted upon them:

[ ♆ ] Stage One: Germination. Initial symptoms involve fever, coughing fits, numbness to nerves and extremities, and general joint stiffness. Difficulty breathing or performing other basic functions will often occur. Fatigue, difficulty sleeping, and intense weakness or dizzy spells are also liable to occur as the flowers begin to harvest nutrients from the body. This will also generate extreme thirst and periods of intense nausea. Tremors and the sensation of something "itching" from inside are also common. The end of Stage One is usually marked by the act of vomiting or coughing up flower petals or spores, along with a not-insignificant amount of blood.

[ ♆ ] Stage Two: Budding. The floral growths spread more completely inside the body, and begin to grow on the skin or exterior. Difficulty performing basic functions will increase as, for example, airways become obstructed and flowers grow around joints and pinch them still. The site of affliction also yields rashes, blisters, and blood sores as the flowers sprout from the skin. The rate of vomiting or coughing up floral growths will increase dramatically. Flowers often bloom quickly, and very painfully. Numbness in affected areas will increase, oftentimes rendering parts of the body completely inert - a pair of legs claimed completely by blooms, for example, will no longer work.

This was followed by Stage Three: Bloom, which resulted in character death. However, this strain will not advance to this style of Stage Three. All symptoms will disperse by the time Umui resurfaces.

This strain is also rather more erratic, which can make emotional repression more of an inconvenience than a horrifying circumstance. For those who would rather not play around with intense sickness (or who have already endured this once before), you have the option to go that route if you like! With this variant of the Overgrowth, one can become, for example, so embarrassed that they hiccup up a flower. A vicious denial of their feelings may cause them to spontaneously erupt into a rash of dandelion puffballs, seemingly immediately. You might end up walking around with a bouquet for an arm for a few hours. Perhaps mortifying, but certainly not fatal! Isn't that nice?

Unless, of course, you want it to be...

I Can't Fight It Much Longer

Now, while the Bloom Stage isn't present in this strain, it has mutated its progression into a rather nasty end stage. Those of you who succumb a little too readily to this illness, who don't fight off the emotional repression quickly, who don't admit those difficult truths to yourself or confess to whatever you're bottling up, you'll be faced with a potentially horrifying transformation. Potentially, because it is your choice whether or not you see fit to commit your character to that fate - as stated above, this option might simply skip over your character entirely, and the worst they'll have to deal with are cartoonishly over-the-top effects that disperse in due time.

But maybe not all of you will be so lucky. Some of you might discover for yourselves how this particular variant of the Overgrowth has mutated.

We call this mutation Stage Three: Outbreak.

In this final Stage, those beautiful blooms wither and harden into a fungus-like carapace as the illness grows into the victim's brain and shuts down virtually all higher functions. This can sometimes render them almost wholly recognizable, but not always - oftentimes, it's very obvious who this person once was. The victim is reduced to a carrier of the virus, which causes them to act the way you'd expect most viruses to act: becoming intent on spreading. Advanced brain functions such as speech, rational thought, and so on tend to shut off and become wholly inaccessible.

Now that the victim's body is no longer fighting the Overgrowth, the illness lends them increased speed, strength, and durability, making them dangerous foes indeed. They will usually seek to infect others by whatever means necessary - usually via biting or exuding breathable spores - but in some cases, they will simply reduce to base instincts, and just outright attempt to attack and kill whoever is closest.

Unfortunately, at this point, there is no hope of a cure; it's hard to make someone be emotionally honest when they're capable of little more than blunt, animal instinct. At this point, you can either wait for the Stage Three symptoms to disperse come Umui's return, or take manners into your own hands. You can probably guess what that might entail.

If you decide to put your Overgrown friends out of their misery, this will count as a character death. If it comes to that, be sure to let us know on the Deaths page! Death penalties, however, will not be reduced for this event.

Try to Get Through It

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 January's Undercurrent Event, as well as any of the other minor events listed on our Monthly Rundown post. And, of course, 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 Rundown post!

January Timeline

[ ♆ ] January 1st: "This Sucks" begins and lasts until January 10th
[ ♆ ] January 3rd: "Growing Pains" begins and lasts until January 20th
[ ♆ ] January 11th: "No Water is Safe" begins and lasts until January 19th
[ ♆ ] January 20th: Umui returns to the archipelago
[ ♆ ] January 21st: "Impawsible Geometries" begins and lasts until January 31st

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Germination

[Zidane does not often get sick. However, for the past few days he has not been feeling his best. Not only has he been more exhausted than usual but he’s been coughing and feeling occasionally like he wants to be sick. It’s bad enough that he has spent hours awake at night. At first, he thought it would pass.

But after a few days, he begins to wonder if maybe he should go to the clinic and ask that weird but well-meaning doctor, swallow his pride and ask if he has anything. Sure, he might get a lecture from the guy in the meantime but even that’s better than facing the possibility of being so ill he cannot get out of bed.

However, Zidane does not get very far away from the house before he suddenly has a massive coughing fit. Before he knows it, blood starts spilling onto the ground. When he finishes, he looks down, looking shocked and horrified.

Not only did he not expect to be coughing up blood but also so much of it…….maybe his sickness is more serious than he previously thought. He really needs to get to the clinic now.

And then as Zidane gets up, something catches his eye.

Where did those pink flower petals come from?

He coughs again. More blood. He gives himself time to breathe and wipes the blood fromhis mouth. As he does so, he finds an orange petal on his lip. Where….? He looks around. No sign of orange flowers.

He coughs a third time. More blood. Another few petals….

