March Undercurrent: Lost Connections

[lifeaftr_mods]

MARCH UNDERCURRENT

Who: Everyone!
What: We remember those lost, and connect with one another
When: March 3rd to March 19th
Where: Everywhere!
Warnings: Please mark anything as it comes up!

From Stardust to God

Those months since the Water's introduction to you all have been...tumultuous, haven't they? These two gods have more or less been trying to consistently undermine each other, and you all have been caught in the middle of it - whether or not you wanted to be! Kind of a miserable state of being to be stuck in, right?

All that is going to change.

For the duration of this particular month, both the Storyteller and the Water will be operating under a tentative ceasefire as they commit their efforts to one singular, joint goal:

They wish to remember those who have been lost. Those who have left the archipelago, those who have died, those who have come and gone, those who you lost in your homes...and these gods will be, also, commemorating those who they have lost. This commemoration will be facilitated with the use of memorials and offerings to those long past.

The Storyteller will provide you with materials to craft paper lanterns that can be illuminated and sent sailing into the ocean waters. They can be decorated with colorful paper, cut designs, and so forth. The Water will guide the currents to allow the lanterns to drift to...wherever it is they need to go. You can send as many lanterns as you like, and as many nights as you like. The skies will always be clear, and the water will always guide them to the horizon, where they eventually fade from view...

Both the Storyteller and the Water will be available for discussion for the duration of this event.

The Highs We Trade for the Lows

This month isn't only about remembering what's been past. To conjure Ai'tuoh back to the archipelago, it will also entail that all of you do some reflecting on what has been lost in your lives, and sharing in that pain together. This may be a somber month for some of you, or it may be an introspective one.

At any point during this event, your character may wake to discover that one or more thin threads of colorful light appears to be emanating from their chest and trailing through the empty air. These threads cannot be removed or influenced in any fashion; attempting to grab at them will simply cause one's hands to phase uselessly through them, as though they are ethereal constructs of some sort.

The purpose of these strands of light might not immediately be apparent, but if you spend enough time observing your fellow islanders, it might get a bit clearer. Each tether connects you to someone else - someone who has a pain similar to your own. Should you follow your tether to whoever it has linked you to, you may find yourself compelled to comfort or relate to the other party. This compulsion can honestly vary, from a gentle nudge to a sudden impulse and anything in between. There may or may not be a subtle pressure on your thoughts that may help you discern what you might have in common with this other person, whoever they might be. This facet of this event is completely opt-in, naturally, and we encourage you to interpret this however you like. What counts as shared pain? It can be as literal or as figurative as you like. Whether characters underwent the same events in this game or another, or whether there are certain parallels you wish to explore within certain canons or across multiple ones...or if you just want your character to have a nice sit down and talk about their problems for once, the choice is yours. Your character can be connected to as many others as you like - there is no limit to how many characters you can share any related trauma with!

Should you choose to reflect on that which you have endured, and the shared pain of others, what follows is fairly intuitive. The tether binding you together will fade, though hopefully a stronger bond will be forged, and ideally you'll all feel better afterward...but that's not necessarily a given, now, is it?

This is No Place Like Home

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 February'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 Monthly Rundown post!

March Timeline

[ ♆ ] March 1st: "The Return of Your Special Lifting Friend" begins and lasts until March 10th
[ ♆ ] March 3rd: "Lost Connections" begins and lasts until March 19th
[ ♆ ] March 12th: "Spring Forth" begins and lasts until March 21st
[ ♆ ] March 20th: Ai'tuoh returns to the archipelago
[ ♆ ] March 22nd: "The Happy Hang Glider Vacation Society" begins and lasts until March 31st

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

[motherfucking_ghost]

miss missing you
[Church has lost a lot of people, in one way or another. Including recently. And he realizes that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't hurt to participate in this...ritual, memorial, thing.

He starts with a lantern papered in blacks and golds. Black for Tex's armor. Gold for her hair. But he doesn't send it out, not on the first night. Not the second night, either. He'll save that one...for last.

White for Maine. Aquamarine for Carolina. Tan for York. He supposes he's glad he wasn't here when CT was, even more for the fact that she apparently knew him in some way.

