reverielogs | ( 0 0 1 » ENSEMBLE ) welcome to the inaugural log

Entry tags:

( 0 0 1 » ENSEMBLE ) welcome to the inaugural log

» WHO? everyone
» WHEN? may 1 onward
» WHERE? all over the station
» WHAT? introductory log feat. waking up, exploration, meeting over food and noises in the walls
» WARNINGS? potential for body horror, psychological horror, hallucinations, physical injury

( 0 0 1 ) » WAKE UP

Were you asleep or were you unconscious? It doesn't matter: when you come to, there's an odd taste in your mouth and there's a low-level mechanical hum in the air. Your head hurts and you feel nauseous. You aren't anywhere you know: everything around you is metal, from the floor you lie on all the way to the ceiling. You are dressed in a jumpsuit you definitely weren't wearing before.

"We tried to save the world. I think— I think we did the opposite."

The message repeats on a loop. If you look for its source, you find a comms device on the floor next to you. The logo on its wallpaper says REVERIE TERMINAL. Upon closer inspection, you find the same logo on your jumpsuit.

Welcome to your new home.

( ♪ )

( 0 0 2 ) LOOK AROUND

You've woken up — but where have you woken up? It may be time to explore your new home. Rifling through a crew quarter will make the room's terminal lock to the comms device you're carrying; the room becomes yours. That includes everything in it, from the additional jumpsuit to the two extra sets of underwear. In some quarters, you may find remnants of whoever was here before you: a book on the nightstand, a coffee mug still on the table, a lonely sock on the floor.

A look around the shared areas will reveal the bar, some of its bottles already open, the mess hall, observation deck and the gym area with its dirty pool. An even closer look around these areas might reveal basic first aid kits as well as basic tool kits and fire extinguishers. The kits are located near the fire extinguishers in compartments in the wall that are not immediately visible. Hopefully, nothing's on fire and no one needs first aid... but that tool kit might come in handy.

Every now and then, as you explore, you might find yourself standing before a door that is locked. Try as you might, you will not be able to get it open.

( ♪ )

( OOC: What items characters find of those who were there before them is up to players, but please limit it to a single item that is mundane and somewhat useless in nature. )

( 0 0 3 ) HAVE A BITE

Sooner or later, all characters will have to make their way to the mess hall if they want to eat. In the mess hall, here are a number of replicator-like devices that sometimes work and sometimes don't— but after a recent malfunction that some characters may have noticed, they seem to work just fine... or at least as well as ever: nothing is particularly palatable, but at least it's nourishment, right?

So why not sit down at a table, whether it's already occupied or not, and have a meal. Maybe use it as an opportunity to introduce yourself, or just to complain about what passes for coffee around here.

And if coffee isn't your preferred beverage, well. There's always the bar.

( ♪ )

( 0 0 4 ) NOISES IN THE WALLS

For some, it's been over a week on the station. For others, merely a day or two. For all, things are starting to change: maybe you were asleep or maybe you weren't, but surely the scream that reverberates through the station will startle you. Was it human? Whatever it was, it seems to be coming from the walls of the station. Banging, clanging, then more screams.

Are you going to chase the sounds? Hide away from them? Try to investigate?

If you follow the sound of screams through the station's corridors and halls, you might feel someone - or was it something? - grab you from behind and pull hard. But when you turn around or turn your head if you've fallen, there's nothing and no one there. If you investigate and perhaps put your ear to a wall to see if the noises really come from there, or bang on the wall, you might hear something other than screams and clanging. Strain your ears and you might hear nothing at all — or you might be able to make out a soft "help me". It's barely above a whisper. Did it sound familiar? If you try to take apart the wall, two things will happen: you'll feel uncharacteristically weak and lethargic all of the sudden, and you'll find nothing at all but wiring and more metal.

Whatever you do, you'll find that the noises stop after a while, with no discernible source other than "the walls". And then hours later, they'll start again. Stop again. Start again a day later— and then stop for good.

( ♪ )

( O O C ) ACTIONS

Hello Reverie Terminal Operators! Welcome to our inaugural event. We hope you'll enjoy it!

To help exploration and interaction with the station, we have put together ten (10) 'actions' that you can request. These actions range from very minor, such as receiving a small piece of information about the station, to major, which may be a more vital piece of information or something far less pleasant, and are completely opt-in. These actions can help get your character involved in the plot, jump into the plot and its mysteries, and have more of a personal prompt to jump off of if you so wish.

