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pluviosa2025-01-31 10:10 pm
pluviosamods) wrote in pluviosa2025-01-31 10:10 pm
Entry tags:
EVENT - Ripple and Warp IC log (part 1!)
ripple and warp
Hello and welcome to the IC log for Pluviosa's Fourth Wall event, Ripple and Warp!
In addition to providing information about how characters arrive on the new deck (whether they're existing passengers or not), this post also serves as a place where Fourth Wall characters can post top-levels without joining the game community.
Further information on Fourth Walls in general and the other accompanying OOC updates to the game can be found on the OOC information post here. This post also serves in lieu of a regular between-events Test Drive.
Finally, you may now start sending in your applications to keep your AU, CRAU, and so on characters around after the Fourth Wall! Be sure to note the minor changes to the Applications page (namely, the addition of an "AU information" section).
Without further ado - How did you get here? And more importantly, where is 'here' anyway?
Whether or not characters remember falling asleep on the evening of Day 37, they wake up somewhere different on Day 38, lying on a couch in an almost-familiar room. The couch is similar to the ones in the lounge, though those with keen noses will note that the cushions don't smell the same - there's no scent of your fellow passengers, or of the faint hint of an unknown, arid place that first accompanied the clean furnishings the Ship dragged out.
The room isn't one you've been in before, either, but it's still clearly on the Ship somewhere - there's the familiar motion of the legs moving, and the overhead emergency lights (the only source of light initially in the room) are the same as the ones in the hallways on Fern that the Ship has been working so hard to restore. However, that doesn't mean that it's hard to see - indeed, considering the contents of the room, the low lighting might be a blessing in disguise.
It's full of mirrors.
Not only the sorts of mirrors that character would expect to find, the ones that have been missing from the Ship's bathrooms and other expected places, though there are certainly plenty of those in the room - but the walls, the door, and the ceiling are also all mirrors. Mirrors hang on a portion of the larger furniture in what appears to be the living room of a suite. It's not as dramatic as it could be, but aside from the couch characters wake up on, it's pretty close. The floor, at least, is not reflective mirrors, though it's not much less shiny - instead of the usual hotel-esque carpet of the suites, there's seamless stone tile in stormcloud grey, slight variations in the color indicating marble. And all of those reflective surfaces are perfectly clean - although it's possible to find dried spots of decay on the backs of the mirrors, overall, it seems as though time doesn't have claim on this part of the Ship, much less the Growth.
And of course, where there are mirrors, there are reflections.
Some of them - probably the majority - are normal, perfect mirrors of the person the character expects to see. Some of them are distorted, but in a normal, mundane way - funhouse mirrors among the panels on the walls, making you wide or skinny or warped.
And then some of them show reflections of you that are distorted, not as in bent, but as in there being something different about the you that's in them. Different clothes; different hair; different age; different species. Added scars, or missing ones; limbs missing, or replaced with something else. A completely unknown you in the mirror.
For the most part, these altered reflections act the way you would expect, imitating the movements of the rest of the reflections in the room. But sometimes they don't. Sometimes they climb out of the mirror - and whether they're friendly or not remains to be seen.
There's a note on the mirror-topped table next to the couch. In backwards writing that needs to be held up to a mirror to be read easily, it says:
For those who are new around here, the method of arrival is... a bit different. This applies equally to characters who are just here for the fourth wall (alternates of existing characters etc) or those who will be apped as permanent residents - there isn't a distinction to these categories until the end of the event.
These characters arrive with a first sensation of being pressed against a hard, glass surface - not unlike the whispers of sensation that haunted the existing passengers over the last few days. The difference is that this time, the glass you're pressed against isn't a horizontal floor or bed - it's vertical or at least mostly vertical, and you can tell which way is down.
Or, put another way: Newly arrived characters start their boatride on the wrong side of the mirrors that are packed away into the unknown deck. They are facing towards the real world side, the way they would if they were reflections made physical, but turning around and looking behind them is nearly impossible.
Indeed, there's a growing pressure forcing them against the glass barrier. It grows harder and harder to breathe, almost like drowning, or being crushed by water pressure -
Until, just when you think you can't survive any more, something gives way, and you stumble out of the mirror into the real world. It's not the glass breaking - it's more like forcing your way through a soap bubble or the membrane that sits inside an eggshell that separates the hard pieces from the white. Water, too, cascades down out of the mirror with you, splattering all over the floor, but it's just water, and it doesn't seem to have left more than a bit of surface dampness on you.
However, when characters turn around, they will find that while the glass is still in place and unbroken, the mirror will no longer reflect anything - not even the shine of light cast on the glass - rendering these mirrors completely black. This reflectivity stays on the puddle of water around your feet instead, which aggressively reflects the area around it even if taken elsewhere - even if poured into a cup. In motion, it's too transparent to be taken for mercury or silver, but when pooled undisturbed, it does not ripple in response to the motion of the ship. Only the actions of characters or other forces can cause ripples. Otherwise, it appears to be normal water.