Purple for Omega. Pink for Theta. A nice sky blue for Iota. Sunshiney yellow for Eta. A pale blue for Gamma. Green for Delta. Orange for Sigma.

He supposes it's maudlin, when he makes one alternating in a blue not unlike his armor and white, for--himself. For Alpha. But he's dead, so, what does it matter?

Usually just one a day, but he pairs certain ones together that make sense. Eta and Iota. York and Carolina. Maine and Sigma. Beta and Alpha--for last. He stays on the beach and watches, watches until he can no longer see the pale lights in the distance, and even then, he stays a little bit longer. It's hard, hard to see a point or reason to turn around and go back to...anywhere.]

my heart is the worst kind of weapon
[It's entirely possible people who aren't Wash or Legion might have some shared pains and thus colorful lines. His tend to deal with memory and a loss thereof, with blame and taking it even when things aren't necessarily his fault, with sense of self and how that's several degrees of fucked up, with self-sacrifice, with emotions and expressing them way too much or otherwise deciding to express them only with anger, with loneliness and hey you know what canon never talks about how he was alone for over a year because hey canon hey guys that's actually pretty fucked up can we talk about that one maybe--

And honestly there's bound to be other stuff, whether broader or more specific that maybe can be shared and commiserated over. He is not, personally, a big fan of colored lights shooting out of his chest, but they don't hurt, so...maybe there's a remote chance that this isn't something shitty?]

the person you'd take a bullet for

[counterblows]

[It's not so hard to pick up on what all the colors are for. But it's the last one that gives him pause. Black and gold for Tex, obviously. And blue and white, for...]

[Does it matter what kind of death that one's for? They were all a kind of death, in their own way. He remembers what Alpha sheared off a part of himself to repress, remembers too much and not enough all at once.]

I'm sorry.

[He's not sure for what. For Tex, maybe? That's the surface level, but part of it's just...acknowledging what he's saying goodbye to.]

[Does it hurt more or less to grieve something you don't remember?]

the water | ota

[thankgods]

[To facilitate this event's spirit of cooperation, it appears that the Storyteller has allowed the Water to encroach upon their shores for a time, so that they might see off any they might wish to bid their respects to. And sure enough, that's precisely what the Water does.]

[At the shores of Ensō, a large clay statue has been shaped on the waters. It appears to be in the shape of a tremendous whale.]

[The Water can be found beside it, in their familiar dragon-shape comprised of glistening and ever-running waves. In the sand at the base of the clay statue, a single word can be found - no matter how many waves might pass over it, it will never fade:]

[ INURO ]

[deathfindsaway]

[The whale is quite hard to miss, as is the Water when they're any capacity high above the ocean, and he takes just about any opportunity to speak to them when they're present. Kravitz comes up first to the statue and then catches the name in the ground, taking a moment to consider it before looking back up to the Water.]

Was that them? Inu? What were they the... god of, exactly?

[motherfucking_ghost]

...So. Thanks for this.

I mean. I'm assuming you and Lucky the Rabbit have a hand in this whole...thing. This thing that we're doing.

Remembrance.

[Church keeps a lantern in his arms, cradling it as best as he can without breaking it. He observes the statue.]

I guess it'd be weird to put something out to sea when...you are the sea, huh.

[salutosinedelectat]

[ Another one. Aziraphale feels it right away.

Even having spoken to other gods of this place, he still falters in talking to a new one. It's such a strange feeling, he's not used to such ready access to creatures that call themselves such.

After a bit of considering, he approaches, looking up at the statue, and down at the name. The pieces are easy to put together. ]

...one of yours?

[thermalwind]

A whale. You know, that’s not what I was thinking they would be. But it makes sense. [Keith says as he comes to a stop with his hands in his pockets. At a glance he looks like some delinquent pilot but his eyes are too tired. Too knowing.

He draws his hands out of his pockets and studies Inuro’s features.] ...So, I went where you suggested I should go. I stayed up there trying to sort things out for a bit. The memory of Osoru told me a few things.

the storyteller | ota

[story_teller]

[The Storyteller will mostly be found keeping a wide berth from the Water, even if they, for once, occupy the same space with a minimum of actual interpersonal clashing.]