Please note if you would avoid particular kinds of consequences (for example, if you'd rather your character not be injured), and we'll try to accommodate that, but please be aware that heavy themes are in play and the actions may feature body horror, injury and hallucinations.

If you'd like to receive an action, please reply to this comment with the following:

In the future, actions such as these may be "bought" with bonus AC.

Please use content warning in your top-levels wherever necessary.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

>> I NEED NOISE (DISCOVERIES)

[ After finding Akira alive and well (enough), Ryo takes a moment to consider what he's woken up with: a gun. Well, more accurately, a gun with a kind of adherent or perhaps sealant that dribbles out the end like something wrenched from a standard construction worker's toolkit.

He has no idea whether or not the supply is finite (space bullshit), but he seems to have taken to testing its application with a dedicated fashion on a broken bottle he's come up with. One could argue that he's likely gotten it from the bar, but he's not forthcoming necessarily as he uses a thin shard of something to trace some black material over the jagged edge before adhering the last, shattered piece he has in his possession to the original body of it.

He'll glance over at you if you've been there long enough once he places the shard of (is that glass?) by his side, tucking something into the pocket of his jumpsuit. ]

I want to test something, [ he says, with absolutely no preamble. His eyes are steady and so blue on you, before he's coming up with a second glass he's set beside him. It's filled with water and he holds it out to you expectantly. ] Pour this, [ he gestures with a kind of precision that doesn't spill a drop to the once broken bottle, ] into that bottle. Slowly.

[ If you're not too busy asking him why the fuck, you'll notice he's put that sucker back together somehow with all the art of an archaeologist. ]

>> UNTIL MY DARKNESS GOES (MESS HALL)

[ Good food is good for the soul, people say.

Those people never apparently reached Ryo Asuka's ears, because what he comes up with from the replicator is more-or-less a block of shortbread after observing that no ill effects come to those who eat before him. He doesn't make much effort to mingle, but he does seem keen on scrolling through the network as he partakes of his "meal" among others with impressive disinterest. The only thing that seems more in place for a standard teenager is the coffee at his right hand, which he sips idly with more dedication.

It's completely and utterly black.

Either way, maybe you recognize what he's eating. Maybe you don't. Still, if you sit across from him or stare at his pitiful selection long enough, he'll lift his eyes from his communicator long enough to give you a faint nod of acknowledgement. If you're pulling some kind of face? He'll give you a toneless and distracted: "What?" without bothering to look up. ]

>> ACTING ON YOUR BEST BEHAVIOR (BAR)

[ Ryo's been through enough circuits to know two things: 1. you never accept an open drink from strangers and 2. alcohol is good for numerous applications. He'd been busy elsewhere for the better part of a few hours, but time finds him back here. He'd observed more than a few partake of what was available before treading over himself once it was deserted, eyes scanning the shelves with careful consideration.

If you come by later, you'll find there's a sizable collection of bottles in tidy rows across the surface of the bar. However, there's no one to be found that could be responsible for it. That is, until you choose to come up to the arrangement. You might have just laid a hand on the back of a stool or on the neck of a nice pick, but don't think it goes unnoticed. ]

I wouldn't drink that, [ comes a clear, level voice from behind the bar. If you peer over the lip, a set of pale eyes will peer back up at you from under dark lashes. Whatever Ryo is doing, he doesn't make it readily apparent. Instead, if you're not quick enough to answer him or instead choose to ignore him and drink from the selection anyway, he'll eventually rise on his own accord and set yet another bottle down on the bar. It's half-full, an ancient and indecipherable red. The liquid leaves impressive legs as it skims down the inside of the bottle, its cork dissolved in part across its surface.

He aligns it once it ceases sloshing about with the other wines he's accumulated. The shift leaves faint rings of moisture in each foot's wake. A cursory glance will give you the impression he's sorted them by type, a keener one by alcohol content. However, it would seem the most studious would gather that he's only placed up those that have been opened to begin with. ]

>> TAKE ON ME, TAKE ME ON

[ OBLIGATORY WILDCARD. HMU on disco at morning star#3715 or on

rasasvada and I'll happily write you up something special. ]

Was that your doing?

[Asks Jasnah, of the reconstructed bottle, curious enough at the situation that she skips right past both 'what the fuck' and 'don't tell me what to do.'

Mind you, she doesn't do it either, has no intention of putting her hands nearing any of what's going on there.]

