(event) SHATTER & DECAY

[vestigemods]

EVENT LOG: SHATTER & DECAY

JULY 21ST - 27TH

► IF THERE'S NOTHING BUT PAIN, PUT IT ON ME

On the morning of the 21st, the sun dawns peacefully over the crystalline lake just as it has every day for nearly three weeks now. Birdsong melodies soften the crisp edge to the morning air, and woodland creatures retreat from many a cabin backyard, unhurried but unwilling to contend with the cabin's residents as they wake. It's... peaceful, more so than one might expect after such a dire fate spelled out in the pamphlets upon your arrival. Perhaps, after many such days, it has managed to lull you into a sense of something like security.

Today we'll be learning a valuable lesson on why that is, in fact, a mistake.

Sometime between the 21st & 22nd, you begin to feel a bit... off. Perhaps the source is apparent at once, the ends of your fingers or toes going stiff and crystalline or swelling and blooming in small rotting sores. Perhaps the source of your discomfort is a bit less clear as your senses begin to sharpen or dull. But make no mistake, this is only the beginning.

As time passes, your situation only worsens. The glass or decay carves a slow but steady path up your limb or limbs. Your sharp senses begin to overwhelm you. Your dull senses muffle altogether. Soon, you may not be alone in your own mind, bombarded by the omnipresent thoughts and feelings of those around you in a way that you can't seem to hide from. Or worse - maybe there's no one around you, and yet you hear whispers in your mind all the same... Whispers which turn to yelling and screams and sharp violent emotions and imagery you can't simply close your eyes to because it exists inside your head.

But there is a solution.

It's detailed inside your new coffee-table centerpiece, a book bound roughly in leather and written in a language none here know or can recognize. All you know is that this book was not here last night. Not far from the book's front cover, you'll find two pages of illustrations with a page of text between them. One depicts humans holding their heads as if in distress, then cutting themselves or one another, then no longer holding their heads in distress. The next depicts much the same, but instead of a their heads they hold a discolored arm or leg... and instead of simply drawing blood, it shows them rubbing one another's blood on their discolored limbs. Skimming the rest of the book will find a dozen or so pages roughly torn from the bindings. Perhaps those were further illustrations. You may never know.

Besides - you have more pressing issues to attend to. Like bleeding, or finding someone else to, in order to make this stop.

You who only suffer the mental effects are lucky, in a sense. Your condition is deeply uncomfortable but it almost definitely isn't fatal. If you've found your limb crystallizing or rotting away, however, you have little choice but to seek a solution or resign yourself to a distinctly unpleasant death.

Regardless of which effects may be lingering, you'll find blessed relief at midnight on the 27th. Over the course of an hour, your senses will fade back into their proper strength, the unwanted guests will evacuate your mind, and the glass or rot will recede from your limbs to leave them just as they were before this veritable nightmare of a week.

Now, it's time to breathe, to recover, and to lick your figurative wounds.

► MOD NOTES

• This log is a general dump for all log threads pertaining to July's Shatter & Decay event! Feel free to utilize vestigenet for any event-related network posts you'd like to make.
  
• The event takes place from July 21st - 27th. All characters begin to experience effects by mid-22nd at the latest. Any event effects lingering at midnight on the 27th fade away over the course of an hour, in much the same way as they would if provided sufficient blood during the event itself.
  
• All event information (in detail rather than the flavortext I've provided) can be found on the July Event Infopost!
  
• Important semantics reminder! While you can have a character experience both psych and body horror within the event, both must be either rot or glass, not mix and match.
  
• Limbs lost or irreversibly damaged to this event reappear next time your character sleeps (as early as right when the event ends) unless you OOCly choose for them to retain the loss, in which case they instead regain the limb upon their next death + respawn. (If your character doesn't sleep, they go offline/fall unconscious and return to consciousness with the limb fixed.)
  
• Any questions can be directed to this top-level or, for a quicker response, to Trace on discord/plurk.

Comments

[lethechained]

[ There's water running somewhere.

It sounds as though it's coming from the kitchen. The hour is still early enough that the daylight streaming in the windows is enough to see by, so none of the lights are on to indicate whether someone is meant to be home. There is, however, a small, partially-used pad of sticky notes sitting in the living room, so it's highly probable that whoever was out there putting them on trees either lives here or plans to use the cabin for some purpose. There's not a whole lot else around in plain sight that wasn't part of the place to begin with, although the individual in question seems to have collected a small variety of cheap pens from the convenience store.

