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sixthiterationlogs2017-05-03 07:47 pm
3ofswords) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-05-03 07:47 pm
[OTA] sing that song to me, no reason to repent
WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE:
WHEN: May 1st, morning to afternoon
OPEN TO: Multi starter - Graves, Sonny, and 3 others
WARNINGS: Dealing with power loss, finally leaving the house after Obscurial Plot
STATUS: Open
House 39 (Graves)
When he wakes up, he can't tell immediately what's off about the world. He rubs the bridge of his nose, but it isn't his sinuses; he rubs and blinks his eyes, deigns to put on his glasses--but the world is no more or less clear to his eyes, and the suspected headache never seems to resolve one way or another. He rubs the skin just behind his ears, slow circles like he's trying to ease out water after a swim, but the feeling remains.
He can hear Aurora scratching at the wall in her sleep, and the drip of water in the bathroom faucets. Birdsong filters through the open window, clear and uninterrupted, but it still feels quiet.
The house feels empty. That gets Kira moving, rolling out of the bed and dragging a dark tank over his head, fished up from the floor. Aurora wakes dutifully to be fed, but he ignores her, passing through the rooms of the house, terrified of more empty clothes, more empty rooms, more loss. People are always going to leave you, Credence had said, or the thing in Credence, that was also Credence and wasn't wrong--
His dark hair is visible at the top of the blankets, the lump now familiar in Bodhi's bed. Walking deeper inside, he stares down at him, brows drawn and trying to concentrate on that outline of him in the blankets, the rise and fall of his chest, the rise and fall of everything within him--but the room is. The room is empty, it's the only thing he can think. It's like Credence isn't real, a figment of his imagination, painted into the room with flat strokes.
Kira rests a hand on his shoulder, just enough to convince himself of his existence. Aurora climbs up into the empty space, settling at Credence's side, and that's enough, but it doesn't fix the feeling.
Stumbling back out through the house, he leaves the dog to watch over Credence, shoving through the front door and getting to the path before the dirt under his feet reminds him that he owns a pair of boots. "What the fuck," he breathes, standing barefoot between the houses. Lifting his gaze, he squints up at the roof of Ren's house, as if the symbol burned therein might show some change, some clue to what's coming next.
Inn (Limit 3)
There's nothing to do but keep calm, put some shoes on his feet, and test the absent feeling on someone who didn't just have a smoke monster burst from their being and destroy a building. Maybe the creature is simply excised, and he built his sense of Credence on its presence, he can't place him in the house without it. Perhaps Bodhi simply wasn't home, asleep in a chair at the inn, or out in the woods, or already tending the fields with a friend.
It can't all just be gone--muted as his powers have been, it's like waking up suddenly unable to see the color blue, unable to taste, a register of sound that was previously audible gone silent.
It's so silent. The walk to the inn is a tense affair, as if all the bird and insect song has died, warning of something worse in the trees. There's no one here. There's nothing guiding his feet but the choice to visit the inn, and that's as strange as the sense that he's the last person left alive. It's enough that he shoves bodily through the front door of the inn, rather than the kitchen door he tends to slip through, and calls out to the kitchens and pub, desperate to hear a voice, "Is anyone here?"
Church (Sonny)
He sees enough people just passing through the crop fields on his way home, he knows he isn't the sole survivor of a canyon rapture, but not a single one felt real. They're just voices, just faces, lips and eyebrows moving, eyes blinking. Everything today is just its surface, even the grass he's walking through. Birds pass across his path and they're just birds, the patterns of their flights devoid of meaning.
Picking up a feather, Kira twirls it in his fingers, blue-brown-blue-brown with white shimmering at the tip. He's hit his head. He's hit his head, or he's picked up a parasite and it's gone to his brain. There's a kind of crazy people go, where no one's faces look real anymore, everyone's a pod-person and they have to listen to their voices with their eyes closed. He's just gone that, about the entire world.
If it's like anything else here, it might be temporary. He can just--keep holding Credence's hand when they talk, and that will be fine, that will make him real enough. And maybe with the contact, something will come through, and it's just--weaker. He's just tired, overworked the way Casey always warned him. In the meantime, he just has to keep trying, and if the world makes more sense when he's alone, he knows plenty of places for it.
The "church" is one of them, and he's passing through its back-weeds when he checks his progress toward the house. Nobody comes here, and whatever he thinks of the concept, he's never been in a church and not felt something.
He leaves his boots on the back steps, pulling the door open quietly. It's dark and quiet inside, the furnishings surprisingly well-polished for the lack of traffic. At least he doesn't have to add dust to list of stressors, slipping through the empty kitchen, exploring deeper into the house than he'd bothered on his first and only visit. "Now would be a great time to prove you exist," he murmurs, pausing in the frame between the dining and living rooms, the covered furniture, the makeshift cross on the wall. At least the flatness of that is what he expected.
Turning, he explores down the hall, finding the bedroom whose sheets were stolen for the makeshift pews. He flops onto the bare mattress, staring at the ceiling--mostly out of habit. For all the walking and panic, the number of people he's tried to read, he isn't as tired as he usually gets, this late in the day.
