Event Log: February, Outpost Problems

[faileas]

Event Log: February, Outpost Problems

I. Adventuring We Will Go (Tomorrow) The word gets around pretty quick. Anybody who plans to journey with the group of Wilders venturing out to set up a new outpost is invited to attend a traditional gathering they have before an expedition: the packing party. On the evening of the 15th, the Wilders' HQ is bustling with activity. The whole group is present making the final preparations, sorting gear, and checking the carts for maintenance. The atmosphere is easy and upbeat, very casual, with Wilders laughing and telling jokes and stories as they work. One has to have a little fun before it's time to be serious, after all! A lot needs done, and more hands are always welcome. Camping gear and provisions need to be checked, inventoried, and dispersed into enchanted rucksacks that can hold twice as much as you might think they could - there will be enough rucksacks for each explorer in the party. Everyone is expected to carry their own. Shrunken-down construction materials for the new outpost need to be loaded into the three self-propelled carts the party will travel with (if only they were self-steering as well!). The carts themselves haven't been necessary for an expedition in a while; they could probably use some fixing up, greasing the axles and making sure the enchantments are fully charged with magic. And, too, this is a chance for the group to mingle and get to know each other. You have to be able to trust your fellows out there in the Wilde, after all. So there's a table with food bought off a few street carts: fried hand pies in meat (no one's sure what kind of meat, but hey!), veggie, and fruit varities; a pot of simmering jellied eel to be scooped into cups and eaten with spoons; fried squabs on sticks dripping grease. Beer is plentiful, as are bottles of a non-alcoholic ginger beer. Everyone is encouraged to eat, pack, and get to know each other. Especially because, the lead Wilders on this expedition will say, it's recommended that everyone going out there have a Bonded - whether it be their own normal Bonds if they're also going, or temporary Bonds with their fellow party members. The table also bears a few dozen of the temporary Bonding potions, and it's highly encouraged, though not required, that more experienced explorers temporarily Bond with those who are much newer to Aefenglom. It's nature's buddy system, you know. Whatever you're going to do, do it before the morning - the group leaves at first dawn, and will not wait for anyone too hungover to be on time. While having a Bond isn't required for the trip, the Wilders will strongly encourage it for anyone who isn't Bonded or whose Bond partners aren't going. The three-Bond safety limit does still apply to temporary Bonds, though! If you'd like to tag around for potential temp Bonds, head over to this thread right here!