And then Zidane freezes. Memories of certain conversations suddenly come flooding back. Conversations about a certain disease…where flowers grow inside the body and then…..

Oh gods….]

Budding

[He can barely breathe. His right arm is sprouting orange rose and is completely dysfunctional. It’s not as if he can’t fight with his left arm but…..bluebells are starting to sprout from that as well. He’s in so much pain….

It’s true people come back from the dead here. However, it’s not guaranteed.

Why is this going on? Did disease not come from some island? Did everyone not get rid of it? Why is it here?

Either way, he’s only heard of one cure. And the idea fills him with rage. Can people just not talk about their feelings on their own? Give them some space and time? And yet……he promised Dagger he’d come back home. If he dies and does not return….

Somehow he manages to make it to the beach before clinging to a rock before coughing up more blood and petals. There is searing pain as the bluebells start to grow even more. He feels something slowly tearing through his back…

This is so humiliating as well as terrifying.]

Wild Card

[Want to plot another option. Want Zidane to run into your flower zombie character? Any plotting for mini events? PM me or contact me on Plurk or Discord and we can discuss!]

Germination - Jan 3-4 - mostly the clinic

[He's fine.

He can't consciously think it, his mind shying away from the idea of actually forming the words, so he just doesn't think about it, keeps moving. He keeps tossing and turning instead of getting any sleep, a deep discomfort settling in his lungs like a chest cold, and he doesn't let himself stop and wonder if something's really wrong with him. He has to shrug it off, stubbornly push through it. He has things to do, after all.

His hands are clumsier than usual as he turns pages in yet another book on plants, as he copies information into a book that's already overfull of notes. He chalks the clumsiness, the numbness, the generalized weakness up to exhaustion, or a tendon strain, or some kind of mild vitamin deficiency that's just now showing up. He tries not to think about it at all.

He chokes down a coughing fit, and then another, but he can't just leave the clinic in the middle of the day, so he pushes through it. It's just a cold. He'll take it easy for a few days, and hopefully it won't get worse. There are always things to do, bandages to make or herbs to process or things to clean. He'll just keep moving, and he'll take it easy tomorrow. He ignores the taste and scent of blood in his mouth.]

Budding - Jan 5-8 - mostly the monkey compound

[There's blood everywhere. He cuts the crinkled puffs of yellow-orange flowers out of his skin with his claws, wraps bandages around seeping wounds. Maybe people won't notice. Maybe he'll be fine.

His blood isn't red, anyway. It's blue, translucent, glowing. It doesn't look like blood anymore, so maybe no one will notice. It's not like he's going to see anyone, anyway, because he's doing his best to hide away (maybe curled up at the base of his tree in the monkey compound, waiting to gather the energy to climb up the ladder, maybe in his treehouse, maybe later he's somewhere in the woods, hiding away like that's going to keep him safe).

His breath is coming too shallow, coughing fits getting worse, stomach twisting with spasms of petals soaked in blood and vomit. His hands are getting worse, losing dexterity as the numbness and the ache creeps up them and the skin blisters and cracks around flowers pushing themselves out of his skin. His head aches, from the pain or the fever or just the fact that he's being turned into a garden.

He isn't fine.]

Outbreak - Jan 9+ - anywhere

[It hurts at first, the marigolds bursting from his skin with petals turning leathery and thick, his hands finally giving out on him. The skin on his neck splits and oozes as crinkled petals force their way out in clumps. A nerve gives out somewhere under the pressure, he can't remember the name of it, he can't remember a lot of things. It just hurts. There's a blinding pressure in his head, too much for him to do anything to fight back or alleviate it. It builds, and builds, until the pressure gives way with a sudden burst, flowers forcing their way out of an eye socket, out from behind the orb of the magitech eye set in his forehead until it separates from the housing entirely. He vomits again, chokes on flowers and blood and loses consciousness.

It doesn't come back.

The thing that used to be Okumura Yukio is still recognizable, under the crinkled orange layers of leathery petals. His bladed tail is still there, as weighed down as it is by overgrowth. His fangs are there, and the metal claws on his hands. His blood is glowing translucent blue. The metal eye in his forehead is damaged beyond repair, the orb popped out by the pressure of flowers bursting through behind it. He's fast. He's strong. He has nothing left but instinct.]

i. doesn’t know how much to feel (jan 3-10)

[Connor knows what it is immediately, the first cough wracking his body and drawing concern from the dragon that doesn’t really fit in his house anymore but refuses to stay outside.

He also knows he could fix it, if he wanted to, because he was the one who figured out how it worked in the first place. That sounds simpler than the reality of the situation, though, which is that not a lot has changed since the last time he had Overgrowth. Someone going to try, though, and he's going to pretend he doesn't know what they're talking about.

The natural thing to do in this situation is, of course, to make a flyer. There’s one for the temple and one for the Denny. Connor himself can generally be found at the Denny, drinking something he refuses to share. It’s fine. He’s fine. Everything is fine.

Of course, the dragon thing looks like an empty threat given that there are no dragons visible in the direct vicinity. Feel free to actually attempt confessional with him or, you know. Take up his offer of just sitting there in silence and being a nihilist.]

ii. find a rush within the pain (jan 11-15)

[By the third time a Ghost Shark tries to kill him while he’s pretending like he's trying not to die from flowers, he fucking gives up the ghost (pun intended) and goes to the desert of Monsun. If he’s going to die, he might as well be free from his own brain weasels while it happens.