[This is the first time Kira's really been out and about since the Obscurial Plot meeting and subsequent search, so feel free to tag in and discuss that or the lack of powers!]
WHERE:
WHEN: May 1st, morning to afternoon
OPEN TO: Multi starter - Graves, Sonny, and 3 others
WARNINGS: Dealing with power loss, finally leaving the house after Obscurial Plot
STATUS: Open
House 39 (Graves)
When he wakes up, he can't tell immediately what's off about the world. He rubs the bridge of his nose, but it isn't his sinuses; he rubs and blinks his eyes, deigns to put on his glasses--but the world is no more or less clear to his eyes, and the suspected headache never seems to resolve one way or another. He rubs the skin just behind his ears, slow circles like he's trying to ease out water after a swim, but the feeling remains.
He can hear Aurora scratching at the wall in her sleep, and the drip of water in the bathroom faucets. Birdsong filters through the open window, clear and uninterrupted, but it still feels quiet.
The house feels empty. That gets Kira moving, rolling out of the bed and dragging a dark tank over his head, fished up from the floor. Aurora wakes dutifully to be fed, but he ignores her, passing through the rooms of the house, terrified of more empty clothes, more empty rooms, more loss. People are always going to leave you, Credence had said, or the thing in Credence, that was also Credence and wasn't wrong--
His dark hair is visible at the top of the blankets, the lump now familiar in Bodhi's bed. Walking deeper inside, he stares down at him, brows drawn and trying to concentrate on that outline of him in the blankets, the rise and fall of his chest, the rise and fall of everything within him--but the room is. The room is empty, it's the only thing he can think. It's like Credence isn't real, a figment of his imagination, painted into the room with flat strokes.
Kira rests a hand on his shoulder, just enough to convince himself of his existence. Aurora climbs up into the empty space, settling at Credence's side, and that's enough, but it doesn't fix the feeling.
Stumbling back out through the house, he leaves the dog to watch over Credence, shoving through the front door and getting to the path before the dirt under his feet reminds him that he owns a pair of boots. "What the fuck," he breathes, standing barefoot between the houses. Lifting his gaze, he squints up at the roof of Ren's house, as if the symbol burned therein might show some change, some clue to what's coming next.
Inn (Limit 3)
There's nothing to do but keep calm, put some shoes on his feet, and test the absent feeling on someone who didn't just have a smoke monster burst from their being and destroy a building. Maybe the creature is simply excised, and he built his sense of Credence on its presence, he can't place him in the house without it. Perhaps Bodhi simply wasn't home, asleep in a chair at the inn, or out in the woods, or already tending the fields with a friend.
It can't all just be gone--muted as his powers have been, it's like waking up suddenly unable to see the color blue, unable to taste, a register of sound that was previously audible gone silent.
It's so silent. The walk to the inn is a tense affair, as if all the bird and insect song has died, warning of something worse in the trees. There's no one here. There's nothing guiding his feet but the choice to visit the inn, and that's as strange as the sense that he's the last person left alive. It's enough that he shoves bodily through the front door of the inn, rather than the kitchen door he tends to slip through, and calls out to the kitchens and pub, desperate to hear a voice, "Is anyone here?"
Church (Sonny)
He sees enough people just passing through the crop fields on his way home, he knows he isn't the sole survivor of a canyon rapture, but not a single one felt real. They're just voices, just faces, lips and eyebrows moving, eyes blinking. Everything today is just its surface, even the grass he's walking through. Birds pass across his path and they're just birds, the patterns of their flights devoid of meaning.
Picking up a feather, Kira twirls it in his fingers, blue-brown-blue-brown with white shimmering at the tip. He's hit his head. He's hit his head, or he's picked up a parasite and it's gone to his brain. There's a kind of crazy people go, where no one's faces look real anymore, everyone's a pod-person and they have to listen to their voices with their eyes closed. He's just gone that, about the entire world.
If it's like anything else here, it might be temporary. He can just--keep holding Credence's hand when they talk, and that will be fine, that will make him real enough. And maybe with the contact, something will come through, and it's just--weaker. He's just tired, overworked the way Casey always warned him. In the meantime, he just has to keep trying, and if the world makes more sense when he's alone, he knows plenty of places for it.
The "church" is one of them, and he's passing through its back-weeds when he checks his progress toward the house. Nobody comes here, and whatever he thinks of the concept, he's never been in a church and not felt something.
He leaves his boots on the back steps, pulling the door open quietly. It's dark and quiet inside, the furnishings surprisingly well-polished for the lack of traffic. At least he doesn't have to add dust to list of stressors, slipping through the empty kitchen, exploring deeper into the house than he'd bothered on his first and only visit. "Now would be a great time to prove you exist," he murmurs, pausing in the frame between the dining and living rooms, the covered furniture, the makeshift cross on the wall. At least the flatness of that is what he expected.
Turning, he explores down the hall, finding the bedroom whose sheets were stolen for the makeshift pews. He flops onto the bare mattress, staring at the ceiling--mostly out of habit. For all the walking and panic, the number of people he's tried to read, he isn't as tired as he usually gets, this late in the day.
[This is the first time Kira's really been out and about since the Obscurial Plot meeting and subsequent search, so feel free to tag in and discuss that or the lack of powers!]