II. The Silent Forest It becomes clear that, while the journey starts off easy, it won't remain that way. The group leaves out at dawn and passes first through stretches of land considered 'safe' - safe enough to be generally habitable, and the first couple of hours see the occasional farm on the way. There are few to no signs of Cwyld this close to the city, but then they start to slip into the region considered 'in progress'. These are the lands the Wilders have been focusing on, and so while there are the occasional patches of infected plants, they're easily dealt with by small, controlled burns. As the day drags on and the hike continues, though, the landscape changes. The trees grow thicker and the underbrush more dense. The machetes have to come out at points to clear the path for the carts; whoever is currently on cart-steering duty, please don't damage them! The atmosphere, too, changes around this time; the laughter dies down, expressions become more serious, Wilders are noticeably more alert to the possible presence of Shades or hostile creatures. By evening, the forest is thick and dark, the trees around them ancient and twisting. No one has ventured out to this area in quite a while, the more experienced Wilders will say, and that becomes very obvious. The once-beautiful forest is heavily infected by the Cwyld, and the small cabin that served as a Wilder outpost is overgrown, still bearing the 5-year-old corpse of a dead Wilder. Adventurers are advised to take caution when touching anything - wear gloves and heavy boots and watch your step out here, folks. The way still needs to be cleared. a. The Flora The oldest of the trees present are fully dead, thick trunks turned black and shiny, letting in light from above where their leafless branches reach out to the trees around them. The brush is thick and thorny; even small pricks and cuts in the skin are liable to be infected, a black ring forming around the wound, darkening the veins branching out from it, and need immediate treatment to keep it from spreading. It's hard to avoid other than by simply wearing thick clothing and hoping for the best. Nestled in the roots of the trees are pitcher-like plants filled with a sticky sap; the Wilders are excited to see these, and despite the dangers, comb through them to see if any remain uninfected. The sap in infected plants is black and tarry, while in uninfected plants it runs clear. This sticky liquid is excellent for smearing over wounds to seal them and draw out minor infection, and they'd be delighted to take some whole plants back for cultivation. As well, a certain breed of tree seems to have escaped infection entirely; these tall, woody trees have shiny green leaves, a contrast to the rest of the forest, and bear small green fruits that smell (and taste, should you eat one) deliciously sweet. All is not always as it seems out here in the Wilde, though - be careful which fruit you choose to imbibe. These trees are not immune to the Cwyld, they only hide their infection well. It can only be determined which trees are infected by cutting into them and inspecting the sap (difficult, because the sap of all the trees is highly toxic, and even inhaling near it will have nasty side-effects of vertigo, vomiting, and even temporary blindness). If it runs black at all, the tree is infected, and the fruit, sweet as it might taste, is deadly poisonous. Trees that are only mildly infected are a Russian roulette: you have an 80-20 chance of getting a toxic fruit or a good one. Most of the Wilders don't feel it's worth the risk. b. The Fauna The party spends a couple of days in the Silent Forest out of necessity. Initially, it seems as if there is no animal life left on this desolate patch of land. No birds chirping, no mammals scurrying about, not even an insect to buzz around the explorers' heads. It becomes quite clear that the Cwyld has consumed nearly everything, and the life left is hardly life at all. Shades are not uncommon. When camp is made for the night, capable fighters will have to rotate guard duty and patrols around the campsite, to fight off the shadows of what used to live here as they sense life and magic to consume. Dessicated, white-eyed bucks with cracking antlers, bloated and mutated birds screeching angrily, even, perhaps, the Shade of a bear, huge, enraged, and difficult to take down. But that second night, those who are alert may get the tingling sense that they're being watched. They are, in fact, by a band of nomadic Monsters, primarily Harpies and Arachne passing through. They don't approach the camp, and they won't speak to any of the Wilder group, merely watching them with something like curiosity before they flee into the forest again. It's hard to get close to them before they disappear, more at home in this dead forest than you will ever be, but close observation shows that all are scarred in some way; missing parts of limbs, eyes, or bearing even worse marks on their bodies. c. The Solution It's too thick an area to clear simply by burning. They'd set the whole dry patch of forest alight and kill who knows what along with the Cwyld. Some smaller areas can be taken care of with fire and careful supervision, but the rest of it... The lead Wilder on this expedition, a prematurely-greying Witch named Rilla Sparks, puts forth a suggestion. She admits, it's one based heavily on theory and speculation, along with the findings of certain prominent researchers in the city. If they can find the leyline, she thinks the Witches in their party can flood it with enough positive, nurturing magic to 'flush' the Cwyld out of the vicinity, so to speak. Or, she hopes, enough to make it passable in the future. It's experimental, but isn't that what this trip is about? Discovering new things? If enough of the party is game, the first step is finding the leyline in the area. This can be sniffed out by Witches and Monsters both, as they're drawn to sources of magic, even tainted magic; and, too, if anyone takes a look from the air, the leyline becomes obvious, as it cuts a much darker, more heavily infected line across the forest floor, like a blackened vein. Once it's found, it's up to the Witches in the group. Gathering over the blackened ground, anyone who wants to participate in the ritual should join in pairs or groups, down on their knees to be closer to the earth, and should 'push' their magical energy into the leyline through their hands pressed to the dirt. Each push results in a pulse of light beneath the blackness of the ground, weak at first, but stronger the more magic is expended. It will take several hours, which means the occupied (and then spent) Witches will require the protection of their Monster fellows, and interacting this closely with a tainted leyline will have side effects. A low degree of Cwyld infection is possible in the hands, but not guaranteed. Intense fatigue and dizziness is certain, along with pain when casting spells, and terrible nightmares for as long as the symptoms last - anywhere from 2 to 6 days, depending on how much magic the individual Witch expelled and how much rest they get after. It will take some time to see if their labors bear fruit. They'll check on the area again on the way back; they can't stay in one place for too long.

III. Ruins of a Past Life In the next couple of days, as the journey commences, the obvious signs of infection lessen in the landscape. The trees thin out again as they head further north. With the Wilde just barely dipping toes into autumn, and no thick canopy of foliage to block out the sun, it's a hot, uncomfortable walk. Those on cart-steering duty are considered lucky, getting to sit for a few hours, but it doesn't last - the duty is rotated between volunteers. Enjoy it while you've got it. At one point, with the sun high in the sky, they stop to refill canteens and jugs with fresh water and to take a bit of a swim. Here, the water cascades into a wide lake below, which eventually feeds back into the main river that cuts through Aefenglom farther south. At the top of the waterfall, it's much easier to see something in the distance, that isn't specifically on the route but is a small enough detour (only a mile or two off) that the guides permit it. It's the ruins of a former settlement, clusters of shells of burned out houses and buildings, a dried up well, and the crumbling remnants of a wall - reminiscent of the Bright Wall, but much, much smaller, only about eight or nine feet high at its tallest point. There is no magic left in it, though, nor any people in the ruined town. There haven't been for years and years, judging from the mossy overgrowth and state of disrepair. Some signs of the former inhabitants can still be found in the houses; the Wilders agree to make camp here for a night, to give everyone some time to explore. a. In The Daytime The ruins are depressing, but safe, in the daylight. It isn't hard to put together what happened here - a Cwyld outbreak must have come on them quickly, and judging from the hasty, half-burned homes, it was poorly contained. Some homes still contain skeletons in rotted scraps of clothing, some bones charred and others picked clean by animals. Many of their possessions still remain, except there are no books left anywhere in the town, even on shelves where books obviously were before. The patterns in the dust indicate that the books, all that survived the fires initially, were removed much more recently, within the last year or two perhaps. Otherwise, much is untouched. There are still dishes and flatware on broken tables, rotted blankets on beds, children's toys scattered over floors, axes hung on walls. A sort of thick, somewhat mucous-y grayish-green moss grows in flat sheets over most of the ruins. It isn't infected by the Cwyld; in fact, the areas where it grows seem to be free from it. Coincidence? Not? The Wilders have never seen anything quite like it, and are interested in taking samples back to study. (And for those of you who can't help but put things in your mouths: yes, the moss is edible. It tastes a little... earthy, but gives a pleasant caffeine-like buzz and burst of energy. Good for Witches still feeling the effects of the leyline flushing.) Outside the remnants of the wall, there are years-overgrown gardens, and perfectly good potatoes, asparagus, and raspberries can be found still growing, hardy and perennial even without human hands to tend to them. These people lived a more simple life than those in relatively-modern Aefenglom, as there isn't any magitech to be found, but somehow, they made themselves a home out here in the middle of nowhere. b. Ghosts of a Forgotten Settlement After nightfall, the dead town comes alive again, in a morbid sense. The party will soon find that the sunset brings the emergence of specters of the town's deceased residents - ghastly semi-transparent echoes of humans and Monsters, men, women, and children, in the state they were in at their deaths. Some are badly burnt, others were obviously infected, on their way to becoming Cwyldtid. Now, they go about their former lives every night, filling the ruined town with a sense of dread and foreboding that is impossible for the living to ignore. The ghosts cannot be touched or physically interacted with, and many of them simply ignore the Wilders and Mirrorbound completely. Spectral children play in the streets, adults tidy shops that are no longer there, or head out to the field to farm. They do so with expressions full of sadness, and desperation, as if trapped in this cycle of un-life. Others not only notice the group, but try to turn on them, enraged at the sight of intruders, though their shouts and screams are silent. They can't do any damage, but if they pass through you, you'll feel a bone-deep chill, despite the late-summer heat hanging in the air, and the specters' 'touch' will fill anyone with an aching, heavy despair, or rage - echoes of the emotions the ghosts experienced before their deaths.