Characters who are alternates of each other might come out of the mirrors while they're literally being reflected (a certain surprise for those who are on the normal side of the mirror doing the looking), but they might also just appear in rooms all by themselves, or in the presence of someone else they know (or think they know). Those who don't have any immediate connections among the current passengers are more likely to appear in some empty room, but ultimately this is left to player discretion.
Not all reflections are as potentially friendly as those played by those of us on the player side of the screen, however. In addition to the "deeper" reflections played by real humans, who have or at least appear to have personalities and histories of their own, there are also "shallow" reflections. Unlike the Fourth Wall arrivals, shallow reflections can't be of characters who aren't present at the time - they only appear in response to characters looking into mirrors (whether those characters are existing residents or new arrivals).
The shallow reflections come out of the mirrors just like the Fourth Wall arrivals, but there's always something a little off about them. Some of them stay reversed like a reflection; some of them don't make any noise when they move and cannot speak; some of them come out of the mirrors with the funhouse-esque warped reflections and stay that way. Like their more 'real' counterparts, the mirrors the shallow reflections come out of turn completely flat, unreflective black; unlike their counterparts, they don't really hesitate in striding out, much less stumble and potentially collapse.
What do they want? To shove whoever they're a reflection of into the black mirror they came from. What happens if they succeed?
You die. I mean, probably. There's no way of knowing unless one of them does succeed, after all. If you want your character to die in this fashion, please let the mod team know. While we cannot guarantee that interesting things will happen to all characters (and those who are only here to visit for the Fourth Wall are not eligible), this may have permanent consequences for your character, take them out of play for longer ICly than a typical death, or impact other characters in the game beyond the typical levels of emotional harm. Or some combination of all three.
Fortunately, the shallow reflections only have physical strength on their side - they do not possess any powers of those they take the shapes of, and they can be killed in largely the same way as unremarkable flesh and blood humans. A killing blow causes them to collapse into the same hyper-reflective water as described above; the mirror they came out of remains black.
The deck itself is open fully to character navigation. Like the lab specimen storage of Zinnia, this deck - whose name is not posted anywhere for characters to find easily - is clear of any signs of Growth, and manages to feel chilly even if you get up to the top deck where the sun is shining.
Or... Should be shining. Regardless of the weather on other deck dimensions, the skies above this deck are
always, at best, a cloudy, half-stormy grey. The air above hangs tense, like the clouds are waiting for something to happen. Unlike the other instances of Ship weather, you don't need Neuvillette's particular affinity with water to sense it - any character with empathic or telepathic powers will be able to feel the sense of looming, helpless frustration in the clouds.
The most notable feature of this deck, of course, is that it's full of mirrors. Indeed, it's not only the mirrors that are missing from the suite bathrooms, the public restrooms by the cafeteria, and so on - there are far more mirrors than the Ship would reasonably need to outfit the decks it has, even including the multidimensional nature of it. Mirrors hang from the walls, and then more mirrors lean against those, or against the other furnishings, or even against each other (since some of them are standing mirrors), and the groups against the walls are often five or six panels deep with the largest at the back the side of the glass panels of the Ship's sliding glass balcony doors. (Yes, those are also replaced by mirrors, reflective in both directions.) Tabletops are reflective in their own rights, and then littered with even more, antique-looking hand mirrors and makeup compacts and those little circular mirrors sold in bags by the dozen at the craft store, only an inch across.
Considering all the reflective surfaces, it might be a good thing that there is only emergency power supplied to this deck - enough to keep the guide lights on and ensure that the sliding doors (though not the elevators) are working, and that whatever system pumps water through the faucets and showers is still going. The water is all cold, however, and there isn't any food available on the deck so far as characters are able to find. In the place where characters are used to finding the cafeteria, there is instead a terrifying mirrored bar filled with empty bottles and glasses as well as - well. Take a guess.
With the exception of the sliding glass doors in the suites, the glass of windows and so forth seems to be what it should be - though it's more reflective than seems natural, too. Like Zinnia, the cleaniness of this deck means that characters have full run of it, all the way down to the lounge on the bottom of the Ship - which is the only place that isn't completely clean on this deck. The super-reflective water that pours out of the mirrors seems to have flowed down here at some point, where it sits, unaffected by the motion of the Ship, about an inch deep across the entire floor. This water is the only feature down in the bottom lounge - there is no furniture, in contrast to its Zinnia counterpart.
And on this floor, at the very bottom, and only this floor, the reflective water has the smell - only the smell, not any other qualities - of fresh blood.
The Ship will not answer characters here - although the terminals in the residential deck that can normally be used to communicate with it (in whatever limited capacity) are present, their screens are (of course!) mirrors, and unresponsive. There's also no signs of drones about, not even the basic roomba-like cleaning drones; there's no evidence that they've been here recently, either.
