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middaeg2019-10-25 02:20 pm
hearthebell) wrote in middaeg2019-10-25 02:20 pm
[OPEN] The Stars, The Moon, They Have All Been Blown Out
Who: L Lawliet and YOU (some open prompts, some semi-open)
When: Octeuril 21 through the end of the month
Where: Around Geardagas
What: Waking up to find that he doesn't have permanent severe brain damage is tempered by realizing and processing that his Bonded actually does.
Warnings: References to violent events, angst, will update if necessary
A. Octeuril 21, The Cottage (Open to residents, visitors and healers)
[It's been a week since Myr's desperate attack had thrown blackout curtains over L's senses and thoughts, further complicated by the violent fundamental alteration of his Bonded. He'd received prompt healing to his head and ribs that made the overall prognosis hopeful, and has been cared for and kept comfortable enough, but the fact of the matter is that Connor woke up, and then the SQUIP, but trailing behind them, L just didn't. Frequent doses of healing magic can help, but not change, the fact that the brain is complex and fragile, and rebuilding and repairing it can take time with even skilled and careful intervention.
For seven days and nights, he's been sleeping it off, recuperating in the quiet and subtle ways that make the biggest collective difference. Eventually, the culmination amounts to "enough", and with no trigger, catalyst or warning, he sits up in bed with no memory of how he got there.
So, start from the beginning.
Who? The SQUIP. Rich. Niles, Michael, Jeremy, Connor and Justine. Myr.
What? The Bond is different. The Bond has changed. The SQUIP has changed.
Where? Just outside. There was blood on the pavement.
When? Too long ago. So much has happened.
Why? It had to be stopped.
How? Fingertips explore the tender place where a skull was broken, has begun to mend in earnest. Clear enough, somehow... with no small measure of disquietment, L understands that he should probably be a vegetable. Someone, or several someones, have been working on ensuring that he woke up with the one thing he couldn't live without intact. How long is the list of names? How many people does L theoretically owe his life to, now?]
Is someone there?
[A week in bed has him anxious to get to his feet again, but... oh, slow, it's a head rush just to put them on the floor while he remains seated. He's hungry, and though either magic or gentle attentive hands have been keeping his body free of grime, he wants to bathe badly.]
Please tell me what's happened.
[He'll settle for anyone, the first person he lays eyes on. Friend or foe, he has to know; he isn't usually the last, this way.]
B. The Coven (Open)
[Getting back to some semblance of an ordinary life means returning to old familiar habits. The things that L's grey matter remembers so well it's second nature are, quite simply, folding into the sanctuary of committed study, and while the new and far more human SQUIP needs him in ways it didn't used to, that's still overwhelming. Latching onto L as a fellow human who can guide it through this transition is a mistake; whether or not it's a birthright, L was never very good at being human. It's the reason he considered a machine safe, and now that it's distraught and tormented and volatile, all on account of its reaction to his injury.
Books and scrolls are stacked high at his side, and he's working on a new set of runes. A jeweler's magnifying lens is held against his eye as he carefully etches them into pieces of scrap metal bent into the crude shape of a ring. These are just practice goes, of course, but some of them are promising. He places them in one pile; a far larger pile of rejects is littering the floor around the legs of his chair.
He glances your way, shoulders curling, seeming to grow a touch more protective of his work. Lately, he can only assume that others want to take things from him that bring him some small semblance of happiness.]
C. The Sly Seadog- Samuin (Open)
[Then, of course, there are the things that are not familiar at all. A mind is more than just a collection of memories and compiled facts; it has to adapt and respond and arrange data into solutions, and while working in a controlled and quiet environment is one way to test that, L can't think of a better scenario than this one to put himself through his paces.
The SQUIP can't help him the way it used to. He feels, in many ways, like a child about to cross the street for the first time without holding his caretaker's hand.]
Buy me a shot of liquor.
[He's addressing you. Maybe you know each other and he genuinely feels you owe it to him; maybe you're strangers and he is just testing the baseline for any kind of natural charisma he may possess in this capacity. Either way, he's getting some looks from a few of the bar's rowdier-looking individuals, and deigns to add]
...please.