IV. The Northern Outpost The sparse forest thins even more to the north. The terrain grows more uneven, rockier and hilly, with drier soil and hardy, sun-bleached grass instead of moss and leaf litter. Several natural rock formations can be spotted in the distance, growing larger as the group gets nearer. The trees here are few and far between, shorter and sturdier, casting only small circles of shade on the baked landscape. Wildflowers dot the grass in every color of the rainbow in the areas that remain uninfected. A low degree of Cwyld infection can be found here, turning the grasses overgrown, dry and brittle, and the sparse trees gnarled and blackened. This is to be expected, though. You can't venture this far out and expect anywhere to be completely untouched. The spot Rilla Sparks chooses for the new outpost is cradled between two large spires of stone, with a cliff-face at the back of it - protected on three sides to defend from animals and Shades, with a relatively clean stream within an hour's walking distance. Construction has to commence immediately. Once they land, it's a flurry of activity, as there is much work to be done. The building supplies are returned to their original sizes and it's all hands on deck to put together the low wooden building. With everyone working as quickly as they can, it should take about three days to get set up enough to consider the outpost open. Also on the to-do list: setting up the teleporter waypoint given to the Wilders by the Coven, to shorten the trip from Aefenglom to this far-flung outpost. It's smaller than the one in Dorchacht, only able to transport three people at a time, but the technology is the same. They'll need as many magitech-capable hands as they can get to calibrate it to the local energies and get it up and running. While all this is going on, exploration of the local area is high on the list as well, to ferret out any potential dangers that may be inherent to setting up here, or potential boons that can be taken back to Aefenglom, and to start work on their maps. There's a job for everyone, and while they're happy to let people do what they're good at, or rotate between different tasks, anybody slacking off will get the stink-eye - you came to work, right? This is no vacation! After the first day, though, things start... getting a little weird. Items start disappearing at random times, just out of nowhere, no rhyme or reason to the things taken. Hammers, half-drawn maps, scraps of wood, your half-eaten lunch if you look away from it for long enough. Personal items may go missing as well, if left unattended, so keep your precious things and weapons close. You may hear muffled voices - laughter, indiscernible chatter - around the times when stuff goes missing; it could be the voice of a stranger, or maybe it's the voice of someone you know, someone you've been traveling with for the last several days. But why would they want to steal your pen, or your handful of nails, or your drink cup? Weirder still, holes in the dirt start turning up in the night. Maybe six feet deep, dug at an angle like the beginning of a tunnel, and cutting off abruptly. Digging further down in these holes doesn't turn much up at first, but checking enough of them will turn up only a handful of the smaller missing items with teeth marks in them. Inconsequential, uninteresting, inedible things, or straight up trash in some cases. With enough persistence and maybe a good old fashioned stake-out, the culprits turn up: a pack of sand-colored, hyena-like animals that perfectly mimic human and Monster voices that they hear (often repeating words out of context, like much dumber parrots - they don't know what they're saying, only what the words sound like), and scavenge for whatever they can get their paws on. The hyenas are aggressive when confronted, and pack-oriented, but can be won over eventually by feeding them, or talking at them: different hyenas like different sounds and different words, so it might take some trial and error. Several bear low-level infections that can still be cured. Maybe eventually they can be trained. But then, where is everything else they stole? Please note that only a very small number of the items missing will be found on this trip! If you don't want something of your character's gone for an indeterminate amount of time, don't have it stolen. It's just possible they might turn up at a later date, however...