The dragon usually walking beside him makes him seem a lot more unapproachable, but his Overgrowth is on full display at this point. Anyone who’s met him for five minutes is probably unsurprised by this, and attempts to coax him into curing it will be expertly evaded. Or have a dragon set on them, he wasn’t joking about that.

For anyone who’s ever been to his house and met his corpse, however, you might find the fact that the flowers this time are different interesting. Turns out he doesn’t have Aquifoliaceae this time. This time, they look like . . . daisies? His lower left arm is where most of the blooms are concentrated, mostly white with a few pink scattered throughout.

Oh, also he made himself a flower crown out of them that the dragon hovering around him is wearing. He gives absolutely no fucks about this. Overgrowth is barely in the top 10 worst things that have happened to him since he got here.]

iii. need the feeling to remain (jan 15 on)

[What the FUCK was that?

There's a wall of fire in the Monsun desert and a dragon circling overhead. You'll have to dodge the dragon first to do anything about the fire, which is more of a ring upon closer inspection, and contains (1) person. Zombie. Whatever. The problem with that zombie, right, is that unfortunately Connor’s like. Actually fairly strong to begin with. He’s almost deceptively strong now, given that he regularly just swims for fun but still looks like a noodle.

So anyway you probably should have left the fire alone.]

[At some point while Connor is nursing his drink, a few weak, thready coughs crop up behind him from someone else entirely. Followed by a scratchy voice that might be at least somewhat familiar to him.]

Hey.

[Then his former neighbor slides into a nearby seat, holding his own cup - with no apparent plans to drink it yet, given the mask secured tightly around his nose and mouth. There's no obvious flowers blooming from the exposed portions of his skin, but he's paler than usual, listing just a bit to the left.]

You still suck at advertising.

i. (jan 1-2) - reset

[Hopefully you were enjoying your new year, and especially your peaceful, pre-flower hell morning. Perhaps you're interested in it being completely ruined by a screeching, hobo-looking man crashing right through it?]

[Because that's precisely what he does. Rather, he's chasing something - a small, foxlike creature with a mask and jewel around its neck, darting back and forth as Ichimatsu follows behind it spitting angrily like a cat. It's a tube fox, clearly toying with him, and more than that - it hasn't even shapeshifted into anything. The reason why he's chasing it is wholly unclear.]

Show me where you hid everything, you damn swiping bastard!!

[Oh, no, it's perfectly clear: he's just stupid, and he thinks this is a slyper anyway.]

ii. (jan 3 onward) - you are liars in a row

[Whether it's back home or here, getting sick is nothing new. Ichimatsu's immune system lets him down just as often as the rest of him does. You pull on a hygiene mask, drink a couple pots of tea, and deal with it. Or you die, thanks to your family's either total lack of concern or their well-meaning but homicidal attempts to take care of you. Is that part just him?]

[Sickness here has been a little bit different.]

[When Ichimatsu wakes up one day feeling feverish, it's really nothing. The nausea, dizziness - also not that bad. He does his best to downplay everything around his brother, hoping to avoid both worrying Jyushimatsu, and also his brother's bedside manner. Still, seriously: it's no big deal.]

[Then he notices that... cloying, saccharine taste to the bile he keeps having to swallow back. That familiar and threadlike itch webbing underneath his skin, in his ribcage. The bitter-metal tang of sap in his cough.]

[Then, the petals start sticking to the inside of his mask.]

[Ichimatsu changes up his routine after that. He continues to spend time at home, but other than that, he's around his other haunts as well: at the monkey compound, tending the garden - including the marijuana plants that still seem to be growing around the back of his former tree; at Denny, nursing an untouched drink or sitting in a corner stacking dominoes into miniature sculptures of cats and pine trees; or simply somewhere along the coastline, fishing.]

[At some point along the way, ugly, purple little florets begin bristling at his temples, roots threading along his fingers like reedy little rings. Unlike last time, he doesn't tug or scratch them out.]

[Honestly: he's just trying to figure out what he should do this time. It helps knowing what he's sick with. Now the question is if he can keep it from going the same way, given he's got the biggest reason in the world to this time.]

What hole did you crawl out of?

[He's just ignoring everything that Ichimatsu said in favor of expressing concern. Sort of. He was worried when Ichimatsu disappeared, but he can't just. Say that. Especially not when saying that would be admitting a kind of defeat.]

You look like shit, for the record.

Yeah, well, so do you.

[he knows what he's got by this point, so there's no doubt in his mind that Connor's got the same thing. As such, the criticism is pretty much reflexive; far be it from him to harp on someone about being emotionally honest, even if it'd save their life.]

[As for his earlier question --]

Who knows? Went home, I guess. Not that I remember anything. Pretty sure that whole "going home" thing is bullshit.

[Non-existence: the greatest escape.]

Sure was a nice break from being here, though.

Thousand times I've fallen (Jan 3-4)
[He steps out of Storyteller's temple when a bout of weakness hits him without warning. Keith stumbles and pulls himself back away from the entrance. He hadn't been feeling well since he woke up.

He'd hoped it would pass but it hasn't. He chooses to ignore it for now. But as the day progresses he feels worse and worse. He continues to do what he does, patrolling the well trodden paths, and checking animal traps and when he's standing on the shore of the beach of Enso he has his first coughing fit.

It's terrible and as he straightens he catches the spots of blood on his hand. He stares at it, transfixed by the sight of his own blood in a context that feels familiar.

Slowly he kneels down and thrusts his hand into the sea water. But his shoulders are slack and he's staring out at the water.

