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Entry tags:
- *mission log,
- addison parker [original],
- angel [borderlands],
- aoba seragaki [dramatical murder],
- bellamy blake [the 100],
- clint barton [mcu],
- ilde vilmaine [original],
- kylo ren [star wars],
- lexa [the 100],
- nathaniel horn [original],
- nirad,
- rhys [borderlands],
- sam alexander [marvel 616],
- sam wilson [mcu],
- steve rogers [mcu],
- the darkling [grisha trilogy]
EMPTY CHAIRS AT EMPTY TABLES
CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: Concordia - VEN DIAGRAMS HQ + BOUT IT OUT PARLOR + BEARINGS APARTMENT BLOCK
WHEN: Late Day :022 + Early Day :023
SUMMARY: The results of all your hard work - for better or worse. One win, one draw, one loss. Anakin Skywalker bites the big one.
WARNINGS: Violence, non-graphic character death.
IT’S BEEN A LONG DAY. Unfortunately, that’s not about to change any time soon. In the late hours of the evening, two things are happening: the final round of the Bout It Out expose between Kun-Kun and The Darkling is spooling up; meanwhile, the infiltration team at Ven Diagrams is working to retrieve information on H+H1 from the company’s security drive. Unfortunately, neither is going to reach the natural conclusion.
At the REGAL STREET GAMING PARLOR, emotions are running high. After a long day of simulation violence and the reveal of Kun-Kun’s new automaton fighting avatar, the crowd has been stoked to a few pitch. The music’s loud but the crowd is louder: cheering and booing, shouting for every landed or evaded strike. There’s an electric pulse of excitement in the air-- and then there’s a very literal one as an electromagnetic pulse rocks the Regal Street Parlor. The Bout It Out ring shorts and the entire parlor is pitched into total, window-less darkness. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for the crowd’s excitement to melt into panic. Pushing, shoving, shouting - a piercing shriek as one of Kun-Kun’s representatives is stabbed. The nearby hosts (Lexa, Sam Alexander, and anyone in their faux attachment) should be able to help Kun-Kun and his reps to safety, but the crush of the crowd tangles up everyone else. When a rudimentary bomb goes off in the center of the parlor, it catches plenty of people in the crossfire.
There’s a white hot flash. A pulse of heat. A sizzle of agony. It’s a pain that guts, that persists long after the flash of the bomb and extends all the way to the infiltration team at Ven Diagrams. It’s like a limb badly severed. Anakin Skywalker is killed by the blast and every host knows it before they’re aware of anything else.
Unluckily for the infiltration team, they won’t have much time to recover. News of the bombing hits Extraspace in a matter of seconds, which triggers Ven Diagrams - paranoid from the recent attack on their own properties - to lock down their headquarters. All systems are tightened and security clamps down before the infiltration team can access the private servers. If you’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be, now’s the time to get the hell out of dodge.
Retreat, regroup. Upon returning to the Bearings apartment block, the hosts will find that two of their previously comatose friends have woken up: Hux and Aoba Seragaki will probably need to be briefed on the current situation.
((OOC NOTES: Here it is, your wrapup log for the event! You may have noticed that the Hosts didn’t succeed at the Ven Diagrams infiltration. We thought this was a better way than asking everyone to handwave a huge amount of plot or simply having the NPCs get the evidence. Don’t worry though - there will be other mysteries to unravel soon. Very soon, in fact.
There will be an NPC top-level for the escape with Kun-Kun, but otherwise you’re free to make your own top levels! If you have any questions please feel free to ask them in the event OOC post.
Thanks everyone!))
WHERE: Concordia - VEN DIAGRAMS HQ + BOUT IT OUT PARLOR + BEARINGS APARTMENT BLOCK
WHEN: Late Day :022 + Early Day :023
SUMMARY: The results of all your hard work - for better or worse. One win, one draw, one loss. Anakin Skywalker bites the big one.
WARNINGS: Violence, non-graphic character death.
IT’S BEEN A LONG DAY. Unfortunately, that’s not about to change any time soon. In the late hours of the evening, two things are happening: the final round of the Bout It Out expose between Kun-Kun and The Darkling is spooling up; meanwhile, the infiltration team at Ven Diagrams is working to retrieve information on H+H1 from the company’s security drive. Unfortunately, neither is going to reach the natural conclusion.