A follow-up log, in which the Ship manages to make contact with characters wherever they are, will be posted later (mod goal time is 2-3 weeks from now). That log will take place on Day 40 and will bring with it food (for everyone who has gotten very hungry by then) and drone assistance, but whether characters actually manage to escape at that point or later on on Day 42 is left open to the opinions of you, the players! Both current players and visitors will be able to vote in a Discord poll on the matter, to be posted in the Discord announcements channel tomorrow (after you've had the chance to sleep on this post and let it cook in your brains a little).
Happy playing! Questions can be asked on Discord or added to the usual questions header below this post.
In addition to providing information about how characters arrive on the new deck (whether they're existing passengers or not), this post also serves as a place where Fourth Wall characters can post top-levels without joining the game community.
Further information on Fourth Walls in general and the other accompanying OOC updates to the game can be found on the OOC information post here. This post also serves in lieu of a regular between-events Test Drive.
Finally, you may now start sending in your applications to keep your AU, CRAU, and so on characters around after the Fourth Wall! Be sure to note the minor changes to the Applications page (namely, the addition of an "AU information" section).
Without further ado - How did you get here? And more importantly, where is 'here' anyway?
existing characters
Whether or not characters remember falling asleep on the evening of Day 37, they wake up somewhere different on Day 38, lying on a couch in an almost-familiar room. The couch is similar to the ones in the lounge, though those with keen noses will note that the cushions don't smell the same - there's no scent of your fellow passengers, or of the faint hint of an unknown, arid place that first accompanied the clean furnishings the Ship dragged out.
The room isn't one you've been in before, either, but it's still clearly on the Ship somewhere - there's the familiar motion of the legs moving, and the overhead emergency lights (the only source of light initially in the room) are the same as the ones in the hallways on Fern that the Ship has been working so hard to restore. However, that doesn't mean that it's hard to see - indeed, considering the contents of the room, the low lighting might be a blessing in disguise.
It's full of mirrors.
Not only the sorts of mirrors that character would expect to find, the ones that have been missing from the Ship's bathrooms and other expected places, though there are certainly plenty of those in the room - but the walls, the door, and the ceiling are also all mirrors. Mirrors hang on a portion of the larger furniture in what appears to be the living room of a suite. It's not as dramatic as it could be, but aside from the couch characters wake up on, it's pretty close. The floor, at least, is not reflective mirrors, though it's not much less shiny - instead of the usual hotel-esque carpet of the suites, there's seamless stone tile in stormcloud grey, slight variations in the color indicating marble. And all of those reflective surfaces are perfectly clean - although it's possible to find dried spots of decay on the backs of the mirrors, overall, it seems as though time doesn't have claim on this part of the Ship, much less the Growth.
And of course, where there are mirrors, there are reflections.
Some of them - probably the majority - are normal, perfect mirrors of the person the character expects to see. Some of them are distorted, but in a normal, mundane way - funhouse mirrors among the panels on the walls, making you wide or skinny or warped.
And then some of them show reflections of you that are distorted, not as in bent, but as in there being something different about the you that's in them. Different clothes; different hair; different age; different species. Added scars, or missing ones; limbs missing, or replaced with something else. A completely unknown you in the mirror.
For the most part, these altered reflections act the way you would expect, imitating the movements of the rest of the reflections in the room. But sometimes they don't. Sometimes they climb out of the mirror - and whether they're friendly or not remains to be seen.
There's a note on the mirror-topped table next to the couch. In backwards writing that needs to be held up to a mirror to be read easily, it says:
Thanks for visiting! I'm sorry I couldn't be there to meet you, but there's just so many people here today!
I wonder if you'll get a chance to meet the real you?
Good luck!
new characters and visitors
For those who are new around here, the method of arrival is... a bit different. This applies equally to characters who are just here for the fourth wall (alternates of existing characters etc) or those who will be apped as permanent residents - there isn't a distinction to these categories until the end of the event.
These characters arrive with a first sensation of being pressed against a hard, glass surface - not unlike the whispers of sensation that haunted the existing passengers over the last few days. The difference is that this time, the glass you're pressed against isn't a horizontal floor or bed - it's vertical or at least mostly vertical, and you can tell which way is down.
Or, put another way: Newly arrived characters start their boatride on the wrong side of the mirrors that are packed away into the unknown deck. They are facing towards the real world side, the way they would if they were reflections made physical, but turning around and looking behind them is nearly impossible.
Indeed, there's a growing pressure forcing them against the glass barrier. It grows harder and harder to breathe, almost like drowning, or being crushed by water pressure -
Until, just when you think you can't survive any more, something gives way, and you stumble out of the mirror into the real world. It's not the glass breaking - it's more like forcing your way through a soap bubble or the membrane that sits inside an eggshell that separates the hard pieces from the white. Water, too, cascades down out of the mirror with you, splattering all over the floor, but it's just water, and it doesn't seem to have left more than a bit of surface dampness on you.