Stage One symptoms include, but are not limited to: fever, nausea, vomiting, numbness to nerves and joints, difficulty breathing, fatigue, difficulty sleeping, vertigo, weakness, tremors, and extreme thirst. Internal growth often creates a sensation that some called an "itch" from within.

Pulling himself together takes longer than he'd like. As the day has worn on he's gotten most of the symptoms and the horrifying realization of what he might have is crystallizing in his mind as he pulls himself up and removes his armor. He leaves on his undersuit and walks slowly into the surf.

Nausea builds and weakness hits him again, sending him to his knees with a small splash. Keith reaches up and sweeps his hair out of the way. He isn't surprised when he starts coughing again, blood making spreading through the water like ink and doing little to hide the small red petals that came with them.]

...Guess you can just get it again and again.

[He sits back and watches the tide pull the petals and blood with it, thrusting his hand down into the water to splash his face and wash the rest off.]

Cause you're the last of a dying breed (Jan 5-8)

[Going about life as if his hands aren't numb and unable to hold things at random intervals is difficult. His right arm fails him first, just like last time. The itching feeling that has been low key dominating the back of his mind gets worse until mid-way through the day he stumbles sideways and slams into a tree on his way back to a mana pool. He'd dressed in a shirt and regular loose pants today and he's so grateful for it as he pulls up the edge of his shirt. Red Alstroemeria flowers have broken out of his skin in a pattern he would know in his sleep.

The thin series of lines and focused spots map out the markings of the Black Lion's segments and lights. He leans against the tree and forces himself to focus on breathing. It's a struggle.]

...I know the cure. [He admits it out loud, his voice raspy from the coughing fits he's been suffering. One hits him then and he turns into the tree, trying to muffle it. He's making a mess. Any predator for miles could scent his blood and know he isn't up to his usual fighting shape.

He knows that too. Keith reaches to his side, drawing the white and black shaped U from his belt. The bayard sword will be lighter, easier to move while he's weak like this. The weapon glows bright purple as it reshapes into the glowing blue blade and basket hilt. He turns slowly to face outward and forces himself to focus on listening for anything around.

So far, so good. If he's lucky he won't get hit by another fit on the way back.]

Wildcard
[Want a custom prompt or got an idea? pm this journal, or hit me up by other means. I got you.]

Edited 2020-01-05 01:03 (UTC)

[Close by, behind another tree, Zidane has sat down to rest. He should not be doing this! He should be getting up, looking for others, trying to get cured, as humiliating as it would be.

And yet he's so tired....

And then he hears a familiar voice, followed by a massive coughing fit. Wearily, he peers his head from behind the tree.

So Keith's been infected too. Zidane pushes himself up onto his feet with his left hand, the only one he can still use. And even that is becoming stiffer from the flowers growing out of it.]

Same cure.....as before....right? [Or at least he cannot think of any other answer.]

Edited 2020-01-05 12:00 (UTC)

i.
[Despite being a robot, Church still manages to feel a lot of things that shouldn't be physically possible. Feeling nausea when he doesn't have a stomach sucks. Feeling an itch in his chest that makes him cough when there are no lungs nor phlegm to produce those feelings, irritating. He can still feel tired when his power's running low, but he just recharged, so this lethargy is unusual.

In a world with magic but no technology, can he still catch a virus?

Still, better take it easy. Ugh, and the itching, too? His skin isn't even skin! Fuck, was it duality island? Was it the fucking ice side of the island and he picked something up? Nope, he's staying inside or relatively close by on the islets, mostly relaxing, feeling sick as a dog. Cuddling a tigerlily if she's not opposed to it.]

ii.
[Okay, a lot of people know what this sickness is, and it's really fucking horrifying, especially when small yellow flowers start budding from the hole in his gut, and also start creeping out from under his armor, worming their way out between joints, even curling up from under the seal of his helmet.

Moving feels worse. Pulling them out ends up being one of his worst ideas even if it's a reasonable reaction. His right arm is starting to seize up from the growth. He can feel his inner workings straining against the growth.]

Okay. [Maybe you're coming up to him. Maybe he's ambling around while he still can and grabbing you by the shoulder. This is probably a bad idea if you don't have sleeves, given this flower has a property that can cause sores and redness and blisters when exposed to sunlight. Which doesn't impact Church at all. His skin's not skin, remember?] Okay, the cure is talking, right? About...feelings? What do I have to tell you?

[Sometimes he bats flowers away from his visor. Sometimes he coughs, and petals squeeze their way out from under his helmet. It's all very frustrating.]

Seriously, I can talk all day, I just have to know what to say!

[He slides down until his knees hit the ground, his sword still gripped in his good hand.] Yeah.

Emotional- [Keith tips his head back and breathes slowly, the urge to cough fades but only barely.] Honesty.

Feels like a joke, but it isn't. People are going to die again. [He closes his eyes, but nothing takes the resignation or the bitterness out of his tone. He doesn't even try.] I'm angry about that.

I get it, but I'm angry. [He knows better than to lie. It would only make the flowers spread through out his system.]

I don't think it's fair. For either side of it. For those who have secrets and those who watch them die. And I know the world isn't fair. I learned that very early in life but, I can complain about it once in a while.

i. january 2nd ; ensō ; i hear you buzzing, a fly on the wall

[He doesn't recognize the things when he sees them, though he assumes they might just be a variant on a slyper or something. They're flitting around outside the library when he passes through, and he stops long enough to regard them warily - which allows them more than enough time to dart forward and suddenly, Tim's on his knees. He can barely breathe for the coughing, the hitch in his lungs. His vision starts to blur. He looks up - ]

[He can't see - ]

[His heart seizes in his chest as, slowly, the Foxes start to blur into something less recognizable. Scarred things, masked things, things he doesn't recognize - and he's easy prey as they slowly start to siphon away what little strength he still has.]

ii. january 5th ; ensō ; it's not when you get there, it's always the climb
cw: body horror, blood

[Several days later, you'll find Tim stumbling through the jungles of Ensō, his eyes clouded, looking rather lost. At times, he reaches down to scratch idly at the purple petals poking through one arm, or the pretty white buds pocking the skin of his neck. He stops several times to cough, spit blood and wet blooms into the dirt, swaying on the spot like he's been struck with some terrible nausea.]