[For the most part, the Storyteller is quiet. They craft paper lanterns on Ensō's shores while in the shape of a nimble spider monkey, deftly creasing and cutting and folding and then drawing shapes on the strips of colorful paper with sticks of charcoal.]

[An adder. A scorpion. A moth. An owl. A bear. A seal. And others...]

[Each one they settle a candle inside, and each one they set into the water and watch as it is carried away...silently.]

[catpiper]

[She knows enough from her discussion with the ghost to understand why they're folding the paper lanterns and-

While this is a memorial for those who are gone, it doesn't feel right to bring them up. They have so many little lanterns in front of them, all that loss and grief they've had to deal with on their own-

This is a good opportunity for them, maybe, and it's rare to see them out of the temple lately. She doesn't want to push them into a corner and back into that place, away from all the other people dealing with their own grief.

She appears like the horrible goblin she is, crawling from whatever hovel she had been in to lay beside them, holding some kind of paper craft in her hand. It was a lantern attempt, at least. It looks more a paper crown, snowflake hybrid gone horribly wrong, but whatever.]

You're very good at making these things.

[yakyuuman]

[ Death had never been a serious concept for Jyushimatsu, but it kind of became one after getting close calls both here and back home. Ichimatsu almost dying from the flower sickness, and everyone else suffering in general, really gave him a new perspective that drove him eventually here, folding paper in respect for those who didn't make it.

Even if death is apparently not permanent here for outsiders like them. Go figure!

He spots the spider monkey and saunters over to them, not at all shocked that they're making lanterns on their own and they're unnaturally talented at it. Jyushimatsu watches for a little while before working on his own lanterns, wanting to show off a little.

When he's done, there's a meager attempt of a dog-shaped lantern in his sleeves that he shows the little buddy. ]

What do you think?

[shatteredlenses]

[There are a great many who Ignis would like to make lanterns for, but his lack of vision means making them are a lot harder than it it normally would be. He will probably bother Ardyn to make a few with him later, but for now his focus is on something else. With a small plate of food in hand and Leo at his side, he approaches the Storyteller. It's been a long time since they spoke last and this meeting is perhaps overdue.

If it reminds the Storyteller of meeting with another long gone from the island, then perhaps this is Ignis' way of remembering that person. Gladio would have preferred something like this to just setting a lantern free for him anyway.

Interestingly enough, his right forearm is wrapped in bandages. Of course, injury isn't that uncommon on the islands, but considering he should have been able to heal it now that he is bound to Ardyn one has to wonder if it was just that bad an injury or if he is allowing it to heal naturally for some other reason.]

Greetings, Storyteller. May I request a few moments of your time?

[deathfindsaway]

[It has been quite a while since they talked, since Kravitz attempted to give some space to the god that had been keeping them safe on their shores. Of course, this was before the Water arrived and his picture of them was... shifted, in a respect. The core of his suspicions though still hasn't moved- Kravitz knows grief, and what must be let go. There is a chance he can do better this time, and so he must try.

He approaches quietly, sitting down close to them in the sand.]

Was this a holiday you once celebrated? A day of remembrance?

[He hopes he can do something right by them, for once.]

[motherfucking_ghost]

[It is not immediately clear to Church that a monkey is the Storyteller. Just...seems like a monkey. But like, maybe a preternaturally intelligent one? Some people are just like that. Some creatures, too. Is it weird to make mourning lantern things with other people around, or is that like...a private thing?

Well, here goes nothing.]

You're pretty good at that, little guy. Sorry about...your losses.

[thermalwind]

[The sand shifts and Keith makes no secret of his approach. He's without his wolf, without his partner or armor. His dark hair is down, softening the sharpness of his face and slitted eyes.

He's changed so much here, but he stops a few feet away, boots scuffing in the sand. The wind pulls at him but his face is neutral, unreadable at a glance. His right hand the scarred thing that it is these days, half hidden by a half glove holds a lot of colored paper in it.] Hey.

Mind a little company? [In his left hand is a small lantern carefully marked with the same symbol as the glowing purple sigil in the hilt of the knife on his back.]

[salutosinedelectat]

[ Aziraphale is mostly observing the crafting, the whole ritual people are participating in. He's solemn in his silence, well aware of the heaviness in meaning, even if he doesn't participate himself.