However, when characters turn around, they will find that while the glass is still in place and unbroken, the mirror will no longer reflect anything - not even the shine of light cast on the glass - rendering these mirrors completely black. This reflectivity stays on the puddle of water around your feet instead, which aggressively reflects the area around it even if taken elsewhere - even if poured into a cup. In motion, it's too transparent to be taken for mercury or silver, but when pooled undisturbed, it does not ripple in response to the motion of the ship. Only the actions of characters or other forces can cause ripples. Otherwise, it appears to be normal water.
Characters who are alternates of each other might come out of the mirrors while they're literally being reflected (a certain surprise for those who are on the normal side of the mirror doing the looking), but they might also just appear in rooms all by themselves, or in the presence of someone else they know (or think they know). Those who don't have any immediate connections among the current passengers are more likely to appear in some empty room, but ultimately this is left to player discretion.
shallower reflections
Not all reflections are as potentially friendly as those played by those of us on the player side of the screen, however. In addition to the "deeper" reflections played by real humans, who have or at least appear to have personalities and histories of their own, there are also "shallow" reflections. Unlike the Fourth Wall arrivals, shallow reflections can't be of characters who aren't present at the time - they only appear in response to characters looking into mirrors (whether those characters are existing residents or new arrivals).
The shallow reflections come out of the mirrors just like the Fourth Wall arrivals, but there's always something a little off about them. Some of them stay reversed like a reflection; some of them don't make any noise when they move and cannot speak; some of them come out of the mirrors with the funhouse-esque warped reflections and stay that way. Like their more 'real' counterparts, the mirrors the shallow reflections come out of turn completely flat, unreflective black; unlike their counterparts, they don't really hesitate in striding out, much less stumble and potentially collapse.
What do they want? To shove whoever they're a reflection of into the black mirror they came from. What happens if they succeed?
You die. I mean, probably. There's no way of knowing unless one of them does succeed, after all. If you want your character to die in this fashion, please let the mod team know. While we cannot guarantee that interesting things will happen to all characters (and those who are only here to visit for the Fourth Wall are not eligible), this may have permanent consequences for your character, take them out of play for longer ICly than a typical death, or impact other characters in the game beyond the typical levels of emotional harm. Or some combination of all three.
Fortunately, the shallow reflections only have physical strength on their side - they do not possess any powers of those they take the shapes of, and they can be killed in largely the same way as unremarkable flesh and blood humans. A killing blow causes them to collapse into the same hyper-reflective water as described above; the mirror they came out of remains black.
??? deck
The deck itself is open fully to character navigation. Like the lab specimen storage of Zinnia, this deck - whose name is not posted anywhere for characters to find easily - is clear of any signs of Growth, and manages to feel chilly even if you get up to the top deck where the sun is shining.
Or... Should be shining. Regardless of the weather on other deck dimensions, the skies above this deck are
always, at best, a cloudy, half-stormy grey. The air above hangs tense, like the clouds are waiting for something to happen. Unlike the other instances of Ship weather, you don't need Neuvillette's particular affinity with water to sense it - any character with empathic or telepathic powers will be able to feel the sense of looming, helpless frustration in the clouds.
The most notable feature of this deck, of course, is that it's full of mirrors. Indeed, it's not only the mirrors that are missing from the suite bathrooms, the public restrooms by the cafeteria, and so on - there are far more mirrors than the Ship would reasonably need to outfit the decks it has, even including the multidimensional nature of it. Mirrors hang from the walls, and then more mirrors lean against those, or against the other furnishings, or even against each other (since some of them are standing mirrors), and the groups against the walls are often five or six panels deep with the largest at the back the side of the glass panels of the Ship's sliding glass balcony doors. (Yes, those are also replaced by mirrors, reflective in both directions.) Tabletops are reflective in their own rights, and then littered with even more, antique-looking hand mirrors and makeup compacts and those little circular mirrors sold in bags by the dozen at the craft store, only an inch across.
Considering all the reflective surfaces, it might be a good thing that there is only emergency power supplied to this deck - enough to keep the guide lights on and ensure that the sliding doors (though not the elevators) are working, and that whatever system pumps water through the faucets and showers is still going. The water is all cold, however, and there isn't any food available on the deck so far as characters are able to find. In the place where characters are used to finding the cafeteria, there is instead a terrifying mirrored bar filled with empty bottles and glasses as well as - well. Take a guess.
With the exception of the sliding glass doors in the suites, the glass of windows and so forth seems to be what it should be - though it's more reflective than seems natural, too. Like Zinnia, the cleaniness of this deck means that characters have full run of it, all the way down to the lounge on the bottom of the Ship - which is the only place that isn't completely clean on this deck. The super-reflective water that pours out of the mirrors seems to have flowed down here at some point, where it sits, unaffected by the motion of the Ship, about an inch deep across the entire floor. This water is the only feature down in the bottom lounge - there is no furniture, in contrast to its Zinnia counterpart.