D. WILDCARD
[Don't see it? Want it? Well, COOL, in all likelihood I do too but just didn't think to include it. Write your own prompt and I'll roll with it, or hit me up on plurk at lexil or on discord at ladylazarus#2235!]
When: Octeuril 21 through the end of the month
Where: Around Geardagas
What: Waking up to find that he doesn't have permanent severe brain damage is tempered by realizing and processing that his Bonded actually does.
Warnings: References to violent events, angst, will update if necessary
A. Octeuril 21, The Cottage (Open to residents, visitors and healers)
[It's been a week since Myr's desperate attack had thrown blackout curtains over L's senses and thoughts, further complicated by the violent fundamental alteration of his Bonded. He'd received prompt healing to his head and ribs that made the overall prognosis hopeful, and has been cared for and kept comfortable enough, but the fact of the matter is that Connor woke up, and then the SQUIP, but trailing behind them, L just didn't. Frequent doses of healing magic can help, but not change, the fact that the brain is complex and fragile, and rebuilding and repairing it can take time with even skilled and careful intervention.
For seven days and nights, he's been sleeping it off, recuperating in the quiet and subtle ways that make the biggest collective difference. Eventually, the culmination amounts to "enough", and with no trigger, catalyst or warning, he sits up in bed with no memory of how he got there.
So, start from the beginning.
Who? The SQUIP. Rich. Niles, Michael, Jeremy, Connor and Justine. Myr.
What? The Bond is different. The Bond has changed. The SQUIP has changed.
Where? Just outside. There was blood on the pavement.
When? Too long ago. So much has happened.
Why? It had to be stopped.
How? Fingertips explore the tender place where a skull was broken, has begun to mend in earnest. Clear enough, somehow... with no small measure of disquietment, L understands that he should probably be a vegetable. Someone, or several someones, have been working on ensuring that he woke up with the one thing he couldn't live without intact. How long is the list of names? How many people does L theoretically owe his life to, now?]
Is someone there?
[A week in bed has him anxious to get to his feet again, but... oh, slow, it's a head rush just to put them on the floor while he remains seated. He's hungry, and though either magic or gentle attentive hands have been keeping his body free of grime, he wants to bathe badly.]
Please tell me what's happened.
[He'll settle for anyone, the first person he lays eyes on. Friend or foe, he has to know; he isn't usually the last, this way.]
B. The Coven (Open)
[Getting back to some semblance of an ordinary life means returning to old familiar habits. The things that L's grey matter remembers so well it's second nature are, quite simply, folding into the sanctuary of committed study, and while the new and far more human SQUIP needs him in ways it didn't used to, that's still overwhelming. Latching onto L as a fellow human who can guide it through this transition is a mistake; whether or not it's a birthright, L was never very good at being human. It's the reason he considered a machine safe, and now that it's distraught and tormented and volatile, all on account of its reaction to his injury.
Books and scrolls are stacked high at his side, and he's working on a new set of runes. A jeweler's magnifying lens is held against his eye as he carefully etches them into pieces of scrap metal bent into the crude shape of a ring. These are just practice goes, of course, but some of them are promising. He places them in one pile; a far larger pile of rejects is littering the floor around the legs of his chair.
He glances your way, shoulders curling, seeming to grow a touch more protective of his work. Lately, he can only assume that others want to take things from him that bring him some small semblance of happiness.]
C. The Sly Seadog- Samuin (Open)
[Then, of course, there are the things that are not familiar at all. A mind is more than just a collection of memories and compiled facts; it has to adapt and respond and arrange data into solutions, and while working in a controlled and quiet environment is one way to test that, L can't think of a better scenario than this one to put himself through his paces.
The SQUIP can't help him the way it used to. He feels, in many ways, like a child about to cross the street for the first time without holding his caretaker's hand.]
Buy me a shot of liquor.
[He's addressing you. Maybe you know each other and he genuinely feels you owe it to him; maybe you're strangers and he is just testing the baseline for any kind of natural charisma he may possess in this capacity. Either way, he's getting some looks from a few of the bar's rowdier-looking individuals, and deigns to add]
...please.