Then, he sees them. Feels something familiar, if dimmed due to the changes to his senses and supernatural nature, but he remembers it from when he and Crowley first arrived in the islands. Having only met them when in his dream, he doesn't actually know how to approach them.

So he stares for a moment, watching them. ]

Excuse me- sorry to interrupt. Do you have a moment?

Héctor | ota

[vagabone]

remember them

[Once again, he's a wreck held together by willpower and more duct tape than ever. Hobbling around the island, gait more unsteady than ever. So many broken bones. Ribs, vertebrae, arms, legs. Even a few of the phalanges of one hand are cracked. Something very tough and heavy pounded him into the dust with its stony feet.

There's not much he can do, the constant pain sapping his energy, making him long for relief, some form of painkillers than would work. Bake a little. Maybe play a round or two of cards, without much humor about it. Put together many, many paper lanterns--there are dozens of people he wants to honor, wanting to finish them all before he sends them off. But... in general, he's not up for much. So limited, so worn down. This is what he gets for 'helping'. It didn't accomplish anything in the end, and isn't that the story of his afterlife?

He makes his way to the shore around sunset each night with the days lanterns--it's more of a journey than it would be at any other time, it's as far as he wants to walk. And he sets them off, settling down in the sand to watch them go. He may be the last person in existence to remember the spirits he's thinking of. His friends, his family, he loved them too. So... he lingers, long into the night.]

strung up

[Until one morning he wakes, closer to noon than to sunrise, and finds his routine is going to change. Threads, connecting him to... what? Curiosity might be considered dangerous, but there's no point in sitting around and waiting for trouble to come to him. Because it always seems to, that's Enso life.

What miseries are on his mind that others might have in common? Well. What isn't, honestly. He's seen a lot. Poverty, decades and decades of being flat broke, because no one wants a weak tottering nearly-forgotten employee, because he's Héctor and half the spirit world knows he's a menace. He's unwanted, useless, unworthy of anything nice. Even if there happen to be people out there who won't grow tired of his antics or his obnoxious personality will one day be gone, through no fault of their own. Loneliness, grief, abandonment. And of course, largest of all, betrayal. Murdered by someone he trusted and loved, like a brother to him in all but blood. He died... and lost everything. Will he ever get any of it back?]

strung up

[hyperlit]

[A strand of vibrating pinkish light has led them to this point. It wasn't clear to them why or how, though the strand did not...hurt, exactly. It simply scraped an unwanted reminder over old injuries.]

[That they are useless. That they are unwanted. That they are so, so lonely.]

[When they stop in front of Héctor, their expression is initially as closed as ever, but their eyes...their eyes soften a little.]

[They gesture at the thread between them.]

we are connected

Jules Dagger Samari - Closed to Ignis/Ardyn

[suspecteverything]

[When Jules had first found the glowing red strand attached to him his immediate thought had been, "Oh shit." He knew this place and its games well enough to realize he wants nothing to do with them. Right away he'd tried everything he could think of to get rid of it, but nothing had worked, not even his warsword. Irritated and left with no other choice, Jules had sat down to consider where this could possibly lead and what disasters were waiting for him because it was going to be a disaster, he just knew it. It always was.

When his Trisani abilities kicked in and gave him a bit of a hint, Jules was actually rather surprised. Most of his Trisani powers were pretty dampened here, and he hadn't gotten any premonitions or foresight in a long time. Seeing himself following the minsid glowing string hadn't been reassuring, and he probably wouldn't have considered doing it if he hadn't recognized the cottage he'd walked up to in the premonition. He knew that cottage well, was standing in front of it now in fact.]

Why do I have a feeling I'm going to regret this?

[He knocks on the door anyway and hopes his gut is wrong for once.]

[shatteredlenses]

[The door is not answered by a person, but the familiar flowered snout of the resident tigerlily. Leo chuffs a greeting at Jules and then moves away from the door, letting it fall closed again. A few moments later, just long enough for Jules to start wondering if he should go in or just leave, the door opens again and Ignis steps out.

The first thing Jules will likely notices is that the sting doesn't attack to the blonde advisor like he probably thought it would. Instead, it disappears behind him into the cottage.]

Hello?