At the REGAL STREET GAMING PARLOR, emotions are running high. After a long day of simulation violence and the reveal of Kun-Kun’s new automaton fighting avatar, the crowd has been stoked to a few pitch. The music’s loud but the crowd is louder: cheering and booing, shouting for every landed or evaded strike. There’s an electric pulse of excitement in the air-- and then there’s a very literal one as an electromagnetic pulse rocks the Regal Street Parlor. The Bout It Out ring shorts and the entire parlor is pitched into total, window-less darkness. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for the crowd’s excitement to melt into panic. Pushing, shoving, shouting - a piercing shriek as one of Kun-Kun’s representatives is stabbed. The nearby hosts (Lexa, Sam Alexander, and anyone in their faux attachment) should be able to help Kun-Kun and his reps to safety, but the crush of the crowd tangles up everyone else. When a rudimentary bomb goes off in the center of the parlor, it catches plenty of people in the crossfire.
There’s a white hot flash. A pulse of heat. A sizzle of agony. It’s a pain that guts, that persists long after the flash of the bomb and extends all the way to the infiltration team at Ven Diagrams. It’s like a limb badly severed. Anakin Skywalker is killed by the blast and every host knows it before they’re aware of anything else.
Unluckily for the infiltration team, they won’t have much time to recover. News of the bombing hits Extraspace in a matter of seconds, which triggers Ven Diagrams - paranoid from the recent attack on their own properties - to lock down their headquarters. All systems are tightened and security clamps down before the infiltration team can access the private servers. If you’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be, now’s the time to get the hell out of dodge.
Retreat, regroup. Upon returning to the Bearings apartment block, the hosts will find that two of their previously comatose friends have woken up: Hux and Aoba Seragaki will probably need to be briefed on the current situation.
I. THE ROOM WHERE IT HAPPENS
In the Regal Street Gaming Parlor, a pulse flashes. Electronics sizzle. A fight reaching rhythm is shattered and darkness consumes the parlor in its entirety. There’s something like a collective inhale - and then the panic sets in. Screaming. Pushing. Elbows in the dark and a wave of bodies forcing their way toward wherever they think the exit is. Parlors like this one are supposed to be shielded from this kind of problem, but today that doesn’t matter. In just a few short moments of panic, a bomb - basic compared to the one that blew out the Ven Diagram warehouse only days ago - goes off.
There’s a buzz. An electrical hiss. In the wake of the explosion - in the wake of the agony of Anakin’s death -, the parlor’s fire systems go off flooding the upper and lower levels, the spectator balconies with flame retardant powder and coolant. The emergency lighting kicks on, throwing the carnage into stark fluorescent light. The probable intended victim has escaped, along with his entourage, but there are plenty of wounded - groans and weeping permeate the chemical stale air. In addition to Anakin, three people have been killed and two androids have been rendered into scrap by the explosion. Countless others could use help; maybe even a few other hosts have been wounded by the blast.
II. MEANWHILE...
If you’re part of the infiltration team, you’ve officially overstayed your welcome. Security tightens to a chokehold; if you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be, it’s time to leave. An alarm blares through the development laboratories. The building is evacuated and then sealed throughout. The powerlifts cease operation. All networked systems go offline.
III. FROM THE JAWS OF DEFEAT
Back at the parlor, the evacuation continues. The parlor is half-collapsed, there are injured to tend to and local authorities to deal with. In a matter of minutes, the the parlor is swarmed by public security and medical personnel. If you’re able bodied, you’re welcome to assist with rescue efforts - or try to find a lead on who could’ve been responsible for this. Some evidence, some sign - anything to make this worth it. During this time those with Kun Adetokunbo will have the chance to make their case.
It’s a long, protracted clean up and triage; it’s absolutely possible that some of the infiltration team members might make it to the site of the explosion to assist or care for their friends.
IV. WE TEND OUR WOUNDED, WE COUNT OUR DEAD
In the early hours of the morning on Day 023, the hosts limp back to Bearings. Maybe it should be achingly quiet, but it’s not - there’s a murmur of activity in the mental air as Hux and Aoba muddle out of their way from out of their comas. From here, it’s up to to the hosts to recover, to discuss how they want to proceed, and come up with a way to recover from this setback - and from Anakin’s death.
