vestigelogs | (event) WAY DOWN WE GO

EVENT LOG: WAY DOWN WE GO

AUGUST 14TH - 24TH

 ►  THE BASICS

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 ►  MOD NOTES

This log is a general dump for all log threads pertaining to August's Way Down We Go event - and in lieu of the lack of catch-all for August, you can feel free to do non-event log threads here as well! Go ahead and utilize vestigenet for any event-related network posts you'd like to make.
The main chunk of the event takes place between the IC dates August 17th (reveal of the hatch) and August 22nd (the latest the spelunkers can be freed before they drown). No rush leaping on this event post, since I know most folks are honestly still plotting about it.
All event information can be found on the July Event Infopost!
Please take special care in this event to label your top-levels with identifying information such as the IC date, any prompts specifically pertaining to event roles (spelunker, rescue efforts, etc), and/or 'non-event' for any non-event prompts you may include. Just trying to keep things organized!
I'm going to help solidify the plotting efforts over the next few days to help make sure everyone's on the same page, but none of it will be set in stone just in case latecomers want in too. If you want in, chime in on the spelunkers, rescue efforts, or support roles top-levels as applicable!
Any questions can be directed to this top-level or, for a quicker response, to Trace on discord/plurk.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Gilia grasps both her hands in front of herself as he speaks to her. Proper as station requires, she keeps her eyes fixed lower than his face directly. She is no stranger to being examined, it is her position that the one most forward facing. More in the line of others than her brother.

"Yes, they would dress as I do." But to his question she does look up, meeting his eyes with such clear and clarant hope that he might be able to help her, and thankfulness that he was taking the time to do so. "Nikolai is my eldest brother - he has a dark look about him, but a kind smile, he has many markings covering his face since his marriage. Then there are my two younger sisters, Elspeth and Farfalee. Elspeth is a little older, and she is very sweet of face, and Farfalee never sees why she must put back her hair, and it is easy to tell note her hair, it is light red and full of curls. Then there is Leif, my younger brother. He is not past ten but shares Nikolai's smile."

Daemon's eyebrows tick towards each other as she speaks, leaving a furrow between his brows. His expression is intent, not just polite, but he very carefully does not give any indication that he does or does not recognize the names until she has finished relating the details of the family she is missing. Something about her manner and her dress tickled Daemon's memories.

Only when she's done does he glance down at his bare toes and then back up to her face. "I'm sorry, but I recognize none of those names. Unless they've appeared and I haven't met them yet, you might be alone here." He lifts one shoulder in a partial wince and corrects himself, "Not alone, forgive me, but without those you're familiar with. Those who run this place seem to take great delight in plucking between a single individual and a handful and placing them here."

It does her no happiness to hear it. Her hands lift, cupping her mouth in the shock of hearing it. Shaking her head in disbelief. She cannot leave, she cannot. There is too much at stake, it is her position, and if she does not, then who? Elspeth? She would not wish her fate on her sister, her carefree, younger sister.

"No, please, you must understand. I must return. Surely, there must be a way? Please?"

Edited 2020-09-02 07:15 (UTC)

Helpless in the face of her pleading, Daemon rubs a hand over his face. He taps long black-lacquered nails against his cheek for a moment, considering. On his finger is a thick gold signet set with a large black stone that pulses with an inner fire, and he shifts his hand to press it thoughtfully to his lips as he thinks.

"There is no way," he says finally, cutting straight to the heart of her plea. "We were brought here and cut off. Even I cannot return home at my whim."

He doesn't stop speaking, though. "Come back with me to my cabin and rest for a moment. I'll make you something to drink. Tea. Or something alcoholic, if that's your preference. They left us information. A pamphlet for us to read that will answer some of your questions."

He could not give more injurious news, it seemed, the tears well almost instantly. Her mouth falling open as if to protest. But why would he lie to her? Shaking her head, the wimple and veil fluttering in the air as she tried to deny it. But he is resolute and she crumbles with it.

Which she has nothing else but him - right then. Stranded and alone with this dreadful news, it is not fitting to cry in front of anyone but her own family, but she cannot hold it in. Still, the need to hide it comes to the fore, and with it, she steps into him. Pressing her face to his shoulder as she bursts into tears in shaking sobs.

The physical contact startles him only because he had made a snap judgement on her mode of dress that had placed her firmly in the 'casual contact is off-limits' category. He's seen cultures with similar dress and made assumptions--all of which flew right out the window when she began to cry on him.

"There now, hey," he says, curling around her immediately and enfolding her in the most gentle of holds. He is not hesitant, only careful. If anything, he's treating her a little bit like a shy wild creature who might startle if he moves too swiftly. He brushes a hand over her hair-covering. "I'm sorry you were brought here. I'm sorry you're alone here. It's quite a shock, I know. The others and I are hunting a way out, if that eases your mind, and we will get you home."

Hidden against the soft dark of his shoulder, it is much easier to sob and feel like she isn't imposing so dreadfully. Her mother would scold her so for ever expressing anything of herself like this to someone not of their lands. But overwhelmed as she is with all of this news, she cannot help how raw and sudden it takes her.

"I will let everyone down. I never want to let anyone down." Is all she manages in response. Hitched in between her words and muffled with the little cracks of breath.

"No, no," Daemon says, quietly but firmly. Sobbing upon a stranger is not the behavior of someone in a state to truly be reassured. He is more than familiar with the concept of a pressure-release of emotion. He doesn't know what she's dealing with, what she means when she might let everyone down (a position of responsibility, perhaps?).

For the moment, that means he only murmurs his reassurances, not trying to do more than help her weather her storm. "You're not, you're not. It's all right. Nobody can say you let anyone down if you weren't the one to make the choice to come here. If they do, they're assholes. And wrong."

Oddly enough, she smells faintly of a stormy sea--and Daemon chalks that up to her psychic scent without even thinking about it.

She looks up from where she had safely tucked herself away, at him with her tear-stained cheeks and her eyes wet and wide, the clear blue of them all misery and hope in his words. Her trust is utter, even if no one sensible would do so.

"Do you truly think so?"

"I do truly think so," Daemon says. The confidence with which he says this is absolute and very much like he will make it true if he needs to. "You cannot blame yourself for the consequences of this. And I trust that you'll be able to handle whatever they are."

He shifts, then. "Now. Come with me back to my cabin. I will find you something to drink and you can sit down somewhere that I know is safe for now."

Right now, where she has nothing at all, she needs that so utterly to feel any kind of safety. That reassurance in his voice, to believe in it, she clings with both hands against his arms and in doing so, to the promise he gives her.

"You are kind to me, twice over..." It's a little shy thing. "I would be so much obliged."

Daemon's lips quirk into a small smile at her gratitude. "There is no need. We are trapped together, after all."

With gentle hands, he attempts to peel her away from himself so they can head back toward and along the lake for his cabin. With immense dignity, he ignores his neon orange flip-flops and the smacking sound they make with his every step.

[OOC: We can continue now, or handwave and say he made her tea and kick something more recent up? :>]

[ ooc: yes that sounds good! gimmie more, grabby hands. ]

(event) WAY DOWN WE GO

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