And on this floor, at the very bottom, and only this floor, the reflective water has the smell - only the smell, not any other qualities - of fresh blood.
The Ship will not answer characters here - although the terminals in the residential deck that can normally be used to communicate with it (in whatever limited capacity) are present, their screens are (of course!) mirrors, and unresponsive. There's also no signs of drones about, not even the basic roomba-like cleaning drones; there's no evidence that they've been here recently, either.
A follow-up log, in which the Ship manages to make contact with characters wherever they are, will be posted later (mod goal time is 2-3 weeks from now). That log will take place on Day 40 and will bring with it food (for everyone who has gotten very hungry by then) and drone assistance, but whether characters actually manage to escape at that point or later on on Day 42 is left open to the opinions of you, the players! Both current players and visitors will be able to vote in a Discord poll on the matter, to be posted in the Discord announcements channel tomorrow (after you've had the chance to sleep on this post and let it cook in your brains a little).
Happy playing! Questions can be asked on Discord or added to the usual questions header below this post.
HAHA um you mean the horns I was BORN WITH?? Rude /jk jk (MRAAAAH)
He's armed. Two swords, both of which could cut him apart with ease. The man wields them with ease, like extensions of his being.
And he leaves one behind in his approach. Federico blinks.
The man makes a show of it too. He doesn't look...pleased to leave a weapon behind but...but. He makes it very obvious what he's doing. Like Federico is some...cornered beast, tensed to spook at a moment's notice. ........which isn't far off, unfortunately. His heartrate has been way too high for much too long.
The man states he's keeping one. That's...it's clear this man is battle hardened, and weary of missteps. Federico...does understand. He still can't help the panic clawing at his throat whenever he looks at the katana too long and cannot defend himself. His own scythe had clattered into the world somewhere behind him, too far to be useful, and he can't even wield it in such a state....
The man crouches down. Makes eye contact. Continues to be very clear what he's doing. Federico watches, his unsteady breathing easing just slightly. He knows this man is capable of killing him if he ever feels like it. But he doesn't now. And he wouldn't be moving this deliberately if he was planning on it. Why go through the trouble?
And then-
An Executor???? Him???
Federico's face does something strange. He almost looks...offended? But the name is correct. How...how does he know it? Why? Offense gives way to confusion, surprise. He....how does he...well. A small shake of the head, then a very confused nod. Then a wince when the motion pulls a muscle he wasn't expecting, and a stilted, quiet groan.
He's still scared. He's still in danger. But...this person's actions and movements aren't setting off any immediate alarms. He seems to know him...how?? Only Arturia really refers to him by name instead of title...
Despite himself, the adrenaline starts to ebb away, and his eyelids flutter for a second. He yanks his awareness back to the waking world by sheer will, only to see-
Flowers??? Federico stares, transfixed, as bright blue flowers blossom right out of this sarkaz's shoulder, before his very eyes. Is this a form of Arts...? Or is he concussed and hallucinating...the small fragile petals are a juxtaposition to this man's gruff tone. Beautiful...
(Perhaps this is a good thing to be happening, because the surprise and apparent wonder actually win out over the pain and fear in Federico's overly tired brain. Yeah he's not sure if it's real or not, but you sure don't see flowers growing from people every day. It doesn't even have the telltale veins of the seaborn. It looks organic. Confused gargoyle noises.)
((...I was going to make a connection to the flower from the monastery, then remembered the AU LMAO. Still. Let Fedi still like flowers. Or at least be fascinated by them.))
I would say this is an elaborate prank but I don't think ur capable of that
He takes it as a good sign that "Horn" face does look at his blade, but doesn't react in distress or anger. Good. They seem to have an understanding on that for now.
"Horn" face continues to stay calm when he kneels in front of him- okay, okay, also good. So far none of the strange things in this place were patient- All of them were ready to rip, tear, and kill the moment contact was made. Not that he was entirely clearing this strange version of the sankta Executor of being some kind of hallucination or trick (after all- he couldn't even say anymore if he was of sound mind. He had no idea what the plants growing off of him were possibly doing to his body and mind...) but that aside- It did ease his own tenseness to see the other acting like a normal person instead of... anything else.
When he states the name Executor's face does something. Interesting. It almost looks like he'd bitten into a lemon. A really sour lemon. Probably wouldn't go over well with a santka palate- It would almost, almost be very funny if it weren't for the tense situation they were in.
Then he shakes his head- okay then what-
Then he nods.
Flamebringer gives him a flat look, ears lowering and adding to the effect. "Wow. Thanks for the clarity Angel face." He says as a gut reaction. But- If that had been consecutive to what he'd said then that would mean...