((OOC NOTES: Here it is, your wrapup log for the event! You may have noticed that the Hosts didn’t succeed at the Ven Diagrams infiltration. We thought this was a better way than asking everyone to handwave a huge amount of plot or simply having the NPCs get the evidence. Don’t worry though - there will be other mysteries to unravel soon. Very soon, in fact.
There will be an NPC top-level for the escape with Kun-Kun, but otherwise you’re free to make your own top levels! If you have any questions please feel free to ask them in the event OOC post.
Thanks everyone!))
no subject
[ The cloth is cool on his skin. Bellamy swallows cautiously, one hand settling on his chest. (I'm scared, O.) He thinks of the borrowed memory, of blood smeared on a woman's skin and the resulting crushing confusion of what he thinks was a fight. Another fight. He hadn't been paying close enough attention as he'd scrambled out of Ven Diagram. Everything blurred together. ]
I only got bits and pieces of what was happening.
[ Not that he was trying to pry. Bellamy's continued fight to keep his thoughts to himself and wall his mind away as Angel instructed, compounded with the danger he'd been facing, hadn't left much room for processing what was happening at the parlor. ]
no subject
While he tends to Bellamy, he doesn't fuss. All he can feel from him is sickness and stolen glimpses into his memories: a young woman, blood, the poisoning of a guard's skin under his (Bellamy's) hands, the ensuing chaos as he tried to escape Ven Diagram before discovery. Glimpses, as he does his best to settle down within his own skin.
It's a calculated diversion, but news of their missions and recounting their experiences can wait. ]
Who is "O", Bellamy?
no subject
Octavia, [ He sighs, eyes opening to look up at the Darkling. ] My sister.
[ His thoughts are running away with him. It's showing too much, too fast. Talking about the missions would be safer ground, even fraught with the discussion of Anakin. ]
no subject
I hope you don't feel bad, for thinking about her.
[ He's said it a lot already: it's all right. Vulnerability is - well, it wouldn't put him in a very "comforted" position, not ill and projecting all over the place like this. They could, very easily, continue to talk about the mission. About the failures on both sides of things, but it's a lot of talking to do. Too much, in fact. And he's tired, the same as Bellamy. He's staying, at least until Bellamy's unconscious. Hopefully, he gets some rest. ]
no subject
[ His tone is apologetic anyway, colored with a bit of embarrassment. Bellamy isn't sure there's any point in being embarrassed anymore. The unending slip-slide of shared memory hasn't shown any sign of abating, and as much as Bellamy attempts to mimic Angel's walled off thoughts, his own come apart on him under the slightest bit of pressure. ]
I didn't mean for you to see it.
[ Though as with most things, Bellamy's intentions don't amount to very much. ]
no subject
If you weren't, I'd be concerned. She's your sister, after all. I never... I am an only child.
[ He takes up the cloth, refolding it to reach the cooler surface, and places it on the back of Bellamy's neck again. ]
I've - [ A small, wry laugh: ] Helped raise and educate the younger, though. I know what it's like to constantly think about them, at least.
no subject
[ The only siblings in existence on the Ark. They'd been the only matched set, a pair of Blakes, both hotheaded, overemotional, and up until now, never too far apart. The thought strings tension through Bellamy's body, though he forces himself to let go and settle beneath the cool drape of the cloth and brief brush of the Darkling's fingers. ]
Do you still think about them?
[ The question is overly familiar, but somehow less invasive than Bellamy fetching the answer himself. He tries not to look. That counts for something, doesn't it? ]
no subject
Like Bellamy, he does his best not to cherrypick through the minds of those closest to him. They are, all of them, hardly able to disguise their feelings and thoughts, try as they might. It doesn't foster any sort of trust, and wouldn't be kind, to simple rip information from one another. ( He thinks, unkindly, of Sam Anders, in that moment. ) Nevertheless, he thinks - and silently offers Bellamy his memories in return. Since he did pick up on Octavia, after all.
-- there are children, and they become adults. Rank and file, in sects and groups, designated by the color and embroidery of beautiful, colored uniform. Like the one that he wears, though there are no others that wear the black. They are children, when they come to the Little Palace. Disoriented by the opulence, their studies, the freedom to be what they are -- and elsewhere in the world, there are other children. Just like them. Dying, ruined, used up. The children at the palace, he instructs. Tutors, mentors. There is a girl (Zoya, Squaller - storm clouds at her fingertips) and he watches her come into her own. They become soldier, and he, their leader.