How, with what?

[ Ryo doesn't so much pause as he considers her question with a neutral air, as if he was accustomed to being asked such things on much broader scales. He places the glass down with enough mind to avoid unnecessarily jostling it, before idly gesturing to the bottle with the languid wave of long fingers. ]

That's right, [ he says, voice tinged with ingrained professionalism. It grounds down the otherwise less friendly edges, like a whetstone. The polish is a vague smile he puts upon his face, his attention fixed upon her with all the absence of a newscaster glancing at a screen. ] It's possible to make water insoluble glues with the ingredients provided by the replicators here. All you need is a set of essential oils, extracts, milk, and gelatin.

[ Never mind that he's left out how to precisely do it and what the exact ingredients are, but Ryo always found it best to not bother overwhelming an audience. Humans had a certain way of becoming irritated when presented too much information simultaneously. ]

Edited 2018-05-02 15:18 (UTC)

The replicators give up the fish bones necessary to produce gelatin? Or do you mean the refined product?

[Jasnah asks, lowering her head to inspect the bottle a little more closely. Doesn't really matter.]

I wouldn't chance to call anything to come into contact with it potable.

The refined product, [ he provides, politely absent. He folds his hands in his lap, pale fingers lacing. Even draped in blues, he's a slip of a bright spot in the surrounding gloom. ] Flavor isn't possible, but basic chemical composition is another matter.

[ Ostensibly. Ryo wouldn't know because he hasn't actually tested it with these exact materials. But, that's neither here nor there. He watches her inspect the bottle, her curiosity encouraging a fuller answer. At least, fuller in terms of what he feels like giving. ] Most glues made from organic materials are safe enough to use on serving dishes and glasses. [ He glances back at her. ] The oils and the extracts are very diluted.

Well, in that case, you have an appreciative audience.

[And remain lacking either test subject or lab assistant; but sure, she'll stay to witness how this pouring business shakes out.

Honestly, he could pass for somewhere between Shin and Natan, if she thought he was from Roshar, but Jasnah suspects he isn't. Something about his manner is profoundly alien. So, she folds her own hands, one bare and one gloved, and watches.]

[ There's small details to be noted in everyone.

For Ryo, it was that he had never quite fit a standard mold despite being human. When others had focused their attention on brightly-colored cartoons, Ryo read from tomes. There was always knowledge to obtain, information he did not possess. His hunger for it extended beyond simple curiosity, but he could never name it. It was just always something he needed. Wanted.

But, for her, it is the singular glove and the tacit removal from direct interaction. He does not (for the moment) ask after it, but pauses only to consider her reluctance to assist. It is not for the realization it might be either out of concern for the self or a high, self-perceived opinion. That was easy to come by for him. No, it was the fact that one was less grating than the other, no matter how understandable.

So, the placid curve of his smile dips in ways minute and imperceptible. It is something easily masked by the passive concentration he affects as he picks up the glass of water and pours it with all the skill of one who has repeated the motion countless times before. Whether it was perfected for simple chemistry or the imbibing of alcohol, the movement isn't discriminant. Both have useful in their own spots.

Ryo gives it a moment for the water to settle in the pieced together glassware and then picks it up without much fanfare. The glue he's used seems to be water insoluble after all, if the lack of water that eats through the once cracks is any indication of it. ]

It holds, [ he says, rotating it to inspect it from front to back. ] Like all glues, it'll eventually wear out [ probably! ], but it'll be useful in the meantime.

Certainly. We have little enough need of bottles, but from what I've learned, we live in an environment where the very air we breathe is something that needs to be trapped in.

[A realization which makes her feel a little bit cold.]

We should have solutions to create patches in the walls. There are things that can rend metal, and something does seem to have killed the people who were here before us.

[Perhaps it wasn't knowing what to do when the air ran out- though Jasnah imagines it currently as a slow leak, hasn't been exposed to the concept of space before, never mind the idea that out there is a vacuum.]

[ it's her third stop in the bar, and she's honestly beginning to wonder just where jupiter could be hiding. as before, she heads inside; as before, she scouts out the area. but this time, something catches her eye - the liquor bottles, neatly arranged across the bar top. she's on her way to investigate, casually turning one of the bottles to investigate its (long-forgotten) label, when ryo speaks up and she nearly jumps out of her skin.

once she's gotten over the immediate shock - she didn't even see him at first, she's not used to being the most visible person in the room! - she tries her best to answer. ]

Oh? [ it comes out eager, too ready to please, and even if it does the trick she's not really happy about it. she flips the bottle back the way it was - leave nothing disturbed - and faces the young man directly. ] I mean, I probably wouldn't either. I'm pretty sure wine goes bad at some point...