The groan grabs his attention again and his ears go back up in sharp attention- That didn't sound good. Which was unsurprising- Angel face didn't exactly look good. Under the layers of weathered clothing he couldn't make out exactly all what had happened- but he was definitely worse for wear. Instinct makes him want to check him over. At this point him and Executor were belatedly functioning as though this was an extended operation, so it was his responsibility to watch the sankta's back just as much as he had watched his. But he stops himself before he can move. This "Horn" face was too startled and wary for him to make moves carelessly, he didn't look like he was dying. So Flamebringer would have to be patient.
If he did start to look like he was dying, all patience would go out the window.
"You are Federico Giallo then?" He gets himself back on track. But not 'Executor'... which would make sense if this was genuinely a sarkaz Angel face... but how-?
Stars- This would be easier if he could get that thing out of his mouth. He raises a hand instinctively to go for it- then stops himself. Looking "Horn" face in the eyes. Or he tried- he sees the way he's almost nodding off and it sends a chill down his spine.
"Hey, hey!" He raises his voice slightly, trying to grab his attention without being threatening, but he can't help but grimace. "Eyes on me."
The sankta- sarkaz- he does open his eyes again, only for them to widen dramatically, Flamebringer whips his head around to see if there's something behind him- But there's nothing- Just more of these ugly mirrors. What-
There's a fleck of bright blue in the corner of his eye......... right. That would be surprising to spot on any living being. Wouldn't it.
At least he's awake...
...
"... I'm going to get rid of that thing in your mouth. Okay? It shouldn't hurt. If it does. Make a noise at me." He slowly moves his hand closer to the other's face, giving him more than enough time to shake his head or vocalize discomfort.
Federico vc What Is A Prank
yetis...a good sign.So he watches, anxiety coiled tight in his chest as this man comes closer, kneels.
(Pfff...it would be. Federico in particular would not handle such a strong taste very well at all. A very sour lemon...too tart, too overwhelming. Indeed an appropriately offensive taste.)
Federico gives the man a flat look in turn, his tail flicking. How else might he respond? And again with the "Angel Face"...what is that about?? The gargoyle looks increasingly confused. ...He tries to hold onto that. Confusion lets him question things, stay more aware through the pain pressing down on him.
He huffs, nodding again, hissing softly when it makes the room spin again.
He...loses some time, it seems.
Because when Federico's eyes focus again, there's a raised hand, and the man's voice rising in volume. Calling him...? Why does he sound...that's not anger in his raised voice. What is...
'Eyes on me.' Why...
Still, the gargoyle watches, flinching slightly when the man turns suddenly. Did he hear something? The flowers sway with the movement. Federico watches them in dazed fascination. There are many better places to grow flowers than from a person. Maybe this sarkaz wanted to be more mobile...?
He drags his gaze back to the man's face. He's talking. Reaching forward-
Federico's breathing picks up significantly. But the words register, then. He's...wanting to remove the gag. He's...helping? Or does he just want easier answers? Either way, having it removed would be....nice. Between his bound arms, legs, wings, how his shoulders burn with the position they're forced to hold, the bruises inflicted- the metal gag is the worst. Wrong movements make it cut more into his skin. It's not something made for sarkaz, for people. It's something made for beasts. He knows this.
It silenced him all the same.
This man is offering to remove it. To tell him if it hurts (when? It all hurts. It hurts right now get it off get it off-) so he swallows down his fear as the hand comes closer, forcing his breathing to slow. He does scan the man's hand for any cuts, any injuries. He's likely to come in contact with his blood.
Then again, he saw the originium crystals on the other's face. So it may not even matter by this point.
So Federico watches very closely, going very still. The only movement is his breathing, and him belatedly tilting his head so the other can have better access to the leather strap around his head keeping it fastened.
It makes it harder to watch his movements. But if it gets this thing off him, that's...acceptable.
Expression of: see what i mean
The returned flat look startles the smallest huff of amusement out of Flamebringer- This gargoyle was more sassy then the Executor he knew it seemed.
But he didn't like the way the sarkaz before him seemed to be struggling to stay awake- He needed to move things along. If he was losing too much blood they could be in big trouble.
Another nod, confirming just the name, followed by another sign of pain. His mouth is a grim line. He tries to relax his expression- he needs to remember not to stress this guy out before he gets more answers. "Okay then, Federico."
It felt weird- Wrong even- to say that.
The story about the flowers would have to wait for another day... if at all. Flamebringer wasn't exactly in the mood to explain it. Angel face- uh, normal Angel face, had already been there for the whole disaster- and then somehow the slippery gambler had gotten the story out of him- if clipped and cut down. Not that there was much to tell.
He stills at the signs of panic, the rapid rising and falling of the gargoyle's chest and the way his eyes widened along with his tail freezing- Not good-
He exhales through his noise when he relaxes, relieved. He couldn't blame the other for being so jumpy. It only made sense. It was the fate of many sarkaz to face unkind hands, and he's sure from this interaction that "Horn" face had faced many. But he wouldn't find any here. Not without good reason.