Welcome to February's event log, Outpost Problems! The expedition will last about an IC week for everyone who completes the trip; characters can return to Aefenglom with a pair of Wilder scouts at any stop along the way, though. As always, please direct your event-specific questions here! You can tag around for temporary Bonds in this thread, and if your character would eat the fruit in the Silent Forest, please post here for your dice roll (we did say it's a Russian roulette). Enjoy the trip outside the Bright Wall, everyone!

Comments

[coherer]

(such a motherly touch lands on the back of his head that his eyes are forced closed when it sweeps into his hair. its meant to make him feel secure and it does that very effectively, causing jonas' next sigh to be huffed hotly against the collar of stiles' jacket. he can almost hear soft vocalizations sung at his ear, wordless nonsense in retrospect, all rhythm and meaning.

fingers don't relax out of their grip but tighten to keep him against him, covetous.)

You do, man. You've got me. (he speaks, congested, but refuses to cry even if it's making a tired head pound.) Just feel like... like this is it. Like, I'm supposed to do something with my time here. Either make peace and stay or– or learn what I can.

(frowns, head lifting out of its daze to a few raw truths: whatever he learns here has to be enough to save his life; leaving would mean abandoning the only friends he's ever felt truly connected to; he'd be abandoning his father by staying. he has no energy to worry about them now. it's neither the place, nor time.

coming away a bit, jonas speaks the only safe, sure thing on his mind.)

I'm glad you're here, Stiles.

[mensrea]

[ The confession is like a knife in his chest, prying open his ribcage to expose the bleeding heart he’s attempted to shore up with cynicism and rage. Stiles recalls sitting in Kira’s house, the very life draining from him second by second as he struggled to make peace with the reality of his impending death. “Allison’s dead,” he’d said, voice weak. “Now I guess the only good thing is it looks like I’m dying too.” A relief, after what had happened to her – because even though it hadn’t been his hands on the sword that impaled her, Stiles still felt responsible. And though Jonas doesn’t mention them again, Stiles understands that his friend undoubtedly harbors that same sense of misplaced guilt for the other people stuck on the island. Maybe Jonas even believes he deserves what’s coming to him. The thought is so sickening that Stiles has to swallow back a mouthful of bile, stomach roiling in disquiet. Unconsciously, his hold tightens on Jonas, as if he were capable of keeping his friend in this dimension through physical force alone. But when Jonas pulls back, Stiles allows it, teeth clenched hard against the fear and denial burrowing into his bones. ]

We’re going to fix things, [ he asserts, a strong, dark intensity to the declaration. ] I promise. One way or another, you’re going to be okay. We’ll make sure of that.

[coherer]

(nods, loosening his grip to check an eye with the heel of his palm. dry, but that state's unreliable with how their conversation is progressing. he'll stiffen his upper lip, plant his heels, say what he's thinking instead of holding it back. guilt at having said too much or too little is always the killer.

jonas wishes he'd had this chance with his mother, to thank her and apologize for all that he'd done to make her existence harder than it had to be. to make her suffer in the heart when she was struggling to keep her body alive. maybe it's selfish that he's thinking of this now, using stiles to cope with that. still, he must.)

Yeah. (another nod, firmer, glancing down with a rough exhale.) Stiles, I don't regret like, asking to be your pal or whatever. I didn't wanna' waste the potential there. Now you're my best friend and it's only been two months.

Jesus. Being in this place so fucked up, but weighing this against the alternative– I'm okay with taking my chances here. You know? And I want to believe you, so I'll try to– I won't get all negative about it or go on and on. Just know I'll always try... for the both of us.

[mensrea]

[ Stiles freezes, awash in the tide of a complicated emotion that he can’t quite name. This is hardly the first time Jonas has reminded him of Scott, but it feels as if he’s finally reached a crossroad. There’s so much unfinished business with Scott, with the pack – events that need discussing, discussions that deserve closure. Throughout his time spent in Aefenglom, Stiles has avoided dwelling unnecessarily on the current state of his relationships with both Scott and Malia. Like if he didn’t think about them, things could stay suspended indefinitely. Still his best friend. Still his girlfriend. Nothing had changed. Except everything has changed. Though he can barely stand to stomach the idea of it, Stiles doesn’t know if he can confidently call Scott his best friend anymore. Stiles doesn’t know if he can even call Scott a friend. It’s the same for Malia; regardless of the love he bears her, he can’t reconcile what she said to him, how she chose to deal with his actions. These are the people Stiles has devoted his life to – without them, he’s unmoored. Purposeless. Tethered to existence only by the thread that connects him to his father.

And now, Jonas. Maybe that’s enough. “Say you believe me.”

“…I want to believe you…”

Yes, it’s enough. ]

You don’t have to pretend with me. If you’re feeling negative? Let it out. I’ll listen. I gotta find a way home, but – but I’m going to take care of you too. Even if…the best option for you is to not go back.

[coherer]

'Course you do, man. (immediately, fingers finding his shoulder with a tight knead in.) Your dad's there waiting for you. You guys need each other.