And whoever they are, they're very much present. Although there isn't much noise to go by other than the rush of the faucet, Lalli might find that there is a mind nearby. Their thoughts are quick, blurring together into a long stream of concentration. Whatever they're considering, however, it comes to a jarring halt as they notice something. Uncertainty and caution rise to the surface, but so do a brief flicker of hope and then an almost immediate second-guessing of it.

The water shuts off. ]

[skittering]

( there's something familiar about the mind brushing against his own, enough so for the quick urgency of the thoughts it holds to feel somehow incongruous despite the lack of recognition.

the other mind, little does he realize, is probably sensing a simmer of irritation (almost like a bristle, the bristle of another mind coming too close whether it means to or not), but also wary concern and something adjacent to intrigue. the sticky notes were an oddity, an unexplained behavior, and the scout in him wants to understand just as much as it wants to be cautious.

when the water shuts off, his hand slips into his pocket and wraps around the hilt of his dagger. he doesn't draw it, but you bet that he's ready to. whoever emerges will find him standing a few steps inside their front door, hood up, eyes sharp and posture wary. )

[lethechained]

[ At first, there's no audible or visible sign that the person in the cabin with him intends to show themselves. Other than the faucet being turned off, there's no noticeable sound save the faint natural noise of the outside.

But they know he's here. That becomes increasingly obvious as the mind shifts, thoughts refocusing, and that attention is put squarely on him. It's not so much a deliberate intrusion as the natural result of their having noticed - because clearly they've noticed - that his thoughts are nearby. All in one smooth instant of careful study, they take in what they've sensed and assimilate it into a general shape; curious, doesn't like people(?) Doesn't like that I--

The consideration stops abruptly, guiltily. For a second it's as if the mind is trying to pull back, but it's a futile effort. The quiet buzz of intense thought continues to go on in an undercurrent, but it's drowned out by an instinctive desire to soothe, to ease that bristling it recognizes in him. ]

I'm sorry, [ Naminé's voice calls from the kitchen; a board creaks as her weight shifts, but-- she doesn't appear. ] I didn't mean to lead you here.

[skittering]

( and it does ease his bristling, if only somewhat. he can recognize effort, much better at least than he may have been before his time in asgard, and this is that effort.

he hears the quiet call, and for a long couple of seconds he's still. then a step forward, then another - not enough to bring her into view, but enough that he feels he can call just as quietly back. )

What's wrong? ( with her, he means. is it just the way her mind touches his, touches others too? or is there more to it? )

[lethechained]

[ There's some worry rattling around in her mind, but she's trying - with some success - to press it down under her other thoughts. It's a little strange how adept she is at it; it's the sort of thing that implies practice. In truth, her concern doesn't stem from the connection between their minds, no matter how it might rattle her for it to go both ways. The sound of his voice, however, seems to provoke in her an odd mix of relief and guilt.

There's a beat. Then, ]

I slipped on the stairs, and I-- think I scratched my hand.

[ That's not what's actually wrong, even if it is a thing which is wrong. (And it would have been considerably worse were that hand still made of glass, but she's managed to avoid that fate, at least, and merely scraped the newly-recovered flesh.) The fretful thought is bumping around under the surface again, like she's wrestling with how to address it. ]

But I... can't tell for certain.

[ Her soft voice is tense with an implication; her feet make one step, then two, an unconscious mirroring of him as she moves just a little bit closer to the doorframe that separates the kitchen from where he stands. Her hand comes to rest against it, and yet she doesn't peer around it like she ought to - like would be proper, considering she has a guest. ]

my tags are always infinitely shorter than yours and i'm sorry

[skittering]

( can't tell for certain. she can't feel it? or can't see it, maybe. but no - that's the other side, the side that rotted, they can't touch his mind right back like this. so something's too sharp. too bright? or maybe everything stings. happened to klaus. scraped his throat on a chip and now he's mute and suffering.

she'll feel his mind cycling through theories, quick as his feet when he scouts, never settling properly on any one thing until it lands on the decision to call again, ) Show me. ( a gentler person may have said 'let me see it', or maybe even 'would you like me to look at it?' - but he wasn't that person before all this, and he's certainly not right now. )

BAPS UR FACE shhhh, it's not your fault I'm a windbag and lalli Isn't

[lethechained]

[ Either one of his guesses bumped against the truth or she's merely concerned about as much happening, because the hesitation and caution come back into her mind in a tangible sort of way. In the end, it changes the result little; there's only so much she can do to keep her thoughts separate from his.