[Leo's greeting means the person is a friend, but lack of vision means Ignis can't see which friend it is...or the predicament said friend is currently in.]

Legion | OTA

[forwearemany]

A) (The lanterns are a mourning ritual, of the sort common to organics. The Geth archive memories of their lost, care for what is left behind: they have no need of this.

But the Geth ... are gone. There is only Legion now. There are no servers on which to archive memories, little left to care for in the absence of those they love. They do what they can, but it is not enough.

There is much missing, and though new allies cannot fully make up for it, each departure adds to their loss.

Every night, they come to the shore, and send out lanterns. Faust-Doctor. Horatio. Crow. The Knight. The Normandy Crew, lost to betrayal. The Geth, untold billions persecuted unjustly and destroyed. Countless others.

There will never be enough lanterns. But still, every night, they come.)

B) (There are many reasons that one might find themselves with a strand connecting them to Legion.

They have experienced considerable loss, both in the form of people leaving here, and as a result of the betrayal that has left them the last of their kind. They have experienced persecution due to their nature as a synthetic, and have been used by their most hated enemy. They have fought in multiple wars and all they have to show for it is loneliness, shame, and something like regret.)

A

[littlemhigan]

[Castor spends a lot of time on the beach and doubly so these days now that there's something of a spectacle to watch. Legion and their...well...legion of lanterns does not escape her notice]

A lot of folk worth rememberin', huh?

Kiri | OTA

[mockiri]

( a. in remembrance )

[Kiri's lanterns are simple and clumsily made, but there's some clear effort put into it, regardless. She makes six altogether, and sits with them on the shore for a little while, cooing quietly, before finally going to find someone who might help her light them so she can send them adrift. After, she'll just sit in the sand and watch them, until they float out of sight.]

( b. highs we trade for lows )

[The tether of light is genuinely baffling for Kiri, having never seen anything like it before, but after uselessly trying to capture it or bat it away, she caves and just follows wherever it seems to lead her, which is mainly people who have lost their family or home.]

( c. that lifting friend... )

[Are you having a nice day? Enjoying a peaceful afternoon outdoors? It's about to be spoiled when a sticky little bird person is dumped onto your head, squawking indignantly.

You're welcome?]

( d. hang glider!? )

[Kiri may be small, but she can hardly resist the opportunity to fly, even with a flimsy-looking machine. Unfortunately she's not... very good at it... and before long will probably need a rescue. Or perhaps someone can just catch her when she crashes, because that part's pretty much inevitable.]

(( permissions! ))

d.

[agathokakological]

[Oh good. It's his favorite mimic... crashing and falling out of the air. Luckily, it doesn't seem like she's gotten very high off the ground to begin with. Crowley could sit and watch this failure all day, he thinks. If only he had some popcorn.

That is, several minutes go by and he feels worse and worse. Fuck. Why does he have to have a heart?

Groaning, he approaches before she attempts another take-off and clears his throat.]

We're going to have to get you to higher ground if you want this to work.

tim wright | ota

[postictal]

i. spool of thread ; don't you come to me with all your color-coded quotes

[The strands that emit from Tim's chest in all sorts of colors don't seem to be doing any kind of harm, so for now he lets them be. They're not bothering him, or anyone else. Until they do, he's decidedly not gonna worry about them. Three years in places like these have taught him to only care about the important shit when it proves itself worth his time - otherwise you'll worry yourself sick over nothing.]

[He's already pretty sick as it is anyway, so he's got a limited capacity to give a damn about some floaty pieces of colorful string that don't really mean a whole lot, far as he can tell.]

[They do, though.]

[Tim's demons have a lot to do with self-loathing for a start, as well as intense survivor's guilt. On top of that, there's just general remorse and regrets over people he's hurt, people he's killed, people he couldn't save, people he misses...you know, that kinda thing. And that slight bottom line where he's never had a normal life and nurses insecurities over feeling like he's kind of a freak in more ways than one.]

[But, hey. No need to bring that up, right?]

[He's just working Denny the same as ever. No need to mention any of this unless someone really feels like taking the first step there...]

ii. saying goodbye ; i will gladly self destruct if they leave me alone

[He's got a few goodbyes to say.]