(it's become a silent goal to see stiles returned home ever since they learned of each other's fathers, the untimely loss of their mothers, the parallels there he knows brought them together. he should be with him now.)

I'm gonna' help, alright? I know you won't wanna' hear this, but if it comes down to it? I need you to cut and run. Don't be selfless, don't wait up, just go. (if one person listens, jonas hopes it's stiles. alex didn't, she lingered with him. for what? to appease his desperate need to say goodbye to his mother, when she was just a voice on a fucking tape recorder? he damned her as much as he damned clarissa, souls set to sink to the bottom of the sea.

god, he was so sure. if he could've talked to her, only for a moment...)

What's the point of my being here if I can't even help one friend? That'd be... pretty embarrassing when you guys have done so much for me already. (trying to inject some levity into the conversation, sitting—not in his old seat, but a new one directly beside stiles where he feels he needs to be—and sighing out his exhaustion.)

[mensrea]

[ Not everyone would respond as supportively as his housemate does now. It’s a genuine relief that Jonas understands, that this won’t come between them as friends, that Stiles has his blessing to continue searching for a way home. He would have continued regardless, but not without also feeling like a traitor. For what seems like the umpteenth time, he finds himself immensely grateful for this singular, incredible person he’s managed to befriend.

Simultaneously, he does balk at the mental image Jonas’ words create. Stiles has no issue with being selfish – at least, that’s what he tells himself – and yet it doesn’t sit well with him, the idea of running out on Jonas. The bonfire doesn’t quite manage to thaw the sudden chill in the very marrow of his bones. Why does it always come down to the same choice? In Mexico, he had to decide between staying behind with a dying Derek or going after Scott. He went after Scott. In Beacon Hills, he had to pick between saving Scott or learning his father’s location. He found his father. What other sacrifices will he make? God, he hopes it doesn’t come to that. Not again.

Because no matter how dear Jonas has become to him –

Stiles will always choose his father.

Always. ]

You can’t selflessly ask someone not to be selfless, [ he scoffs, ribbing Jonas lightly. ] The hypocrisy cancels everything out. Bam! We’re back to square one. Let’s save the heroic declarations for never and just plan how to make things work out for the both of us.

[ That said, Stiles hears that exhaustion. ]

You doing okay, dude? Might be time to call it a night.

[coherer]

(head dropping back, jonas huffs a brighter laugh.) Always breaking my balls. (it's said lovingly and with feeling.

as much as he dislikes the idea of heading to bed right now—sleep is so far from his mind, knowing he won't be catching a wink or it—stiles is right. they should turn in at the very least. he can lie back and pretend to drift off, despite his mind's inability to drop the subject at its forefront. there's no end in sight to this worry.

if his friend's beside him, it'll be one less thing.)

You've got yourself a deal if you escort me to my bedroll and chill with me a bit. Wanna' have a sleepover? Do each other's hair? (a heavy arm raises to drop over stiles' shoulders, sweeping him into motion.) Swap watch duty so we don't get possessed? Talk about boys?

[mensrea]

With you, dude? Always.

[ Mugs and bonfire abandoned, Stiles allows Jonas to guide them through camp. He presses a gentle and unassuming hand against his friend’s spine, ostensibly a fraternal gesture, in order to support Jonas in turn. While some of the color has returned to Jonas’ face, Stiles remains deeply concerned about his health. What a stupid, careless assumption to make – believing that smoking was the reason behind Jonas’ infirmity. The guy is only eighteen fucking years old. Use your goddamn head, Stilinski. ]

Don’t laugh, [ he begins, redoubling his efforts to raise Jonas’ spirits. ] I actually learned how to braid hair a few years ago watching YouTube videos. No sisters, no little cousins, no lady friends. I just wanted to know how to do it in case the girl I liked ever gave me a chance. She’s got the most beautiful strawberry-blonde hair. I’ve wanted to braid it since we were kids. If you decide to grow yours out, you can count on me, bud. I've got you covered.

[coherer]

What, seriously? That's brave, man. (because it is in their world, in their time. outright "girl" things aren't as widely accepted when guys indulge in them.

jonas doesn't laugh at any of it, despite his open, almost bemused expression. the hand on his back prevents him from it, feeling safer for it, but still on edge with how the night's gone. he doesn't want to be seen as weak, or incapable of handling himself... they did, however, just go through an ordeal. he needs to give them time to recover. swapping ghost stories after reacquainting himself with the familiar sensation of drowning naturally churns the air into something nervously electric.

stiles' support is wholeheartedly welcome, even addressed with a warm smile as they head for his supplies.)

Strawberry-blondes are super cute, so colour me jealous. If I had long brown hair it'd be hard to keep me away from myself. (mimes it out for extra emotional impact. oh baby, if only.) You wanna' tell me about her? Uh, like, what's her name?

[mensrea]

[ Distraction is an artform that Stiles has perfected, though his delivery may admittedly require work. Nevertheless, he’s more than happy to do what he can to take Jonas’ mind off the unpleasant night, even if it involves giving up secrets about his old obsession. ]

Lydia Martin, [ he answers, and the expression on his face as he says that name is tellingly fond. ] Smartest person I know. You two would hit it off. Anyway, I basically stalked her growing up. Well, not like…creepy stalking. Just the stupid kind that stupid kids do when they think they’re in love, you know? When shit hit the fan back home, she was pulled into the mess just like I was. Eventually, we wound up becoming friends.