[The parts of him not slick with blood from the floral shafts jabbing out through his skin are shiny with sweat. Periodically, he stops to scan the woods around him, looking furtively over his shoulder. He can't say why he does it. It just - feels incredibly important that he make sure no one's following him. That nothing's following him?]

[It's hard to say. It's really...hard to say these days. He doesn't remember what he's supposed to be looking for. God, but he doesn't remember. He can't even say where he is, is the thing. He feels like he should remember, but he's having...he's having a lotta trouble remembering much of anything right now.]

[He scratches at a fresh rash of geraniums that have sprouted along his wrist, seemingly unaware of the dark blots of blood that immediately start to well from where the flowers tear away from the skin.]

iii. january 12th ; denny ; fighting for air while you circle the drain
cw: brief allusion to suicide ideation

[He's been wincing and coughing still as the flowers continue to ravage his body - and he knows exactly whose flowers these are, for fuck's sake, as if he needed that knife twisted in any deeper than it is already - but at least he's not wandering around with a mind scraped fucking clean anymore.]

[Memories. They leak out so goddamned easily for him, even without the aid of mysterious fox fucks. So while the Overgrowth is eating him alive (again), he's not about to admit to anything if he can help it. Let him die from this shit all over again. He's fine with it.]

[Fuck if a part of him doesn't welcome it.]

[The important part is making sure that those fox things aren't hanging around Denny. So when he stops by the place to take inventory, he opens up one of the water barrels - and promptly gets a very good look at something with a massive maw lined with very sharp teeth.]

[Tim slams the barrel shut.]

[He blinks a few times and waits for his heart to slow down. The barrel doesn't so much as shake or jitter, which means...what, exactly?]

[He moves to open another barrel instead. He can deal with the shark after he washes the goddamn dishes, only when he opens the barrel, it turns out there's another shark inside that one too.]

[Which is just fantastic. Really. It's just a great way to start the day, the discover that the water barrels have an inexplicable and completely nonsensical shark infestation.]

[Tim probably seems a bit more disgruntled than usual as you see him barely managing ot haul some of the water barrels outside the establishment, tapping a quick announcement out to the rest of the archipelago on his stone before considering the barrels with a sigh.]

[How the hell is he gonna get rid of this water now.]

iv. january 15th ; islets ; maybe you're looking for someone to blame
cw: body horror, blood

[Of course, it all comes back to this.]

[Tim stays inside, mostly. He leans up against Butternut as the tigerlily intermittently purrs and butts at him with their head and licks at the blood leaking from the sprouts curling out of his arms, all to no avail. He's responding less and less to just about anything around him. He knows eventually - or rather, thinks he knows - that the flowers will eventually claw their way up him and claim him, and that'll be fine.]

[That's why he's staying inside, see. He doesn't need people seeing him like this. He doesn't need people giving a damn. He doesn't need people trying to get him to accept flaws or utter his secrets, because that's not what he's here for. He can die with that shit locked up tight, thanks. He's not inflicting his demons on anyone else.]

[He can taste it in the back of his throat, molten and copper. He spits a gobbet of blood and petals into the dirt outside the house. He'd really rather avoid making a mess of the floors, so he figured he'd crawl out here. Maybe this way his corpse will do a decent job of fertilizing the area.]

You kids're gonna be the death of me, [he mutters to no one in particular, his eyes half-lidded. A part of him wants to laugh at that. He doesn't, though, because he's not that fucked. He knows who he is. Who he still has to be.]

[Butternut, however, is not content to watch their caretaker die. If they see anyone coming by the area, the tigerlily will stand, tail swaying, and trot over to nudge at them with their head, and generally do all they can to lead them over to where Tim lies in the garden outside the third shack on islet four, content to decompose.]

v. wildcard ; i see you hurting, i do what i can

[as always, i will happily whip up any closed starters that you might desire. you can also hit me up over at

arrpee or zero#8942 on discord. i will match prose or brackets!]

i; open your heart to one of the worst people on earth

[ By now, Jyushimatsu had been in this bizarre world long enough to understand that everytime cool buddy pal Water brings a new island forth, some bad shit happens. And he also learned from Ichimatsu that such sickness that's mysteriously similar to the fictional thing he's read sometimes about people coughing up flowers when they're not being honest has once again made its outbreak here, and it's not pretty at all for anyone involved.

Fortunately for Jyushimatsu, his heart is full of honesty... for the most part, but still honest enough to get that sickness away from his system. He's not really afraid to confess how much of a bad person he is and how he's fond of all the people he's personally fond of, including family and the few friends he's got around.

Unfortunately for everyone else, he's made it clear he wants to help people be more honest so they can be cured, and the way to go about it was to make himself a roughly bootlegged stand in the middle of the camp, with a messily written message that reads

"DOCTOR JYUSHIMATSU IS HERE FOR ALL YOUR HONESTY TROUBLES"

and sit there, all smug and hopeful and especially happy with his gaping maw of a smile, waiting for his next patient.