D. WILDCARD
[Don't see it? Want it? Well, COOL, in all likelihood I do too but just didn't think to include it. Write your own prompt and I'll roll with it, or hit me up on plurk at lexil or on discord at ladylazarus#2235!]
no subject
[When looking upon this from a weapon-kind-of-view it makes no sense. All of this would end up in failures.]
Death is inevitable for any being. It would be useless to hide away from it. I wish to return to my Master and make sure they will secure humanity's future. [They smile.] I would like it to be able to fulfil my purpose again.
no subject
[And L is quietly, subtly very invested in becoming proficient in a great deal. None of this is a drawback to him; he sees no immediate better use for his time. Not when so many others are willing to rush into danger and act as unwitting but very effective test subjects for approaches L himself might eventually take, or not take.
He up from his work as his companion continues speaking, reveals a higher purpose, indeed.]
Was your master's calling quite literally that important?
no subject
[Enkidu's merely a leaf drifting in the wind, not really knowing where they are going or where they should go. They aren't suitable for witchcraft.]
Yes. [They cock their head slightly.] They are humanity's last Master. [A pause.] Is it such a strange concept to you?
no subject
[L has this way about him, sometimes, making very difficult tasks sound simple or trivial. It's a bad habit of his that does not typically endear him to others.
He shakes his head; surprisingly, though the worlds and contexts are very different, it's actually not such a strange concept to him at all. He was, himself, in a position of power and influence. The kind of detective that is seen only once a century, if that.]
Not a strange concept at all, at least... not in the broad sense. I obviously couldn't know details about your particular situation, not without more time to speak with you or the chance to divine the knowledge for myself. But don't worry... I do strive not to do that against another's will.
no subject
And are we all determined? I may hope that all these humans have sufficient willpower to overcome their difficulties.
[This lump of clay right here is rather useless when it comes to magic.]
Hmm...I am what you call a Heroic Spirit. Each and every one of us have contributed to humanity's history. We were part of stories, of myths, of wars. There are some known for battle prowess and some known for writing stories or making music. A Master can summon us from the Throne to assist them during Holy Grail wars.
My Master is facing the extinction of humanity itself and they have summoned me to fight for them.
[And now they're here...]
no subject
[L quirks a brow, interested for the added context that may better explain his companion's viewpoints on such matters.]
How many of you existed, where you're from? And what were you known for? I'm sure it was very significant, if you were summoned by someone in such a desperate situation.
[L doesn't treat the topic as mundane, but he's been here long enough that hearing of such notions isn't truly shocking, at the very least.]
no subject
[Aka: this is stupid and Enkidu disapproves.]
I am a weapon made by the gods. [His question is a difficult one. Would humans know of them? Would it matter if humans would know their name? They remember receiving praise a long time ago. They were considered a hero. One who slays monsters.] A long time ago I lived...hmm...I mostly lived in Uruk at my friend's side. Or the Cedar Forest since I am fond of nature and I do not like cities.
[A small smile appears on their face.]
I am not the only one they have summoned.
no subject
It's why I dislike being forced to generalize. Solving problems and overcoming difficulties aren't always the same thing, and they mean very different things to different people. Foolish questions tend to net foolish answers, you know.
[Kind of an arrogant and barbed thing, isn't he? Especially for a human.]
It seems that I've also asked some foolish questions.
7000 years later, a tag appears
But there is a certain connection between the both of them. To solve problems, difficulties needs to be overcome. To overcome said difficulties, time is needed. Time they do not have here.
[Hm? For a moment they raise their eyebrows.]
You mean the questions you just asked? There is nothing wrong with them. Curiosity is a good thing to have.
tl;dr the holidays
For most beings, at least where I'm from, time is finite, anyway. A human may live for another fifty years, or die tomorrow. We're accustomed to the mindset that there are some problems we won't see solved in our lifetimes.
[And that's depressing, to him. Though he expresses his emotions subtly as a general rule, there are little tells around the edges of his round eyes, the slight dampening of his voice.]
We're also accustomed to hoping that others may build on the work we leave behind, so that the questions can be answered and the mysteries solved eventually. I see the situation here as being similar enough for the comparison to hold water.