[ A curious look. ]

Alright, your turn. Gimme an embarrassing fact.

[coherer]

(so he was stalking her, was he? jonas gives stiles a withering look that just screams, "if you call it stalking, it may just be stalking." teasing's all a part of the best friend gig, don'tcha know?)

Sure, dude, all the kids are stalking each other these days. (a rib, motioning forward to the next rundown building.) What kinda' mess do you mean, anyway? I've been meaning to ask you, like... there's something going on with you back home, right? I can understand if you don't wanna' talk about it.

(he hardly wanted to talk about his own hang-ups, but there's a time and a place for everything. experiencing hauntings when that's what his life's become after his trip to the island? it was the perfect opportunity and not one that was going to resurface again for a long while.

to give him a route out, jonas hikes his arms up to lace his fingers behind his head and sighs.) Embarrassing fact? Well, you already know the horse one. You know that old Carmen Sandiego show? Yeah, talk about love interests; she's mine. I had– have a major crush on her. Like, I bought the computer game and had posters...

[mensrea]

[ A good-natured groan meets that teasing, with Stiles sheepishly recalling the outrageous gift he bought Lydia for her seventeenth birthday when she barely even knew who he was. Thank god he grew up; they all did, really – out of necessity. The thought sobers him, chased on the heels by a reasonable request for more information on his home world’s situation. Stiles recognizes the out provided by Jonas and feels a rush of affection for his friend, expressed only in a warm sidelong glance. ]

Okay, how is that embarrassing? She’s so hot!

[ Oh, Stiles knows exactly who Jonas is talking about. While he might not have ever had posters, he definitely played the computer game too. ]

You have excellent taste, buddy. Even if she is fictional.

[ A moment passes as he considers talking about home. ]

I don’t mind telling you more about my world, but let’s get you tucked in before I start bedtime stories.

[coherer]

You do not know how ruthlessly I've been mocked for this. It is embarrassing like, tangentially. (hands up to make exaggerated calming motions with his hands, preoccupying them better than letting them tremble in his pockets.) I totally knew you'd feel me on that, though. I don't know how, I just did. Call it a... bro-sense.

(he'll think up another ridiculous factoid about himself in the meantime, ready to scoot up the few steps to the inside of the rundown house he's stashed his things in. there they lie in the corner, undisturbed since his "sleepwalking" and waiting for them.

jonas is quick to deposit himself down on the bedroll, immediately making room for stiles if he cares to sit.)

This is as tucked in as I'm gonna' get. I don't have anything for you to sleep on, though... we could go get your things in a bit. I think it would honestly be better to stay together. (it'd certainly make him feel better to have stiles around, and he hopes his friend feels the same.) In the meantime, my jacket's pretty warm. You can steal this here blankie.

(fluffs it on over to him. goddamn, he's so generous.)

[mensrea]

[ Pausing at the threshold of the building, he gives the immediate area a cursory look over. There doesn’t appear to be much, if any, spirit activity this close to where the Wilders built camp. Stiles wouldn’t be capable of doing anything were the opposite true, though the pretense of having scouted their surroundings affords him some peace of mind. Appeased, he finally enters the house and wastes little time in making himself comfortable on the bedroll. The blanket is accepted with a slow, surprised blink, Stiles sorely tempted to contest the offer so that Jonas is as warm as possible – but he’s afraid to be too heavy-handed in his fretting. Under the illusion of adjusting the blanket, he scoots closer to Jonas until their shoulders knock together. Maybe he can surreptitiously slide more and more of the blanket over to his friend throughout the night. ]

I’m good like this, [ he says blithely, a tone of finality clear in his voice. Stiles isn’t leaving. ] So, you still wanna hear about my world? We can talk about something else, if you want. Like our totally reasonable crushes on Carmen Sandiego.

[coherer]

(wiggling to get comfortable, jonas tucks his arms around bent knees. it reminds him of the first night he spent in aefenglom, hidden away in some shoddy, abandoned home with sasuke. he'd taken up a corner to sleep in and woke up alone.

now he knows he won't be, come morning. neither of them would leave him here by himself.)

Oh, Carmen. (dreamily, a moment of levity before bumping stiles with his shoulder.) C'mon, of course I wanna' hear about it. You can start anywhere you want, promise, but... I do really wanna' know what's going on. I hope that's alright and not nosy, or whatever.

[mensrea]

[ The silly, lovestruck histrionics earn Jonas an amused snort. ]

Nah, don’t worry. It’s not nosy. I just never talked about this stuff before because…uh, it’s kind of a secret back home. There’s no reason to hide it from anyone here, though.

[ He pauses, gaze drifting away. Restless hands pick at a loose thread of the bedroll idly. ]

On my Earth, there are supernatural creatures. Most people have no idea. We didn’t until two years ago, when my best –

[ The thread snags, then snaps. ]

…a guy I know, he got bit by something huge on the night of a full moon. If it sounds familiar, you guessed it. Werewolf. We got swept up in the supernatural world after that. He…became an alpha and formed a pack with our other friends. In the pack, we’ve got – [ Ticking off fingers. ] – werewolves, a banshee, a werecoyote, and a kitsune. Total mishmash. And…me, I guess. Human, in case you’re wondering. At least, I used to be.