[ If Ryo seems surprised that she's surprised, it doesn't show. He seems most honestly accepting of her shock, almost as if he'd be more startled if her reaction was anything other than to jerk into action or roll with the metaphorical punches. He folds his arms against the worn bar top, the pale of his skin a harsh contrast to the dark material beneath. He leans forward, but keeps a mindful distance that those on television usually maintain when being interviewed by hosts. ]

It does, [ he confirms. It comes automatically, as though reading from a book. His eyes flick once to her before scanning through his otherwise incidental display. He selects one three down and to the left of the one he's just placed out, nudging it toward her with the delicate press of fingertips. ] If the bottle isn't sealed properly, red wines can become vinegar through oxidation.

[ Which has its own applications, he supposes, but it isn't something you'd desire to drink after that. Ryo just wants what is still useful to him in any sense. Whether or not that means he'll be drinking it is for him to know. ] Of course, it isn't just red wines that go off. [ He pauses, before looking back to Venus with a more decidedly focused air. ] Do you see the cork on the one next to it?

[ The one he mentions, of course, is the one pushed up in such a way that it looks bloated. It barely fits in the neck of the bottle, its otherwise pale material choked like a tree grown against a metal ring. He won't explain it just yet, knowing that his wealth of knowledge was too much for most people to take it without appropriate breaks here and there. It isn't necessarily to come off as condescending, at least.

He waits for her answer, her guesses. ]

Edited (usually, self...) 2018-05-02 15:40 (UTC)

Oh. Vinegar? That's... Oh, I guess that's probably how red wine vinegar is made, huh. I just sort of figured they mixed it together.

[ close (actually, not even close) but no cigar, venus. she looks over to the bottle ryo indicates, taking a look at the swollen cork and squinting at it. she gets the distinct feeling she's being tested, somehow - kind of like she's back in school again. which isn't great, because she's never been good with surprise quizzes. ]

Mm. That's, um... That happens with champagne, right? For older bottles.

[ truth be told, she's not quite sure why that is. but she remembers her father's explanation, a long time ago, at least - showing how the cork had shifted from compression over many years, until it had taken a new shape. there was supposed to be a message in there, something about not wasting the gifts you had.

venus had taken something completely different: bodies are malleable. ]

Um... Is it because of the pressure? From the glass and the champagne. It shifts the body of the cork up and out of the bottle.

[ she sounds like she's answering a pop quiz. judging from the way she watches ryo expectantly, she thinks she is, too. ]

Edited 2018-05-02 16:59 (UTC)

Not quite, but that's a decent guess.

[ he doesn't take the time to explain the specifics, but she's the first to really participate actively in anything he's saying on this station. he's always distributed knowledge, so it isn't much different here. he isn't gearing it specifically for any one person, though. that's a particular right to be brushed by.

he makes a faint, affirmative sound as she guesses. he takes up the bottle he'd earlier gestured to, his opposing hand palming the body of the cork. he gives it a tug, one that brings with it the scent of something too bodied. it isn't champagne, but a white wine of some kind. it smells like over-boiled fruit. ]

Carbonation is responsible for champagne, [ he confirms. he places the wine back down on the bar, pushes the now opened vessel closer to her to inspect if she wants. ] But, heat is what pushed up this one. That one is "cooked."

[ and "cooked" wine isn't palatable in the least. ]

[ oh! he said it was a good guess! given that that's like twice as much affirmation as anyone (well, any human) has given her in the past couple of years, she can't help but perk up a bit at his words - listen a bit more closely than she already was. ]

"Cooked?" [ she catches the scarequotes, at least. she leans in a bit, just a bit closer to ryo- and grimaces. ] Ugh. It smells like it, at least. It's not literally cooked, right?

[ she's... well, she's not that interested in wine, truth be told. why would you drink something like that when you could get drunk quicker with way less drinking involved? but it's something a lot of people enjoy, and maybe she'll get it one day, and besides, he clearly wants to talk about it at least a little. so she humors him. ]

[ Perhaps it is a mercy on his end that he opts to turn in that moment, a small and indistinguishable thing. His fingers skim the opaque shelves of the bar, stirring dust beneath the pads of them like the kick up of ash. It leaves little traces of him everywhere, but that's no concern here. He has nothing to hide in this moment, the image he cuts back home echoed only in the way he conducts the lines of his body.