There is a boy. He has no power. Too-clever, fox-like. In the blink of an eye, he is small - familiar. Tiny hands holding fingers that could only belong to the man sharing the memory with Bellamy. In the next moment, he is an adult. And he is a stranger. ] I think of them always, Bellamy. They are my people. Soldiers of the Second Army, all. I watched them grow up.
no subject
Did you watch them die?
It's not a question Bellamy voices, but it's there, hanging in the air between them. His eyes focus slowly, then he blinks, shifting on the mattress. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, hidden by the damp cloth the Darkling had draped there. ]
What will they do without you?
[ Survive. Go on living. Bellamy's trying to make himself believe in such a simple answer, but it seems too great a leap for him to clear. ]
no subject
Besides. He rather likes Bellamy. He asks without words, if the Darkling had seen those same children die - and the answer is deep regret and a sharp fury, wound into a wordless sensation. He had seen many, many people die. Children become soldiers, children who never made it to adulthood. People, his people, born into power and hunted for it -- ]
I hope that they will turn to Alina, [ he admits. And the feeling accompanying her name, the first time he had spoken it aloud since arrival, is complex. ]
I hope she knows everything well enough now to keep them safe, in my stead. All of them.
no subject
She'll do it, [ Bellamy tells him, clammy hand catching the Darkling's. ] She reminds me...
[ Clarke. Bellamy remembers the clutch of her hands on his shoulders, the way her body had fit tight against his. Her hand had been shaking when last he grasped it, and she was going to save them all. ]
Who is she?
[ This is dangerous. It's dangerous but Bellamy doesn't stop it. It feels good to be this close, hand clutching the Darkling's, their minds settled together. Bellamy's discomfort and pain is muted, the urge to be sick distant and disarmed. The urgency of disentangling himself is hard to grip, and it's hard to stop seeing all that Darkling had shown him, children dressed as soldiers, battlefields stretching out before him. It's sickeningly familiar, but the sharing of it is welcome. ]
no subject
Who is she?
Alina Starkov. White-haired, light pouring from the palms of her hands. The thought of who she was - once more, the complexity of how he felt towards her. Of what she meant to him. In one stray thought, he is kissing her outside the brilliance of a ballroom - she is growing stronger, her hair a lovely brown. Another: she is looking at him with venom, cold comprehension, as a collar of antler is affixed around her throat and oh, her soul and his sing together from that moment onward. ] My equal and my opposite. In everything.
[ Beloved. Rival. She is beyond what words can compare; and the sense, the bittersweet longing he feels. It's the result of waiting, centuries upon centuries, for her. ]
The Sun Summoner, [ he admits, ] that's what she is. The only one of her kind. She leads the army that opposes mine.
[ If it quiets Bellamy's mind and soothes his illness, he'll tell him everything. Like a story, unfurling one page at a time. ]
no subject
It's not quite the same. Equal and opposite, that's not who Bellamy and Clarke are. ALIE had seen them, used Raven as a mouthpiece to spit the good little knight, by his queen's side. As connected as he and Clarke had been, he'd never felt anything like what the Darkling imparts. The sense of connection, of souls meeting, there was nothing to compare. Bellamy isn't sure it's love, but it's something. It's like gravity, even punctuated by the ice in Alina's face. Bellamy's eyes squeezed closed, carefully separating, reeling back his recollection of Clarke's warmth. ]
Why?
[ His eyes slit open, heavy-lidded, as he asks the questions. It's deliberately broad. Maybe if he pushed, he could already have the answer. But it's oddly important to hear it willingly given. Why do their armies oppose each other? Why is she looking at him with such disdain?
Do you love her? Is this love, for you?
Bellamy's love is heated, all-consuming, sweet for all the destruction he's capable of causing in service of it. But maybe it's different. Much of what he's picked from the Darkling's mind has been foreign to him, for all the base similarities between them. ]
no subject
[ ( Besides Alina, there stands a young man. Boring, short-lived. A skilled tracker, her childhood beloved but oh, he'd die long before she did, and yet he fashioned himself her weapon. A good little knight. ) -- the words stir up a shred of tedium, surrounding this able-bodied tracker that Alina prefers, but it doesn't seem that the Darkling weighs Bellamy against him. ALIE's words aside, there is another he knows that begs consideration, when he reminisces on what Bellamy Blake is made of.