This is not unsettling at all. Giving it a shot wouldn't hurt you, right? ]

ii; baby shark turu turu turu baby shark turu turu turu

[ Imagine this.

You might be chilling next to some body of water, and Jyushimatsu is also there for some reason. Either you're hanging out or he just happens to be a presence that you neither want or care for. Suddenly a ghost shark emerges from the water and attacks you! Jyushimatsu lets out a warrior-like scream, ready to charge at it with his hatchet in both sleeves.

Please stop him before he gets himself eaten. Please. ]

iii; wobbledogs are fucking dumb i want 300 (CLOSED TO FAUST)

[ So, Jyushimatsu decided to head for the clinic because he scraped his knees while trying to roll down a large molehill. Don't ask.

He would expect many weird things to happen in hell island, but a pack of morbidly weird dogs piling up near the clinic wasn't one of them! Jyushimatsu stares in wonder at the mass of wobbledogs wobbling around, and... ]

Holy shit!

[ ... it's instantly love.

Extremely wide and shiny eyes are next directed at the abnormally tall paperbag man standing amongst the pack, and with a vicious desire to adopt every single one of these dogs that share the same dumbass energy as him, he asks: ]

How much do you want for them? I don't have money but I can produce them with magic or something PLEASE I WANT ONE OF THESE I BEG OF YOU KIND STRANGER!

iv; i've only had this wobbledog for a day half but if anything happened to him i would kill everyone in this room and then myself

[ And now he's got a wobbledog! Nice! Perfect! It's a boy and his name is Strike One, after one of the best baseball terms he knows of. He's planning to also adopt a Strike Two and Strike Three when he's stable enough to feed all three of them without starving himself to death.

And that's it! You can find him in an open area or at the camp playing with his new odd pet, either chasing each other or rolling in the snow. Whatever they're doing, it'll stop when Jyushimatsu's eyes will lock on yours, and then he's next seen holding up his precious wobbledog while screaming at you. ]

Look at this beautiful baby boy! LOOK AT HIM! I love him! He's mine now and I love him so much!

[ Strike One, meanwhile, is probably staring into your soul with its round and unblinking eyes, tongue lolled out. ]

v; wildcard

[ Anything that doesn't fall under these prompts can be plotted out! Hit me over PM, gaiamemories or our Discord server. ]

i. january 5th ; monsun ; i know there's no decision (just collision)

[They don't notice the sickness at first; why would they? They have always been sick. There have always been blood sores and blisters festering away at them, tearing them apart piece by piece. They have always endured in spite of that.]

[It has been some time since they've set foot on Monsun. And things are different now, so...they go.]

[They must wander through the frozen wasteland first, and they don't get as far as they'd like. The Drifter ends up on their knees, wracked with paralyzing spasms, which is the only warning they get before something grates at their awareness.]

[Something terribly, darkly familiar.]

[Oh, no.]

[Their blade buzzes to life as they turn to face it - that hulking, terrifying thing made of shadow and trailing pink and static light. It towers over them, flashing its sickly rhomboid eye at them.]

[They rush it immediately. Their blade passes harmlessly through it, and they tumble, rolling across the ground and leaving deep gouges in the unmarked snow.]

[They immediately start coughing again.]

[They can't fail. Not now. No matter how hard it gets - they will not let it take this world. Not this one.]

[They will fight it as long as they must.]

ii. january 10th ; islet 1 ; step out beyond the edge and start the motion
cw: mild body horror, blood

[Fresh flowers poke out from underneath the Drifter's mantle, pockmarking their blueish skin. Whitish hellebore blooms dot their striking complexion like reverse polka-dots. The seams where their gloves meet their greaves are rimmed with soft yellow cups that protrude out from underneath the metal and the fabric. A fringe of dark violet petals sprout from underneath the collar of their cloak, their tips stained with the pinkish tint of the Drifter's bright blood.]

[They cough, shoulders shaking silently. And then they crouch over the blooms in the Knight's old garden, and focus on their work.]

[They have confessions that must be made. They should live. They should want to live, because that is the one thing they have always endeavored to do, more than anything else, and yet now...]

[Right now, they are so very, very tired.]

[They are tired beyond the telling of it.]

[They will get up and they will find a way to endure. Eventually. It will just take them some time, is all.]

[Some time to discern what it is they might need to surrender, in order to continue.]

iii. january 12th ; ensō ; i won't become a number in the system, zeroes and ones
cw: body horror

[In the jungles of Ensō, a lithe shape sways on the spot, silently.]

[Tattered red fabric still clings to it in patchwork places. The worn metal of an old helmet still remains fixed to its head, and its hands are still pointed at the fingertips, almost like claws. But most of it has been overcome by thick, armorlike growths of multicolored fungus. Whitish sheathes have layered over its chest and stomach, dotted intermittently with blots of yellow sacs that pulsate faintly, laden with fungal spores. Most of its face has been claimed by a fuzz of pale lavender that hemorrhages splotches of scarlet-colored sap in a slow, sticky drip. Only a few patches of bright blue skin remain unmarred to distinguish what it once was - that, and of course, the Drifter's striking red cloak, which still remains in shreds, clinging to what's left of their body.]

[The thing that has replaced them is, for the most part, still, and quite silent.]

[Until, that is, it hears something.]

[Then it commences to tear after the target with unrelenting speed. Unlike the Drifter, its endurance seems to have gotten quite a boost - it can keep up the chase for quite some time, uttering little more besides faint, gurgling breaths as it rips after its victims in vicious pursuit. It has none of the Drifter's cunning or wit, and does not use weapons. It has been reduced to little more than brute, animal instinct.]