For someone ostensibly human, there's something preternatural in his movements. He's a slip of a thing, a pale spot in the dim of the station. There's no suggestion he's honed his body to do such a thing, but when he lifts himself up onto the tips of his toes, it is without the trace of a wobble. ]

It is, [ he says, his voice an even cast no matter the proximity. It resembles in some respects one who could comfortably lead a symposium — soldiers going to war. ] At some point, it was exposed to heat high enough to change its body entirely. [ He lifts a hand, in part to expose the pale of his fingers stained with the residue the cork itself had left across them, a dark and muddled brown. He seems to have placed it down somewhere in the interim.

He pauses, his fingers finally moving to close around the neck of a bottle toward the back. ]

It might still be alright, if you don't care about flavor or alcohol content. [ It could have been a dare from anyone else, but with it is always difficult to tell without familiarity to guide it. Still, there's no trouble with how he pulls the vessel down. If there is something always to his name, it is that he has always been deceptively steady. ]

[ it's a mercy she's unaware of, a change of perspective even her dozens of eyes don't catch. his actions are so small, so precise, that someone like her - someone as awkward and clumsy as her - don't even catch the majority of them. instead she just listens to his words, calm and smooth and well-practiced, and interjects at the last bit- ]

It can't taste any worse, right? Alcohol is alcohol. [ it's a hilariously novice opinion, built on a sample size of the two times she's ever drunk with someone. but in her experience, it's not likely to change. ] You can mix it all you want, but it's still going to taste like nail polish remover. Just, well. Nail polish remover and orange juice. Or something.

[ she picks up a bottle of unlabeled tequila, rolling it idly and watching bits of sediment filter through. ]

What about this one? [ it's an innocent question, but she giggles and adds- ] Is this one safe for me to drink?

[ Why would you care for them?

The impression of words at his back. He knows the form, the coloration. He knows the glow, as the bottle slips from the curve of his fingers. His eyes know what they’ve missed, the moment his feet touch flat against the station’s floors again. Before he even turns, there’s something in the pulse and ripple of wings he cannot see but knows are there – in sudden proximity, fear sinks its teeth into him.

Why would you love them?

Love? Words catch up in throat. Words burn at the tip of his tongue. Like a rush of salt up from his lungs, something wild and feral and dark breaks the banks and shoves back screaming. Rationality splinters like a foundation ripped out by the sea in the middle of the night and the resounding clatter and chime of glass bursting about his feet – in the wild arc of his arm out to neat rows he’d once set like the explanations he kept to his chest, a reason for each and every dissolution of memory.

Abberations, that’s what they are.

It isn’t clear if he’s touched them at all, but the stench of wine and liquor cut into the air – hit against him with the copper tang of his own flesh and blood catching fragments. To him, it isn’t clear who it is that shouts. He doesn’t recognize the voices, something writhing beneath his skin – its many appendages aching to be set out. Set out to what? Set out to – shield him. His back hits the shelves behind him, his hands jerking up into his hair – it’s loud, so loud, so loud. It’s loud, so loud – and he can’t think to do anything but move back further, move back farther.

He knows this, he knows this, he knows—it isn’t right, she isn’t right. This isn’t right. This isn’t what—

He can’t move, he can’t breathe – each inhalation starved for oxygen, laughter bubbling up from behind his ribs. That isn’t what he is. That isn’t— in him, there’s something that bristles up in terror, the movements all wrong for his body. It’s bigger than the frame he knows, it’s bigger than him. It’s—

Not here, you’re not here, you’re not.

I'm me, I'm me, I'm not this. ]

[ smash.

the bottle explodes next to her, its blood-red ichor and green scales scattering across the floor. she is turning before she has time to react, a hundred eyes swiveling in unison to look at him, look at him, see what's going on-

he shouts, a sound without words, and she flinches. her hands reach up and cover her mouth, the sudden rush of air blowing cold against them as she gasps. she is frightened, cowed by sudden movements and the sound of a man yelling and something else she doesn't quite know how to describe. but even if the feeling doesn't pass, the panic does, and she forces herself to step forward - to raise her hands off her mouth in the universal gesture for "please stay calm," to try and reach his side and offer some sort of reassurance. ]

It's okay! It's okay. I promise. [ maybe it's not okay. but she knows it can be, at least. her steps are small, her breathing as even as she can force it past the gut surge of awful, crying panic. he's laughing now, a terrible sound that splits her apart like a knife, but she forces herself to smile a tiny bit back - to give her own laugh, nervous and brittle. ] It's- it's okay, alright?