[He's said them already in a lotta ways, honestly, but there's something about the release that feels important. Like it's a form of paying respect, maybe. Don't know why it feels important - just that it is.]

[He paints a lantern striped in blue and purple. He draws a red frowning face on one, surrounds it with a scribble of black. A purple one with black dollops meant to evoke spiderwebs. And that's but to name a few...]

[For the most part he's silent when he sets those offerings into the waters. But he'll sit back and watch the lightshow quietly, wishing he had a cigarette and remembering that he's quit.]

iii. your lifting friend ; falling, fallen, we all fall down

[Unfortunately, the rest of the month won't be nearly as peaceful for Tim, who's fortunately packing his pauldron and so isn't too ill-equipped to handle being scooped up by a flying elevator and then spat out again. He hops on empty air for a second, beating the ethereal crimson wings that give him a helpful double-jump - and then tumbles through the trees with a muffled curse and the cracking of branches.]

[Snap. Snap. Snap. Thud.]

[And then Tim whumps solidly onto a locked joint between the boughs, wheezing faintly as the breath's jarred forcibly from his lungs.]

[Or he might land somewhere a little worse. Like on top of you, for instance! Sky's the limit, here, and a bit more literally than maybe we'd all like.]

iv. wildcard ; it only really matters how we stand our ground

[and so on. you know me, i'm down for whatever. i will match prose or brackets!]

i. a thread about threads

[burntvideocassette]

[The threads emanating from Jay's chest are bothering him quite a lot, actually. The colors don't seem to mean anything. He's never spoken to more than half these people.]

[He hasn't said anything to any of them. How do you even bring something like that up? Hey, do you see these strings, or is it just me losing it again? He'll admit, though, that he's wanted to. He wants to know what these threads are, how they work, why they're connecting him to a bunch of strangers. That's the only reason he's considered talking to any of them. Really.]

[He's traced one of the strings--a black one, like a thin, lightless void hanging in midair--back to Denny. His free hand hovers around it as if it were a real string, even though he knows it'll phase right through.]

[Jay nudges the door open, eyes on the string. Follows it through the crowd, to the back of the dining area, and--]

[The string fizzes grey, spitting static, before it falls still.]

[Oh. Okay. This makes sense, he guesses. As much sense as anything does here.]

Castor | OTA | I'll match formats!

[littlemhigan]

[and i’ll think if you each time i watch from distant skies]

Castor spends a lot of time at the beach these days, sometimes keeping herself in shape but oftentimes simply sitting quietly with what little alcohol she can find, watching the water ebb and flow.

Now is really no different, save for the riot of paper lanterns surrounding her, all built over the course of a day and a night; gold and pink, silver and blue, black, white, black again, two small ones tied together in red and blue to name a small few of them. She’s sitting on the smashed remnants of a red and black one, and inspecting her own handiwork on her final lantern - green and ochre, decorated with some facsimile of a unicorn.

Perhaps she looks a little comical, trying to keep her hand steady whilst she paints the lantern with ungentle hands, but it’s the effort that counts at a time like this, right?


[the whole world shackled to my feet]

The threads look pretty in the light, and those who’ve suffered some manner of emotional isolation or lonliness, or who carry survivor’s guilt might find Castor in their vicinity before too long, following wherever her threads may lead.

“Ah...uh...Huh. Ain’t this an odd thing?”


[this antigravity taking over]

Castor is not let down gently, the way Mr. Upsy often does. She’s not even dropped.

Castor is thrown either into you, or your immediate vicinity. Sorry about that.

whenever stars go down and galaxies ignite

[motherfucking_ghost]

Church has spread his own many lanterns out over days, but in a way it's good to know he's not the only one making...what seems like a lot.

Also sad, too. For the same reasons.

"Oh, shit, you're sitting on one!" Maybe she doesn't know?? Better to let her know. So as to not let all that work go to too much waste.

Crowley | Good Omens | OTA (NPCs Welcome. I will match your formatting!)

[agathokakological]

i

Crowley isn't really an arts-and-crafts kind of guy, but he is a former nanny, and often was required to partake in those sorts of hobbies to appease a young antichrist... or at least the child he thought was the antichrist. Sure as hell behaved like one. That being said, scissors and paper lanterns were completely within his wheelhouse should anyone need help, despite him being completely disinterested in making one himself. Who would he make it for, anyway? The only person he'd ever formed an important connection to was here, with him, and sharing a home with him.