[coherer]

(werewolves, banshees, werecoyotes, kitsune, "–oh my," he recalls stiles' joke from what seems like forever ago. bizarre that it should come to him now when jonas can barely convince himself he'd heard it at all that night. it'd been too stressful to laugh or rib each other, concerned that zelda could've run into something so strange, and that sasuke was going through his first vampire changes.

so it shouldn't be as shocking to hear after what he's seen here—let alone experienced back in camena—but jonas still somehow manages to forget all of that in wake of stiles' history.)

... Jesus, Stiles. (stiles—his best friend, not his best "guy i know"—has been coping all this time with such massive lifestyle changes and he hadn't the faintest idea. he imagined there was something, past troubles that've given him his paranoia, his night terrors, and his overprotective attitude towards him, but did he think it'd be anything like this?) That's– that– how, even?

(eloquent. jonas tries again, sinking further against the wall to better gaze at him in the dark,) Dude, I had no idea. Like, what was that like? And what do you mean "used to be?"

[mensrea]

[ Stiles doesn’t meet his eyes, his own unfocused as he stares blankly across the room and mulls over how to address these questions. ]

Oh, I just meant how – I mean, technically I’m not human here, right? Monster designation, and all that jazz.

[ Coming to terms with that change had plagued him in the initial weeks. Now he deals with that reality the same way he deals with everything: by avoiding it. Gently, he presses the nape of his neck to the wall they lean against, allowing the comforting chill of stone to sap the warmth from the skin there. ]

At first, getting involved in everything… [ A disdainful scoff. ] It was cool. Imagine going from a loser nobody in high school to suddenly being the best friend of an actual werewolf. [ Stiles doesn’t think to correct himself this time; referring to Scott as his best friend is still an instinct. ] We were investigating murders and disappearances, doing the kind of ridiculous shit you only ever seen on TV or in movies. It felt powerful. I felt –

[ Needed. Useful. Like I belonged for once. ]

…We were in over our heads, [ he continues, sighing. ] It stopped being a game real fast when lives were on the line. These days, we just try to keep Beacon Hills safe from the big bads, you know? It’s all we can do.

[coherer]

(his head lolls to the side with a groan.) Ugh, right. I just... really hate calling you guys Monsters. (something he's brought up to marie antoinette the week they arrived, already offended on their behalf.

they didn't choose to be what they are. wouldn't "changed" have worked just as well?)

Honestly, the kind of adrenaline you get from that kinda' thing? It's... unmatched by like, anything else. And it's weird how quickly it draws people together. (contrary to his and alex's beliefs, everyone considered their time on edwards island linear. one, hellish night they could escape from in the morning. it felt like a goddamn lifetime, but at points? it was strangely exciting, made him giddy, drew him and his step-sister closer despite all the arguments. their experiences are far from one and the same, but the way stiles describes it is familiar.

still, he's holding back. jonas isn't inattentive enough to miss the chokes, where stiles can't continue. did they split up?

his expression quiets, wondering what that must've been like.) Sounds pretty heroic, man. Scary, but... cool and everything. Kinda' concerned about the "big bads" you're talking about, though. ("we were in over our heads," he said. "lives were on the line.")

That's– it's those dreams you have, right? The nightmares and stuff?

[mensrea]

[ Heroic. Upper lip curling in the beginnings of a sneer, Stiles turns his face away lest Jonas misunderstand the ugly expression and believe it directed at him. What could possibly be more heroic than dragging your reluctant best friend out into the forest one night in the hopes of seeing half a naked woman’s corpse? While it may be true that supernatural forces are attracted to Beacon Hills due to the Nemeton, there’s no denying that Stiles changed all their lives irrevocably that night – on a stupid, childish whim. ]

I can give you more details another time, if you want. But the TLDR? [ An attempt at humor, calling back to their first text message exchange. ] I was part of a ritual. It left, [ Stiles affects a different voice, clearly imitating someone else, ] “a permanent darkness” around my heart. Think of it as…an open door.

[ “When is a door not a door?” the Nogitsune hissed in his ear.

“When it’s ajar.” ]

Anyway, it made it easier for a dark kitsune to possess me. No one could tell. [ All stated matter-of-factly, the kind of even detachment that’s not unusual post-trauma. ] I got trapped inside my own head for a while, but I saw and felt everything it did with my body. That’s why I get the night terrors. Sometimes I can’t tell if I’m awake or… [ Stiles jerks his shoulders in a shrug. ] I was getting better, when I was dating my girlfriend.

[ Malia’s comforting presence in his bed, strong and tanned arms drawn tight around his body – god did he take those moments for granted. ]

…We broke up, the morning before I arrived here, [ he adds, subdued. ] I know you won’t want me to apologize for them, but I’m sorry I keep waking you up. I just…need to get used to sleeping alone again. Or maybe invest in a security blanket, ha.