[Even the fabricated soldier they were made to be had more finesse than this.]

iv. wildcard ; if i should choose to rise, i'm still descending

[as always, i will happily whip up any closed starters that you might desire. you can also hit me up over at

arrpee or zero#8942 on discord. i will match prose or brackets!]

sucky times ahead

[He's huddled outside his own house, petrified. Not five feet away lies a tiger doubling as a mobile garden, lazily sunning itself, and he flinches every time he catches it looking his way. The weird leafy animal hasn't made a move yet, but it certainly looks as deadly as any tiger. And that's the least of his worries, honestly, because he already appears to be dead. Extremely deceased.

Because he's a skeleton. A flimsy, tottering collection of bones, with only a thin layer of worn out clothing for protection. No skin, no muscle, no fat, no organs. It's hard to keep it together... both his shitty excuse of a body and his sanity. He definitely screamed when he saw his own fleshless fingers for the first time, out here on this islet where no one can hear him. Screamed his nonexistent lungs out, staggered through the open door, getting nowhere before he stumbled and fell, lacking the experience necessary to keep his right leg attached. It's still lying there in the dirt, useless.

Everything aches. Is death supposed to be painful even after it's over? It feels like these porous bones are made of dust. Like they might shatter and crumble away with one wrong move. Cold dust. Emptiness. The feeling something's been forgotten, a thought on the tip of one's tongue, that's what he is now. A memory slipping away, or on the verge of coming back. He'd gone to sleep a perfectly healthy living man--now look at him.

(The tube fox responsible for this is long gone.)

And, like the tigerplant snoozing not far away, something's taken root in him. One innocent little blue blossom is growing out of a crack on his arm...]

lots of little buddies

[Everyone knows the cure by now, even Héctor. He's been told what to do and it's easy enough. He'd love to. He's been doing his best, actually, he's practically told his whole life story by now! It hardly matters that he's telling it to a bunch of strangers, some of whom are obviously not human. It's a good life story, full of happiness and wonderful people. Hour after hour, telling stories about his childhood, full of pranks and mischief and playing guitar with his friend 'Neto'. How what started as a simple desire to make a girl laugh and smile at him turned into love, and then marriage, and then... Coco. He paints a picture of the most beautiful little girl in the whole world, the light of their lives. The way every animal was 'squirrel' when she was starting to talk, her favorite foods, her love of flowers (ha), how he'd sing to her, how they laughed and danced...

Not a single word relevant to the present, none of it what he needs to get out. No, what he needs to confess is all gone, stolen away by a nasty little fox. He never had a chance. Horrible timing, isn't it? One of these things he could deal with, but not both.

Eventually he gives up, lying in his hammock under the blanket. Dry cracking bones, being devoured by blue flowers, crumbling away. He'd felt like they would, and now they are. It's agonizing, pain spiking when he tries to move. So he doesn't. Nothing he says is going to help him. The world has gone mad, none of it makes sense. He's dead and he'll die again, they're telling him. Death by flowers. Absolute insanity.

He just wants it to be over. Let him go home to his girls, please.]

a fun guy

[Of course it will be, though not soon enough. Over for him, not for everyone else. The blue flowers have hardened over his bones, bulking him up as it takes him over. Whoever happens to be sitting with Héctor when the end comes had better beware. It rolls itself out of the hammock, covered by something resembling scales... unnatural armor that won't slow the skeleton-thing down as it lunges at the first sound it hears.

Maybe it can be lured out the door, to wander free and stumble upon some other poor sap. Maybe.]

A) (Closed to Shepard)

(Legion does not yet recognize the symptoms of the disease that runs through their wires and circuitry.

They only notice the way their cooling systems fail to function adequately, despite surrounding temperature.

There are flowers blooming, deep in their chesthole, utterly invisible to anyone who doesn't look close.

They are making their usual rounds on Enso, dropping some stuff they harvested from the farming islet off at the Denny, checking up on the clinic, etc. when they encounter the tube foxes.

The theft is quick, effortless, the victim totally unsuspecting. Shepard will find her not quite friend collapsed on the ground, seemingly dead, though in reality, they've just had their charge stolen.)

B) Shark Week

(They're in their house when it happens.

They've been working on converting it into a museum for some time now, though progress has been significantly slowed due to events.

They are attempting to work on it now.

Previos task: Move nonessential items.

Current task: Remove debris, clean flooring.

For the purpose of this, they have acquired a container of water. And it's from that container that troble arises.

They're in the middle of cleaning up a particularly stubborn spot of old Geth blood when the Ghost Shark leaps from the water to attack them.

With a startled screech, they scramble back. The bucket, and its contents, spill everywhere.

This time, the Ghost shark comes leaping from the puddle.

Their alarmed chatter can probably be heard from every house on the islet as they burst outside and slam the door behind them.)

C) Overgrown

(They had become aware of the Overgrowth some time ago.

They have also made a confession. Others are aware of their secrets. Though the disease has shown minimal progression, the flowers in their chest hole have not withered.

They look down at themselves as they wander Enso, chattering uncertainly.

What must they do?

Should they spot an ally, they will attempt to get their attention.)

i. stolen (willpower)

[Michael didn't think a great deal about going out to chase the little fox away from his house. He's done it plenty of times before; he's afraid they eat lorbies, and they definitely have a tendency to carry Potrick off. Even if he's not sure he considers the little walking hotpot strictly alive, watching its little legs flail in the air as it's stolen is just kinda pathetic.