[ she takes another step, steady and cautious. ]

[ it isn't.

her voice is a wretched sound. it beats across his ears, under the thready pulse of his heart. it shoves beneath there, like an ineffable and unnameable dark. it pulls at what cannot and should not give. it sees what he is. it knows what he is. and his hands cannot keep against the current of his own thoughts.

he knows her name. he knows her name as he knows his, in the fundamental recesses, in the fabric of all that he is and ever would be. anger, viscous and insidious and wholly not his own blooms bright and wild in his heart.

he'd always been afraid, at the core of it. he'd always been terrified. he'd always been alone. he'd crossed a sea deeper and colder and more unimaginable than anything else, the eternity of expanses far emptier and silent than that. he'd drifted, he'd fallen time incalculable. and still, he'd never learned –

behind and before him, her footsteps are a clear advancement. he'd known the faces they'd worn – a graceful placidity, so close to his own. he'd been the most beautiful and fair. he'd been the brightest. and now, in the dim recesses of a station that choked him of even all that he could still hold in within the palms of his hands – all now he can hold is a construct, a thin and wicked shard of glass.

it seems a retribution. a divine condemnation. at the end of it all, there had been no such allowance for happiness. there had been no such allowance for a world he could keep for them. for them.

somewhere beneath it, his palm splits across the jagged edge. his fingertips catch green and brittle barbs of glass – torn from his own hair, brandished before him in the only hopes that he has left.

his mouth knives against words, but he's not there. he isn't there, no matter how his body trembles and shudders beneath the light she casts.

it's something else.

his eyes are wide. his eyes are so very, very blue. ]

Edited 2018-05-15 02:17 (UTC)

[ his fingers scrabble along the ground, searching for something, and venus watches in horror as the glass cuts into him - small but vicious tears, blood already beginning to seep out and mingle with the discolored wine around them. ]

Stop it. Stop it!

[ the time for conscious thought is gone. she stumbles forward, her boots thankfully crushing the broken glass underfoot, and makes to grab at his wrists. he can't keep doing this. it's hurting him. can't he see how much it's hurting him? ]

You're going to tear yourself apart-!

[Only a half-step more technologically apt than a Luddite, Akira couldn't really rely on the bells and whistles of the communicators, not having the ability to track Ryo through the network in the same way he had always been able to find him when the need arose. Instead he functioned on a loose check-in system, always having at least a vague idea of what his plans might be, sometimes agreeing to meet with him in a given place at a given time. So he knew that Ryo was at the bar, or at the very least planned on being there, because he'd asked earlier. He was actually planning on heading in that direction in the next hour or two, but he's distracted from his meandering about the station when his communicator barks at him with a sharp, demanding sound.

He glances to it and his heart leaps into his throat. His jaw clenches and he tries to contain the feeling of panic that threatens to possess him, typing out a quick message to try to make sure this wasn't a bug in the system:]

@dabil:
@r.asuka: youre still in the bar, right?? you okay?

[After about half a minute (he counts the thuds of his heart to keep the time of it), he's already tearing off down the hall. It was too out-of-character for Ryo not to answer with a speed that seemed impossible, and it only confirms and feeds into his fears. Up until this point, Akira has been putting careful limitations on what he did, how quickly he moved or how strong he appeared to others. Now he drops all of those. A bystander might have seen him running by as little more than a blur through the hallway before it disappeared.

Not even a minute has passed and he's shoving open the bar door, feeling the adrenaline and instinct altering his body without him even actively thinking about it. His skin has melted into a greyish color, fingers sharpening honing into claws, teeth sharpening into fangs. As the door to the bar swings shut and he's shouting into the confrontation that he has just arrived to,] Get away from him! [Part of him recognizes that it's Venus, but the rest of him doesn't care. As he rushes towards them, the sharp sound of fabric shredding sounds in the air as his wings tear their way loose from the prison of the station coveralls, spreading wide and shaping the air beneath him so he can make a flying leap to land right next to where Venus was attempting to grapple with Ryo.