This strange Federico doesn't nod when his hand starts moving again, but he allows it, he sees the way he scans Flamebringer's hand, maybe looking for a sign of another hidden weapon, claws, or just intent. Flamebringer doesn't take offense, just continues slowly forward. He gently pulls aside the longer strands of hair from the gargoyle's cheek, tucking it behind his ear so it'll be out of the way.
He sees the way "Horn" face is holding still, not unlike the statue state sometimes thrown at the gargoyle race as an endearment or insult. Federico is probably scared out of his mind. Its a heavy request- asking a sarkaz like him to expose their weaknesses and vulnerabilities readily. And Flamebringer knows he's cuts an imposing figure. That's often his intent. But for once he doesn't mean any harm.
The only thing he wants is to know what on Terra is going on.
He hooks one finger underneath the metal linking, pulling it gently away from Federico's skin- he feels the coolness of the other's face and he hopes its natural and not from bloodloss- Carefully keeping an eye out for the hair coming loose and getting in his way again.
Then he lights in his palm the tiniest little flame. It starts off orange, but he pushes.
The warm light is enveloped in a blue, the heat of the tiny flame at least doubling in intensity, even as its size stays the same. He feels the metal against his finger begin to bend- but its not enough.
It was made for beasts after all. Wild things. Things meant to be controlled and corralled.
His gaze grows more intense as he pours one last surge into the fire- For a brief minute, the flame is bright white, illuminating the side of "Horn" face's face and also Flamebringer's own expression in a bright- strange and ghostly glow.
And in one quick movement he pulls his finger sharply and there's a satisfying snap as metal breaks and the strap and bit go flying.
Flamebringer can't help it- He grins. An expression often saved for the bloody battlefield and few other instances. But it always brought him immense joy to ruin the days of the kinds of individuals who would do something like that.
He pants a little bit as he scoots back, giving Federico some room. He'd like to pull out his knife and finish the rest of the bindings, but for now he wanted to give "Horn" face some room to breathe.
it's ok speaking function restored YIPPEE
As strange as it is for Flamebringer to use the other’s name, it’s even stranger for Federico to hear it.
How does he know? How does he know? The question swirls in his head, frantic, relentless—but then it slows. It is his name. That truth anchors him, helps him stay present, his weary blue eyes locked onto the Sarkaz before him. Wary, but no longer fully suspicious.
(Federico Prime will, indeed, be haunted by the plant incident for weeks. Possibly months. Meanwhile, Aventurine took the story in stride—then proceeded to casually sprinkle water on Flamebringer’s shoulder every time they met, a cheeky grin on his face. Teasing—his own form of affection.)
Federico expects pain. He expects pulling, expects the shifting of bonds that have pressed too tightly for too long, for it to sting. He does not expect—
Warmth.
Gentle, calloused fingers brush his hair aside with careful deliberation. His ear twitches at the touch, as hair gets pushed behind it—Flamebringer can see there’s a notch missing, a long-healed wound—but otherwise, the gargoyle remains frozen. Inside, though, his mind scrambles, struggling to process the strange duality of it. How that touch makes him want to flinch away and lean in at the same time. His shoulders waver for a moment before finding a compromise, relaxing just slightly.
Then Flamebringer moves to the gag, and instinct locks his muscles up tight.
His breath stutters as warmth gathers near his face, warmth that grows into heat. Then—fire.
The tiniest noise slips out of him, a sharp, startled exhale of distress. Fire. Light. Not daylight. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s not burning him, it’s—
His eyes flick to the flame, then away, then back again. It’s getting brighter. It’s getting hotter. His vision strains under the glow, too sensitive in the darkness to ignore the growing intensity. He wants to pull away, to recoil, to brace for the pain that his instincts insist will follow—but he doesn’t. He can’t. He knows if he moves at the wrong moment, if he startles, the risk of injury only grows.
So he stays still. Rigid. Breath shallow, heart hammering.
The fire flashes white. Federico squeezes his eyes shut against the searing brightness, overwhelmed by both the light and the sheer closeness of it, but he still does not move. The Sarkaz’s expression had been so focused, so certain. He knows what he’s doing. Hopefully.
The metal creaks. Then— a snap.
The moment the bit breaks free, Federico pries his jaw open with effort, letting the jagged metal clatter away. His whole face aches from being locked in place for so long, but—
He can breathe.
He gasps, dragging in lungfuls of air, unrestrained for the first time in too long. It’s dry. Too dry. The heat in the air catches at the back of his throat, and he coughs, head lolling slightly with the effort. For a moment, stars dance at the edges of his vision. How much blood am I losing…?
He blinks rapidly, trying to clear the blur clouding his sight. The Sarkaz is still in front of him—still watching. He's...grinning. It's a bit unsettling, but- but… there’s something else, too. Satisfaction...? Federico doesn’t know what to make of that.
Slowly, he works his jaw, wincing at the pain, but relishing the freedom. He swallows, throat raw, then manages a rasped, “Than…ks.”