What happened after he confronted the fox is a little blurry. It...maybe jumped him? But he's not hurt, and it's gone, so who cares? Who cares about anything, really?

Michael's just sort of sitting on the ground against a tree near his home now, staring listlessly at nothing in particular. Potrick the walking hotpot is happily walking into his side.]

ii. tongues of flame (overgrowth)

[Michael wasn't around for the initial outbreak of Overgrowth. People don't talk about it much; he only hears about it through whispers and rumors when the island, and then the disease, start to return.

At first, he figures he's fine. It would've killed him a year or two ago, but these days he doesn't lie half so much. He's not even hiding from the authorities anymore! People already know about his dark past; they know what he's done and who he is. There's nothing more he's holding back, right?

For a while, this holds true. But eventually, at some point, a coughing fit does strike him, too. When it's finished, Michael stares at the large red petal in his palm.]

...well, shit.

iii. psychiatric help (5 cents)

[Despite everything, Michael doesn't feel all that bad. He doesn't have all that many secrets, after all! The one thing he hasn't told any of his new friends - well, that's not such a big deal, is it? It's just one secret. Doesn't he deserve just that much?

So forget that. It's fine. He's fine.

It's everyone else who clearly isn't fine. A lot of people have already offered themselves up for confessions, so Michael doesn't see a need to put up another network post or anything. But during some of his regular time hanging out in Denny, he does put up a quick sign:]

DEMON CONFESSIONAL

Something to get off your chest? I literally have no room to judge!

[It's true enough. He can't condemn anybody else for doing bad shit - better they confide it in him than slowly become a flower zombie.]

I always look like shit, thank you very much.

[Is it a point of pride? Maybe! He literally does not own a hairbrush despite his hair now being long enough that he had to actually cut it. Unlike a normal person, he just cut it with the straight razor he owns.]

Anyway, everything is bullshit. Death isn't real. Last time I died the Storyteller kicked me out and was like "your punishment is living bye."

(They are considering heading for the clinic to check on their allies when they spot him there, sitting in the sand.

Something, they think, is wrong.

They head toward him.)

Keith.

(They crouch next to him, chattering a sort of quiet concern. Their body language carries a similar fear to it as when they first arrived, fresh from betrayal and the loss of their people.)

Legion. [He turns his head to see them and swallows, tasting the sharp copper and slightly off tinge that is unique to his own blood. Legion’s posture and chatter only reminds him that there is something wrong.

Another spasm hits him and he turns his head away and leans forward in time to cough up more petals. The air feels too warm. The fever he had been battling is getting worse. Keith sighs.]

I thought we would be immune if it ever happened again. ...I’m not. [He wipes his mouth and looks at his bloody hand. Just like last time.] I won’t let myself die from it. But I don’t know about the others.

[Zidane yelps when his shoulder is grabbed. He'd get his knives out except that is currently a little difficult considering his arms are still stiff and have flowers growing out of them. So instead he glares daggers at Church.]

What the hell are you doing you- [And then he stops, realising this man has the disease too. He's clearly scared and wants help. The young thief's glare fades and is replaced by a look of weariness and frustration.]

...Sorry.....That was real shitty of me. [His own anger and fear of the disease has made him uncharacteristically crabby but still he shouldn't have done that.] But you're right. We're supposed to talk about our feelings......our honest ones.....

Overgrowth.

(Do they have it too, they wonder?)

Acknowledged.

(That he intends to live is not in doubt.

Is there, they wonder, anything he needs them for?)

Do you require assistance?

(Does he know what must be confessed? Does he have another to confess to?)

(To return is unwise. Their previous visit to Monsun nearly destroyed them.

But the lure of the Geth, of being connected to the collective again, is overwhelming, even if it is not real.

Their journey is halted, however, by the sight and sound of movemrnt on the ice. Their eye focuses, zooms in, their visual program increases frames taken per second to better analyze what they see.

...Drifter?

It is easy enough to extrapolate from their own experiences and determine what is likely going on.

They are also aware that fighting will not help.

The Drifter, however, is clearly not.

Abandoning their own objective, Legion begins to run towards the Drifter, and whatever spectre threatens them.)

[Blood spots the snow in droplets of pink as the Drifter hauls themself to their feet, wearily, their sword out. They faced this creature down once. They can do so again. It may very well kill them a second time. This is an acceptable loss.]

[Someone else is moving for them. Immediately, they flare up a warning message.]

STAY BACK

[As if it weren't obvious - that thing is immense, towering over them. Surely everyone else can see it, can't they?]

Can you help me up? [Keith drops his hand into the water to wash off the blood. It takes him a little bit of struggling to get his feet under him enough to even have a chance at helping Legion help him up.]

...you detecting any changes to your systems that match when we all got sick with this?

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 61

January Undercurrent: Growing Pains

Zidane Tribal | OTA | cw: blood and body horror. Possibly more to come in threads.

Yukio | OTA | cw: let's get body horror up in here

connor | ota | cw: suicidal ideation as usual

i.

ichimatsu / ota / cw: body horror, illness

no subject

no subject

Keith | ota | cw: blood and body horror. Any further subjects to be added in comment headers.

Cause you're the last of a dying breed. Jan 6th?

Church | ota | cw: mild body horror

works!

tim wright | ota | i'll match your formatting

Jyushimatsu Matsuno | OTA except for one prompt | Can match your formats!

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

Héctor | OTA | cw body horror

no subject

Michael | OTA | cw: mild body horror

no subject

Jan 4

no subject

Also body horror

no subject

Jan 5th

no subject

no subject