The demand is met with momentary silence, and with a small pit of dread in the base of her stomach that she's quick to try to brush aside. He'll see what's the matter soon enough, it seems, going by her reaction - although it doesn't even occur to her to take exception to the way he phrases his request. To the point though his wording might be, she knows better than to imagine he's asking for his own sake; the kindness is inherent in the effort, so the words needn't reiterate it.

She still has to draw in a bracing breath before she moves forward, audible primarily by the exhale. The girl herself at last takes one careful step through the doorway, just far enough to outstretch one slender arm so that it's in plain view, as is she. Her palm is upturned, fingers splayed as she presents the damage for his inspection. There is indeed a shallow scrape to one side in the soft skin of her hand. Not deep enough to be problematic, although it seems that either the wooden railing or the porch steps have left a noticeable splinter in one end of the wound.

Which is all well and good, but it hardly explains the way her eyes are closed - or, for that matter, why they stay that way. Her uninjured hand holds tightly to the frame, as though to a lifeline. ]

It stings, [ she observes quietly, reservedly enough to suggest that she's fully aware how obvious it is that something else is amiss. ]

[skittering]

( she emerges as little as possible. that, in itself, is concerning. she's shy and she's quiet, but namine has always brave despite her size, friendly despite her lack of experience being so. he feels with relative certainty that she would've emerged altogether in better circumstances. it furrows his brow just slightly, and he closes the distance himself to reach out with his free hand, which catches under her forearm as lightly as one might catch a floating bubble if they're trying not to pop it.

the scrape is minimal, nothing she'd usually hide over or probably even acknowledge. it looks like some bit of stairs is still stuck in the wound, and he eyes it for a moment before looking up at her face. at her closed eyes. )

Sit down, ( he says, barely more than a murmur in case things are too loud now too. he himself is sinking down to sit crosslegged on the floor where they've met, assuming she seems inclined to follow.

if she does indeed sit, he brings the hand just a little bit better into his view, examining the angle of the splinter. ) Keep your eyes closed, ( he says, bring his knife-hand in now as well. ) Gonna sting worse. ( despite the warning, he's as delicate as possible with his efforts to carefully catch under the splinter's edge with the sharpened blade of his knife, trapping it between his knife and his fingernail to pull it from her skin.

his next words are a sigh: ) Splinter's gone. ( fingers uncurl from around her wrist in case she wants to take it back, but otherwise he'll support it with his own hand as long as she leaves it there. )

[lethechained]

[ There has to be something to her reluctance, to how she tucks herself away. She's had cause to hide before but never from him, not in this iteration of their relationship or the previous one. Her arm stays where it is as he approaches, hovering in wait, although even the light touch, when it comes, seems to startle her. Her fingers curl subtly, eyelids threatening to flutter, but she holds herself otherwise still as she waits for his appraisal.

The command is unexpected, that much is obvious by her brief pause. Presently, however, she follows the instruction, carefully lowering herself down until she can angle her legs to one side. Her uninjured hand inches its way down the doorframe, steadying her until she's settled, and yet she seems hesitant to relax her grip on it even once it's no longer necessary.

It seems he needn't have warned her to limit her vision, for even the obvious, apprehensive question - why? - that writes itself across both her face and her mind doesn't prompt her to lift her eyelids. The cold touch of a blade, however, makes for a much nearer miss. Her recognition of the sensation is made apparent by the stilling of her breath, the faint sound (that would have been inaudible anywhere less silent) of what never quite becomes a gasp.

And yet, she doesn't flinch. Blindly or otherwise, she's learned by now to accept his assistance, even when it comes in the form of a knife. She may not be able to see the care he takes, but she can sense it in the outcomes, in the gentleness with which he handles her wrist, which holds its place for a moment once he lets it go. Her breathing resumes, as quietly as it stopped. ]

Thank you, [ she responds, voice as hushed as his is. There's a tiredness there just as much as a relief. Her fingers start to close, the weight of her arm lifting slightly to withdraw from his hold, but it never actually follows through - just like the way her eyelashes begin to part, only for her eyes to squeeze shut the next instant, more tightly than before. Her expression is not far off from a wince, her mouth turning down at the corners with what looks like regret. ]

It isn't bad, [ she inquires soberly, feeling confident at least in that no matter how she might seek to confirm it. ] … Is it?