[coherer]

(a dark kitsune, a spirit of some kind. he's seen the word on signs for restaurants, on wikipedia when "foxes" were googled on hikes, but jonas doesn't even know what the fuck a dark one is let alone how to respond to it, not worried about formulating some kind of form-letter bullshit stiles has heard hundreds of times already. what they experienced is inimitable, unable to be understood by anyone else. in an abstract way, doesn't that bring them closer together?

it certainly does now, taken to leaning into him like he's trying to occupy the same space. jonas doesn't choose his words carefully, which makes them more genuine.)

... I get it, being pushed down into... nothing, while something pilots you. Speaks through you. (got intimate with that feeling, the indescribable pain and the fear of knowing it's over the moment it begins. how plied it makes the body feel, wrenched open and left adrift, susceptible to all subsequent possession.) I felt like– like an echo. I never... I never wanted anyone else to experience that. And I'm sorry you did.

(they share something that makes them vulnerable, makes them feel weak and disabled and alone.

jonas doesn't want that for stiles, a real, physical ache in his chest when he wakes to hear him shouting or rushes in to see him shaking hard.) Stiles, I– we're– I-I don't know if you have no idea how used to bunking up with people I am. ("prison is just a juvenile detention centre with less security," said one of the guards processing him took his possessions and sealed them in plastic. he said it to scare him and it worked.

the corner of his mouth twists into a bitter expression, before the hand farther from his friend crosses to grab at his sleeve.)

I'm not as effective as a girlfriend, obviously, but... man, if you're ever scared, or wake up confused, you come to my room. Okay? If you can't, then I'll stay with you till you think you're good.

[mensrea]

[ Sheriff Stilinski, for all the difficulties he faced in raising his son as a single parent, was never a man who shied from physical affection – a trait that Stiles inherited. Touch grounds him in a way that little else can, especially when offered from a loved one. It’s why Lydia was able to draw him out of his panic attack with a kiss. Why Scott was able to comfort him with a crushing embrace before the MRI that would test for the disease that killed his mother. Why his father always tethers him to reality with gentle albeit calloused hands, stroking his head or patting his shoulder or pulling him into a hug. And now, it’s why Stiles manages a watery smile despite the awful, harrowing conversation as fingers curl into his sleeve. ]

…Thanks, Jonas. [ His voice is thick with emotion. ] Seriously. Thanks. Um, if – you know, if you ever need a snuggle buddy too? Hit me up. I like to be the little spoon, but I can be the little big spoon for you, dude.

[ Reaching up, he grasps the nape of Jonas’ neck and squeezes it in a show of solidarity. ]

Maybe we should start our own “Possessed Anonymous” club.

[coherer]

... heheh. A-Alright then, deal. (stiles and his ability to turn a sour mood on its head, just one of the countless things he admires about him and has to chuckle at despite his previous severity. it's the hand on his neck that makes his shoulders raise, not defensively but in a rare show of embarrassment that jonas tries to play off. the joke's gone this far, there's no stopping it now.) Think I'd, uh– I'm pretty tall, I guess I'm just a natural "big spoon."

Not that I've– (hrm.

glances away to clear his throat, smiling distractedly at the joke.)

Think anyone'd join, or would it just be us two losers at the table? I'm not complaining, more doughnuts and coffee for us, but it gets me thinking. So many people today are gonna' go through what we did... maybe it's not such a bad idea. You know, later...

[mensrea]

[ Eyebrow cocked playfully, he mulls over that unfinished thought. Stiles never could leave anything alone. “Not that I’ve –” been a big spoon, maybe? Possibly, it goes even beyond that. Given Jonas’ history, it’s unlikely that he’s had successful dating experiences in recent years. Poor guy. But it isn’t as if Stiles thinks any less of him for it. After all, Malia was his first and only girlfriend. Debating whether or not to reassure Jonas on the subject, he gives the other teen’s neck a parting squeeze before letting his arm drop. ]

I hate to say it, but I doubt we’re the only ones.

[ That said, Stiles doesn’t particularly care about people in Aefenglom who might have also experienced possession. They aren’t Jonas. ]

Maybe you should get a therapist's license or something, [ he teases. ] You’d probably be pretty good at it. Me and Sasuke can give you your first glowing review. "We wanted to kill each other less after attending a therapy session with Jonas Ward. 'A' plus service. Highly recommend."

[coherer]

Oh, Jesus... really? (sniffing amusedly at that and the touch slipping away from his skin, finding that the teasing comes more and more naturally as time passes for them. it was the same with alex, too, when they had to make light of frightening things to cope and get by, everyone's lives relying on their fortitude. this is the same, isn't it?) You guys sorted that out on your own, I just got everyone in the same room.

Therapy's useful, though. I'm not qualified, but others could be. That'd be a... good addition to Aefenglom's Mirrorbound businesses. (shrugs, secure enough in himself check back on stiles.

eyes raise after they rove, making a brief promise to never let stiles experience that pain of possession again. impossible by all standards, but one he's so determined to keep that his jaw aches with how tightly it's shut.)

... hell, I'd probably go. I was supposed to back home anyway, so why not keep it up here? Would you do something like that, or are you not into it?