His gaze flickers over the other man, noticing for the first time how he’s panting slightly, how the fire seems to have taken something out of him. Federico exhales, breath still shaky but steadier than before. “…You… alright…?”
Sound of device connecting to computer
He had to use an immense amount of self control not to make a face when he saw the pointed ears. That would be interpreted poorly. But it just looked wrong to him. It was a feeling he was quickly getting used too under these conditions. For better or for worse. He notes the notch and doesn't comment or shift his expression. He'd seen such things many times before. The fact that he still had most his ear still in-tact was plenty good enough for him. And he's sure it would be enough for weird Federico.
He hears the stutter in "Horn" face's breath- the noise of distress he makes- but he doesn't break his focus or stop what he's doing. He understands- By the furnace he does. If the roles were reversed he'd be decidedly less docile then Federico was being. He's grateful Federico is going this far on his benefit of the doubt.
But he has to finish this. And if he moves he's probably going to burn the gargoyle so. Unfortunately "Horn" face will just have to tough it out.
The gasping breaths from "Horn" face only make his grin widen. Good- Good. He'd made the right call. Although the smile dissipates quickly as he blinks up at Flamebringer, he's still struggling... He needed to try to speed them along to a full assessment sooner rather than later- he still didn't have a clue as to the true extent of Federico's injuries.
"Yeah- You're welcome." He says, "It was my pleasure." A hint of that grin comes back briefly before disappating again.
He snorts "Worry about yourself Angel- Federico." He waves a hand. All joy he had bleeding out at the question. Was it so obvious? "Horn" face really did need to focus on himself. Flamebringer wasn't bleeding out- or possibly bleeding out he supposes.
He looks Federico over for a second, expression calm but intense. How should he approach the rest of this... his mind is spinning with questions he wants to ask. Instinctual jabs he wants to make- but he's getting the impression that this Not-Executor doesn't know him... Which only adds more questions to the growing pile. Nothing about this makes sense. And it makes him uncomfortable.
But at this point... he feels they've established this is a real person. Even if its not the same Federico. And its not like he hasn't already had to deal with facing the reality of there being other planets- and people from those planets having rules that worked differently than Terra's. Evidently, whatever was going on with "Horn" face was closer to home... but...
He sighs, ending the awkward moment of silence. "Are you alright?" His eyes glance to the blood he can see, "If it were up to me I'd like get you out of those bindings right now." He pats the dagger sheathed at his side, "But I get having reservations about being approached by a stranger."
It's been. 20 YEARS- 12 weeks. Taps mic I accidentally dropped. this still on? *screeeech*
And then there's that...name again. He blinks. "I am aware of my current situation. And the power you have over me at this current point in time. This can...suffice..." And with some mustered energy, he attempts to sit up. Or just...crane his neck just so he can bite at the ropes around his arms-
The way that pulls against his wings, and something in his leg, and something inside- his ribs? It flares with pain. His vision whites out for a moment. Bad move. Very bad move. Stars. What's happening? All he can do is breathe through it, teeth clamped together, blood seeping from the ragged corners of his mouth but at least he can close his mouth now. Breathe.
Breathe.
"Y-You keep...calling mme...Angel. I'm not...what do you mean?" he rasps, wanting nothing more than to curl up on himself far away from here. But he has to talk, to do something before this person finally decides to take advantage of the situation. "Messenger. Call me...I am...Messenger." It only makes sense to be called by what you are, what you strive for day to day.
Maybe his tail can dislodge some of the bindings? It flicks, but lacks coordination, and just ends up lashing over his bruised ankle. Now that the adrenaline has faded, he can feel everything keenly, the pain threatening to pull him down and away from it all. He can't allow that. He needs to use that as a tool here-
"What?"
The other had asked his status. No. If he was alright. There's a difference. Stone-blue eyes widen, staring at the other sarkaz for a moment in clear surprise. How should he reply to that? Why is he asking? What does it matter here? What are his motives?? He swallows, eyeing the indicated dagger, trying to gather his thoughts that seem to balk at the reminder of a weapon so close, so easy to end his life on the spot.
But why wait this long to do so...? Why ask about his wellness? Why?
"Status...uncertain. Numerous injuries." Hurts. He is not alright. But that amount spoken...is true.
'If it were up to me, I'd like to-'
Federico sucks in a breath. He would also like that. Very much. And this man had already removed the gag, the muzzle. The why does not matter in the face of the very real relief that brought. And yet still his heart hammers, and his thoughts are getting more sluggish. It's...difficult.
"What gain does freeing me bring for you...?" he finally asks, tail lashing. He attempts to flare his wings to restore some level of dignity, then chokes down a pained cry when it pulls at the damn bindings. Foolish. He should....he should know better. He forces his breathing to slow, hissing through clamped, sharp, bloodstained teeth. "Who are you? Is there something you desire from me?" That has to be it, right?
Right?