He'd lost other things of course, and in his own mind he reflected on those, watching as others snipped away at paper, just wanting to be somewhere that seemed safe and without the threat of danger for a minute. He'd just had to fend off crystalline creatures from his so-called-home not so long ago, after all. The peace was needed. And the view was nice.

ii

Crowley might not ever get over waking up to new changes on the island. This morning was particularly interesting, of course, wherein he noticed a thin strand of light that had sprouted from his body and led through the door of his cottage. He'd spent several minutes swatting at it, trying to stand behind different structures inside the cottage, laying on his stomach, etc. but nothing seemed to make it go away. Crowley was almost afraid to follow it, something awful might have been in store for him beyond his front door.

Finally, much to his chagrin, Crowley left the house, following the trail of light left for him in search of what it may connect him to.

((OOC: This prompt open to anyone, but note to those who have not particularly spoken to me about this, I can make cases for Crowley to experience loss of the following: loss of home, being, 'fitting in' (hE's NoT lIkE oThEr GuYs) or maybe if I push it a bit, grace (fallen angel, etc.). Feel free to forcefeed any of this for some fun CR!))

iii- With Aziraphale! Open to crashing.

This is much more Crowley's style. He's taken time to himself to check out the hot springs, deciding it the definition of relaxation, so much so that he's returned with Aziraphale in-tow and something to dry themselves off with later.

"I just thought, after all that's happened..." he says, finding a dry spot to leave their things, "We deserve a spa day."

((OOC: to crash, just hit me up either via PM here or plurk dukevendetta and most likely I'll just tell you either to threadjack where we're at or start a new thread and we'll move ours there. I'd rather you check in first, though.))

iv- Same location, less angel involvement.

Crowley previously had a lot of fun on another island pretending to be some sort of snake god, and he can't help himself but give it another shot. An enormous, long serpentine body glides through the water, chasing bubbles just along the surface. The black and red scales don't stand out quite well in the water, thanks to the bursts of color. Oops, sorry, were you relaxing there?

v- Wildcard.

((OOC: Run into Crowley anywhere. Hit me up as mentioned above to hash anything out you'd like.))

ii

[suspecteverything]

Jules was down by the water, his typical haunt to avoid people. Instead of relaxing back across the sand though he was sitting with his arms resting across his knees, some sense of tension thrumming through him and the nearby area.

He was pointedly ignoring the stupid string coming out of his chest. This wasn't the first one he'd dealt with, and one was bad enough. Irritated beyond belief to have to deal with this again, Jules decided to basically screw it. This time if someone wanted to get rid of their string, they could come to him. Besides, he didn't really feel like talking.

Chip Abaroa | OTA

[demonpuppy]

Remembrance

As childish as it is, this sort of ritual is pretty familiar to Chip. Lights to guide the way for the lost, boats to carry the dead across the river...tradition makes for the strongest roots a spell could have. Chip takes well to folding the little lanterns, winding up with a veritable armada beside them. Most are simple and plain, but a few have been carefully decorated. One deep green with cut-out wolf heads on every spot one can fit, another nearly pure white with red flames drawn on with great care. Two black lanterns, with small paper masks attached to the top.

But Chip isn't quite done with these lanterns just yet, it seems. They're scrawling something in the sand, their face crinkled up with frustration as they write and erase, write and erase. They want to charm the lanterns, just for a little more guidance to find those they're meant for, but the spell to do it just won't come together. They can't think of a rhyme that feels right, and no matter what way they arrange and rearrange the way-finding symbols they can think of it all just feels wrong!

"Why's 'finding' gotta be so close to 'going', this is dumb...!"

Strung Out

The tangled knot of magic yarn coming out of their chest, though, that one's pretty new.