[skittering]

( lalli expected her to take her hand back. he also expected her to flinch under the edge of his blade. the fact that she barely even winced says a lot about either her pain tolerance or her level of trust in him (he defaults to assuming the former - it's simpler). as for the wrist still waiting in his palm... he's less sure what to do with that. some part of his brain tells him to recoil, but that part always tells him to recoil from anyone or anything, and he's learned that it's not always helpful to listen to it. and it's not like she didn't try to lift it before letting it settle tiredly where it was. he doesn't know entirely what's wrong with her, but if she's having trouble taking it back, it's only practical to keep holding it for her.

so, wordlessly, he scoots fractionally closer to set his forearm on his knee so that the position is more sustainable.

'it isn't bad... is it?' a slight shake of his head, but she can't see it. an echo of something 'no'-shaped in his mind, maybe a bit more palpable to her. then, aloud, ) Not bad. ( another glance at it, assessing. ) Should heal in a couple of days.

( he could make it hurt less even now - all he'd have to do is have her draw his blood - but he already knows that she won't, so there's no use bringing it up. )

[lethechained]

[ Naminé expected herself to take her hand back. But she could hardly withdraw it while she was still asking for his assessment, and by the time he answers, she can feel how their arms have settled into a more permanent position.

Although she so often tries to be unselfish, her resolve to lift her wrist from his grasp wavers. The instinct to flee from touch is one she possesses as well for her own reasons, and yet - she is tired. She's tired of fearing what the changes to her senses might mean; tired of fretting over what worries she might cause others in her infirmity; tired of being afraid she might burden him, if he's really so dead set on looking after her. Much of it is a moot point now that she's been found out, and yet she feels - freer, somehow, after one of the things she's dreaded has come to pass.

The hand around her wrist is comforting. Perhaps it shouldn't be, but it is, and strains of that feeling lurk perceptibly around the edges of her mind. ]

I'm glad, [ she says. Her voice doesn't sound pleased, not so much as it sounds mollified. Her lips part to speak again, though this time it's restrained, falling away into a soft sigh. Then, ]

Today was the day I was planning to go to the gas station, [ she admits. It has the tone of a confession, an undercurrent of contrition that suggests she's trying to explain herself, to explain the situation he's found her in. ] But... now, I'm not so sure that was a good idea.

[skittering]

( no, it wasn't one. but she doesn't need him to confirm that. and honestly, he might've attempted the same, in her position.

so instead, ) What did you need? ( a beat, and - ) Could go get it. ( especially if she's out of food or something. )

[lethechained]

[ The back of her mind hums alive again. Going by the tone, she's already berating herself on her own, and there's this odd sense of anticipation after his question that seems to resolve with his offer. Breathing a faint sigh through her nose, Naminé lowers her chin very slightly; her eyes aren't open to turn downward, but the gesture is there. ]

I was trying not to ask you to, [ is her eventual admission. ] You've already looked after me so many other times, I...

[ But she knows better. In her current state, it'd be a fool's errand to travel all that way alone. Mouth pulled into a frown, she hesitates. Then, ]

The cabin will be out of food soon. I can't carry very much by myself, so-- I have to make the trip a lot. I thought it'd be at least another day or two before I couldn't anymore, but I was wrong.

closing this one out so we have one less ongoing, gonna hit your new-ish top-level!!

[skittering]

( there's a flicker of- not irritation, but something more ambiently frustrated as her mind berates itself. doesn't she know by now? this is much easier for both of them if she skips the good manners and just lets him help.

luckily, she loops around to that before he has to tell her 'don't be stupid', and he listens silently as she explains about her too-many trips to fetch food. that's all she needs? food? he can get food. that's easy. )

Stay in the cabin, ( he says, finally putting her hand back in her lap as he rises smoothly to his feet and heads for the door. he doesn't say that he'll be back. he assumes that he doesn't need to. )

sounds like a plan!!

[lethechained]

[ Her chastised state of mind suggests she's well aware what his feelings on the matter probably are. Perhaps that's even why she was so reluctant to admit to her troubles in the first place; he's always willing to help, and it twists at her conscience to be unable to provide much in return. There's been very little room to suspect him of an ulterior motive, and his insistence here compounds her certainty that he really does mean well.

Hand curling when he gives it back to her, Naminé sucks in a breath as if she fully intends to protest. But that would only be further inconvenience for him at this point, and she lets the words fall away to become instead an, ]

... I will.

[ He doesn't need to say that he'll be back. Head bowed and hands tucked together, Naminé only allows herself to struggle with her thoughts for long enough for him to almost reach the door. She can't let him leave with out a, ]

Thank you.

[ Even though she calls it quietly out as he's departing. And from then on - there's nothing to do but wait. (That's alright; she always has been patient.) ]