He doesn't want to hurt her (even though there's a part of him that really wants to hurt someone that he thought might've harmed Ryo). He uses his wings again, filling the space between them, cutting Venus off from where Ryo was slumped onto the floor and blocking them from one another. He turns his back to her, and though the demon instincts within him that had been through thousands of years of kill or be killed are screaming at him for such a stupid move, he crushes them with the single overpowering impulse of: make sure Ryo is okay.

And he's not. He's - Akira doesn't know, he seems scared shitless, or freaking out, or something? He's never seen Ryo like this, and that shakes Akira down to his very core, frightening him even more than the thought of him having been hurt. It seems something deeper than that, something which elicits from him a confused dread that crawls up his throat from the pit of his gut to settle between his jaws. He sees (smells) the blood immediately, eyes focusing with laserlike precision on the glass in his hand. He reaches out in a fluid motion, first grabbing his wrist in a strong grip before placing his thumb into his palm, moving upwards with it as he squeezed at the joint, coaxing him to relinquish what he held.] Drop it. [His voice is markedly different now, almost gentle in a way, though flush with nerves that he couldn't manage to keep completely separate even if he'd tried.] Ryo. [Where once he'd furled his wings to create a curtain, now he draws them in, curving forward to partially encircle them, blocking out the light falling off of Venus. He searches the wild blue of Ryo's eyes in that manufactured shadow, desperate to find a shard of something to cling to, to use as leverage to bring what he knew back.] Ryo, it's okay. It's okay.

[Other than the blood flowing from the cut on his hand, now staining his own, he couldn't find any more injuries. Where he had reached out to disarm him swiftly, without thought, he reaches out with his other hand after a moment's debate, the stutter-step of hesitation evident in the movement. If allowed he would reach out to snake his arm under his friend's shoulders, leveraging him up and into his arms, as close as he would allow. It's the first thing that springs into his mind, regardless of situation or potential dangers, something that'd followed him ever since he'd found him out by the cliffs on that dreary overcast day.

Don't be afraid.

As for Venus... his brain is very slowly catching up to the decisions his body has made, so once that has happened and he's assured Ryo's safety, he'll address her part in this.]

[ In the end, there is no difference between humans and animals when stripped of reason.

He's seen humans kill other humans in sudden bursts of self-defense, in sudden bursts of panic. He'd seen humans leave others behind in the wake of their fear, peel their reaching hands from theirs. He'd seen others sell off those they claimed to cherish. He'd seen the beginnings of war. He'd helped cause it. It is that manifestation of instinct and drive that causes his body to flood itself with adrenaline, noradrenaline. It is that perception that whatever has faced him, without Ryo's own conscious knowledge, is what caused this inexplicable and fundamental deficiency within him to begin with.

It is the hand at his wrist that pulls him into action — who cares if he bleeds? Why does that matter, when he heals so quickly to begin with? Why does this person begin to worry for his safety, when he knows what she is? Under his own consciousness, the Ryo that is and the "Ryo" that will be brushes closer in their disconnect. It's a divide as wide and deep as an ocean, as deep and wide as the fissures below the surface of all living and tangible things. It comes up against the uncountable eyes that rest upon him, tangle into what he is. Those same eyes, that he'd seen endlessly. Those same — where? It doesn't matter. Ryo is quiet beneath the flare and fire of his body as he's barely withheld from any method of execution.

His skin prickles and though he cannot drag his attention from what he perceives as one who will attack him, he knows the sudden shift of air anywhere. He knows the dimness that engulfs him in the next moments, the warmth of the body and the push of wide wings around him. The chatoyancy of eyes that search his face, though the ability to tell him that this is what he knows and this is what he understands is absent in him. He's so far back, that to drag himself ashore again is —

How much more of himself can lose before he does not come back? How many more pieces can be chipped away like dunes at a shore, the water dragging back what sand is touched upon into that same darkness Ryo'd known long before he had ever been born?

He doesn't disarm willingly, but the slick of his own palm betrays him more than each individual tremor that shoots down his arm. It doesn't sting at all. And it is a thought that reaches him before the absence of his self-made weapon does. The press of fingers against the cool of his skin is so distant that it takes a moment of struggle to accept the way he's somehow bundled up against a familiar chest, his own breathing rapid and rabbit-quick — the little sounds he makes caught between laughter and something unnervingly dissimilar from it.