Why, he wants to know. He wants to know so many things, and what he wants to know most is - complex. There is no appropriate place to begin, to best convey the answer Bellamy seeks. To begin with what he is? To begin at the most recent trial and work backwards? To begin before even his birth, when Illya Morozova was penning his madness onto paper? It's heavy conversation, perhaps best left for a time when Bellamy is not so ill and tired.
Yet, even here - a foundation could be laid for that inevitable future: ] How old do you think I am?
no subject
Older than me, [ Bellamy says, decisive. ] Not by very much, I don't think.
[ Though most of the time Bellamy felt ancient, like his life had stretched on and on. It already encompassed too much tragedy and death for only twenty-three years breathing. He can feel the images projected from the Darkling's thoughts rattling in his head, sinking in and settling as Bellamy looks up at him. ]
Does that matter?
no subject
His thumb finds the ridge of Bellamy's knuckles, as his hand flexes, and presses there. A pinpoint of firm contact, meant to be reassuring. ]
In the context of answering "why", it is. She'll live as long as I have, though right now - she's barely older than you. She'll outlive generations, they'll resent her youth and beauty, they'll fear her. She loathes me, now, because I have seen the history of our people. And because what I... did and would do for their future.
[ He loves them. Tired and sad, and wicked all the same - his people. He feels very similarly for his brood. They're his now. They're all his. ]
no subject
How do you stand it?
[ Bellamy's voice has gone raw. ]
How do you stand knowing she hates you?
[ The bright spill of Clarke's hair has given way to Octavia's cold fury and the slam of her fists, opening wounds on Bellamy's face. She hated him. Maybe they all hated him. They had every right to.
What I did and would do for their future is a familiar refrain. It's a sentiment Bellamy knows well and has lived by, still does live by. But knowing that what he'd done had been the wrong choice and had sparked such hatred in the people he loved, it ate at him. If the Darkling had lived so long, maybe he'd figured out how to make room for that weight so it didn't crush him alive. ]
no subject
[ Bellamy's thoughts return to his sister in due time, brought around as all thoughts are - full circle. Her anger. The way that he rationalizes the thought of her anger, her hate - the hate of others. He's too young. Versed in facing the knowledge that he will be unliked, mistrusted. Comfort is cold, never will quite reach. Bellamy wants to know how to handle that - no, he wants to know if it's even possible to handle that? The Darkling cannot tell, and he breathes out. Terse, thoughtful. The sick feeling in his stomach has been abating, the longer he keeps Bellamy tucked away where it is cool and dark. ]
Because, I knew I was doing the right thing for our people. And one day, she would have understood, [ there's no doubt within him, that he could have been wrong. ]
Reconciling the decisions that you make, with how people will regard you is always a challenge, Bellamy. Either you become their tyrant, or their sin-eater.
no subject
What's a sin-eater?
[ To avoid the question of what was right for his people, what Clarke and Octavia would and would not have understood. Maybe it shouldn't matter. He'd never see them again. There would be no family but this one, the brood whose thoughts and emotions bleed unwelcomed into his own. Bellamy sighs, lips parting, unable to close himself from the comfort of the Darkling's mind even as he names it an interloper. ]
no subject
It is a person, and it is a tradition, [ something old and superstitious, beyond the realms of the sainted and sanctified. Practiced in wildlands, where the modern faithful could not reach. The people of his country, in their earliest history - before Ravka had a monarchy, a political center, when they were tribe and village - used to practice it. Before the Istorii Sankt'ya was properly codified with the rank and file of every saint great and small.
With deceptively tender fingers, he brushes a dark shock of hair from Bellamy's brow and takes a look at his eyes. He does not seem as stricken by his illness now, perhaps just tired instead. A long day, a hard day, would leave him feeling that for some time. ]
A sin-eater would take the wickedness of the dead upon themselves, absolving the soul of the dead so that they could rest in peace. As time went on, the sin-eater became someone who would... absolve the living of the same. They made difficult choices, shouldered the many's burdens. And in the end, they were often hated, rejected and killed by those who had been kept safe, and purified by their sacrifice.
[ Sin-eaters were among the first Sanktya, before saints were a concept in the Ravkan tradition. ]
"And for thy peace I pawn my own soul."