There's more than a few ways to find a link to this little kid, and none of them are great for someone this young to already be saddled with. Just for starters are the effects of the bigotry they've been subjected to--the pain of being ostracized and hated for things they can't change, the development of an intense sense of self-loathing and fear of what they could become, having no place to belong for the majority of their life. There are more recent developments, of course: loss of family is a big one, as well as a big dose of guilt for various offenses ranging from emotional outbursts to straight up nearly murdering a dude.

strung out

[postictal]

It'd be nice if people could stop fucking around with Tim's soul. Honestly, he'd appreciate it if this quit being a thing. He's getting pretty sick of it.

At least he knows what it feels like to be linked with people enough to know that this isn't what's happening here. At least, not as far as he knows. The ink-black strand that tethers him to...whoever is easy enough to track down. The question is of whether or not he wants to.

He sighs. Might as well.

Maybe not much of a shock of who he finds at the other end of it.

Aziraphale | late but very OTA

[salutosinedelectat]

I. Lanterns
Aziraphale's seen similar customs as this in his vast time on Earth. It's a sight to behold, even here - in the clean beaches, against the darkening sky.

He inspects the materials curiously, even found attempting to build one at a point, mostly for the sake of trying. He doesn't really find himself grieving anyone in particular - things are a bit different when you're immortal (were immortal?) and watch a planet grow and change and develop for as long as he has. Connections are a bit fickle, which isn't to say there aren't some who he remembers fondly. But the one person whose company he cherishes the most is here with him, anyway, and while he wishes their condition was far better, he's beyond thankful to have them around.

There's a lot on his mind as he watches people build lanterns and set them free into the currents. Thinking about the gods of this place, for example. The people trapped here. The constant dangers, their reasons to be here.

But it's...peaceful. It's a pleasant moment. He welcomes it, specially after the last few...well, he's being saying that for a while. Any moment of peace is truly precious here.


II. Threads
Well, that's certainly a new one.

Aziraphale is a bit startled but mostly confused when he first spots the thread. Appropriate testing follows: attempting to grab it, passing his hand through it a couple of times, a short moment of confused anxiety. But he doesn't feel any different. Doesn't feel like it could be connected to anything physically. And he does notice it goes outside the cottage and a good ways away.

A few minutes of talking himself into it, he finally sets foot to try and see where it leads. He's extra careful as he goes, whether for fear of it being a trap, of finding any quartzecoatls left over, or any dangers new and old that he might find on his way.

[ There are a few reasons one can find themselves connected to Aziraphale. Loss of home is the biggest one, the most common within these islands, and the one that troubles him the most.Loss of power, strength or nature, as he finds himself rather mortal and with his near infinite powers reduced to a handful of very specific abilities, and it's a bit of a gutpunch to his pride, with how that has led him to struggle in ways he never would have.]

III. No friend of mine [Upsy!]
He's just walking, one day. Just heading out toward a mana pool, fairly at ease for once, going through a list of personal tasks he wants to get through today. Behind him, a small colorful wobbledog shambles and wobbles after him.

Suddenly, a shadow. The angel stops, looking up. The wobbledog bumps into his legs and creeps around his feet.

The angel sees it. The impossible machinery. The rot and rust. That wide, threatening smile.

The angel stares, horrified. The monstrosity lingers. The wobbledog sits on Aziraphale's shoe and drools, clueless.


IV. Anywhere, any time
[ At any point in time, Aziraphale can be found around the island. He's more easily found in the Library all day, and in Denny. Also easily found taking a break by the mana pool, and walking by the beach and through the housing islets.

Feel free to make your own prompt or comment for plotting, or message me on this account or at skree ]

Also late but I've owed you this boy for a minute.

[agathokakological]

[Aziraphale had a regular routine at this point, visiting the library, etc. Sometimes Crowley joined him, having a lack of better things to do, but other times he spent his days in his garden, going for walks, etc. The angel was out, and Crowley had a decent harvest of herbs and vegetables from his garden that looked as ready as they'd be to eat, so Crowley spent the bulk of the time he'd been gone trying to catch a fish with an assortment of traps and blessings, and fetching a jug of whatever alcoholic beverage available at Denny. He'd miracled himself a proper knife to de-scale and prepare the food, and skewered everything to roast over their fire while he'd begun to straighten up around their hut. By the time Aziraphale would return, he'd do so to a pleasant aroma of a home-cooked meal. He might even walk in on Crowley tossing a piece of roasted vegetable to the dog he pretends to despise.]