It's okay, he tells him. He wonders the taste of salt that impresses itself in his mouth. It's nostalgic and painful against the weight of primal fear. He. That's — ]

Akira. [ His name catches, syllables cut across his tongue like a verse. To his own ears, if he could hear it, his voice comes soft and strange. How many times had he said in that tone? The rise and fall of his own breath about it gilds it with something unlike gold, but his body folds closer to the suggestion of Akira's palm, eyes preternaturally bright and unfocused. His initial reaction becomes like a storm caught off a coast. It drags through salt and surf with such resistance that it slows. With it, tiny slivers of recall go, scraped from the underside of his already battered and fragmented soul. It would be a wonder, if it were allowed to be pieced together again like pottery – dug up from the sea floor by delicate hands, its contents forever unknown even to him, but the shape somehow present now and again.

It doesn't give itself to him here. Instead, it asks more questions. It will ask more questions, once the fog from his own mind is lifted. Ryo comes back into himself, in steps so slow and tentative that it is hard to say when he will be there — but, for now, his periodic shivering and abortive attempts to try to combat what threatens them is a wretched reminder that they're not alone here.

There's something else. ]

Edited 2018-05-15 21:15 (UTC)

[ the devil is here, and he is angry.

he comes in the dimming of lights, in the feeling of rushing wind and pounding footsteps. he comes in the tearing of seams and flesh, in an eruption of wings and dark. he is power, raw and primal, and if it weren't for his voice she'd have never recognized him in a million years. akira. the boy from the bar. is this what he looks like? is the first time he lets his defenses down around her anger?

get away from him, he roars, and so she does.

she doesn't waste time actively watching his actions - she has eyes for every angle, vision for every sight she could see, and it all comes to her ambiently. by the time she's leapt away, foot balancing and bracing herself upon the high bartop, his wings have blocked the blonde out from even her sight. by the time she's launched herself into the air, she sees those wings - large, wicked, a demon's on sight alone - wrapping down and around the boys.

and then she is spreading her wings, and frantically trying to fly away in a room too small for the three of them. it's a pathetic sight, like a wounded bird trying to figure out how to fly for the second time. it's his friend, the part of her still thinking manages to piece together, but not loud enough to override survival instinct. go. run. run! get out, get out, he'll hurt you, or you'll hurt him, but either way get out-

she just has to reach the door. that's all. ]

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dvmn - 2018-05-15 22:27 (UTC) - Expand

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wingstosee - 2018-05-15 23:23 (UTC) - Expand

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venus outtie

wingstosee - 2018-05-19 04:25 (UTC) - Expand

[After startling Venus in the bar earlier, 9S had never had the chance to properly look around. He'd circled back around after checking out more of the space station, and upon opening the door he notices the bottles right away, a clear change in a room he'd only had a glance at to begin with.

As he approaches the bar, reaching out to pick up on the large looking bottles, he hears a voice and pauses.]

Huh? [9S looks down at the source to meet eye-to-eye with a curious looking human.] Uhh, is there something wrong with it, Sir? It does look pretty old.

[ Ryo neither flinches nor startles as the other leans over to peer at him. Instead, he considers what the other says with the attentive weight of his gaze before he rises — the movement almost languid —, taking up bottle with him. It isn't often that people request specifics from him out of the realm of his classes. It's perhaps a blessing and a curse he does not mind answering. ]

No, [ he hums, setting the foot of a rather sizable bottle of wine on the bar. Its contents are almost brown through the green-blue of the glass, the swell of the cork at its mouth cut deep across its middle. ] At least, not technically. [ His eyes rest briefly on the other who's come to join him, noting his peculiarities without pause. He nudges the bottle with pale fingertips to align neatly with the rest that resemble it, its label stained with a richer coloration from sources unknown. It makes a soft clink as it comes to rest against them and Ryo considers the arrangement only fleetingly before he moves a different vessel from one group to join the one beside it. ] You could still drink it, but the flavor would be off.

[ It could be said that he knows much more than some would typically care to on the subject. ]

Edited 2018-05-13 03:04 (UTC)

Oh... [9S furrows his brow, watching as Ryo meticulously adds another bottle to the line-up. He can't say he gets it, having never drunken alcohol himself.]

But the effects are the same, aren't they?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( 0 0 1 » ENSEMBLE ) welcome to the inaugural log

RYO ASUKA | DEVILMAN crybaby

Discoveries

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best behavior!

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rihanna winks

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venus outtie

bar

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