aftr_stories | [MU] - FEELING LIKE A GHOST (PART II)

[MU] - FEELING LIKE A GHOST (PART II)

"No, no...no!"

The Storyteller's voice cuts through the inkdrop-dark, frantic and scrambling. A distant blot of campfire gutters in the far distance - far from where you are. The disorientation of the week preceding this one has translated into Mu, and everything is hopelessly out of place. The Storyteller sounds muffled, clearly addressing someone or something else, their voice cushioned by the uniform, void-like night.

"Stop it. Stop it! I wasn't gone for very long at all. You can't behave for two weeks? You have to make it all...all...wrong? I can't keep this up - not with what I've had to do since returning - !"

Gradually, however, the shadowy campsite solidifies into being. Or...a semblance of it does, in any case. Four glistening pyres rear out from the shadows, each glowing a different color. The strange material that domes them almost resembles worked steel, forming different patterns against their multicolored backdrops.

[ ♆ ] The first glows a deep crimson, kicking scarlet embers into the dream-night air. Its pit sphere portrays a crowd of people in silhouette, heads bowed in genuflection - paying homage to some looping, many-coiled shape in the sky above.

[ ♆ ] The second glows a deep orange. Its pit sphere is worked into the shape of a looming mountain, with what might be some sort of village or ruin sprawled at its base.

[ ♆ ] The third's flames are a rich green. Its designs are most abstract; the starburst patterns that swirl across the metallic composition of its fire pit sphere could be explosions, maybe...or something else entirely.

[ ♆ ] The fourth pyre is one bearing host to golden flames, amber sparks sprayed out from behind the shape of a set of scales nestled among a flurry of birdlike shapes.

Beside each pyre is heaped a pile of sticks, colored to correspond to their respective flames. The Storyteller sounds agitated when they manage to speak again:

"Will you let them at least make the choice I left to gave them?" When there is no response, they sigh. "If you can hear me...I can't make it clearer than that, at the moment. Pick one. Pick one, quickly, and try to get out before it decides to make things worse! Just add a stick to whichever one looks best to you!"

Unfortunately, whether you abstain from voting or make your choice, that's not all there is to this night...

Tonight's Storytelling, further warped by Mu's capricious nature, will likely feel familiar to those of you who were with us in December of the year prior. Only this time, you don't get much choice in what kind of story you're telling...or, indeed, any choice in the matter at all. As you wake by the Storytelling campfire, Mu shifts to form three separate events from your character's present - which is to say, within one full year of their current canonpoint - in the most stark and painstaking of detail. There is no altering the memory, nor is there any preventing it once it's begun to play. You will simply have to witness memories that are not your own this go around.

Furthermore, stories that take place in worlds other than LifeAftr will be, frankly, inevitable. Those memories, too, will be recreated, to be relived by the teller and lived by the listener.

While the initial setting will be familiar for oldcomers, and newcomers will recognize it from the introduction they received in their dreams, things will be far more similar to the memory share that occurred in December. All memories must be from within one year of your character's canonpoint. For questions, please refer to our OOC event post!

Even those who prefer not to voice their stories aloud are not safe this time around. The memory does not need to be willingly recalled in essence in order for Mu will shift to accommodate it in full.

Just like the last time this happened, all memories will be worth two offerings each, as if in compensation. So at least there's that!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Spoilers for Critical Role S2 in the comments, including major character death. I'll match your format in prose or brackets.]

[The scene, as it opens, is chaos.

A caravan of covered wagons can be seen on an empty road between mountains, a large tree felled on it's side directly on top of one of them. There are people everywhere- mages clad in robes with books slinging spells, fighters with swords keeping busy on either side. A few familiar figures can be seen within the chaos- Beau, off to the side, wailing on a mage in robes with her staff, and Mollymauk on the other side of the combat, engaged with a truly massive human looking figure with his swords. Among it all is a dwarven woman in full armor who stands staring and engaged with a hulking beast of a man armed with a glaive, but stands unmoving- frozen. Some people may recognize her from Beau’s descriptions as Keg, the woman who was following Beau around just before this in her head. The rush of sound from the combat is stark in relation to the scene around them, the world still warming in midmorning dew as the sun rises.

Beau does a quick smack upside the head to the person she's fighting and they go down hard, the side of their skull caved partially in from the force of the hit. She wastes no time as soon as they're down, turning and leaping over a cart to land on the horse pulling it and engage the man directly.]

Lorenzo!

[He looks to her, a grin starting to spread on his face. She's obviously picking a fight with something bigger than her- though those who know Beau will know this is hardly uncommon. However, Mollymauk turns when he hears her engage, turning on his fight and running behind Lorenzo to take three slices into his back. The first strike hits, splattering blood on the ground, but the second two miss as the other man turns his attention away from Beau. He slams his glaive into the ground and prepares to attack, but out of nowhere, his vision and eyes go black--

And so do Molly's, as he suddenly crumples to the floor.

Beau's eyes go wide, and she's already moving, but it's too late. Lorenzo's glaive slams directly into Mollymauk's chest, and despite the wild swing Beau takes at him it doesn't seem to have any effect. He stops, looking behind him at Keg standing completely immobile still, to Beau's wild eyes, to the realization they're all having in tandem. He meets her gaze with a sickening smile.]

An example it is.

[He's interrupted for just a second as Molly, on the floor and impaled, spits a mouthful of blood into his face. His smile only grows wider.]

Respect.

[And he twists the blade, cutting Molly's chest open in a gush of blood and gore. His eyes never close.

The world feels like it’s moving in slow motion. Two crossbow bolts rocket across the field and bounce off the dwarf’s armor; two arrows come at Beau and one whizzes past as she catches the other one in her hand, not even looking at it. Their eyes are affixed on Molly’s body, the hand holding the arrow shaking until she snaps it in her hands. Meanwhile, Lorenzo turns towards her, his grin still wide.]

Is it time for another, or have you learned your lesson?

[Beau snarls as she repositions with her staff.]

You should know: I have no respect for authority.

[He starts to move towards her.]

Then another life it is.

[Finally, Keg moves, climbing over the felled tree and beginning to scream at the pair of them--]

Stop! Stop! Make me the example. Stop. Just stop attacking them--

[Lorenzo looks back to Keg, but Beau isn’t nearly done, even when given the escape. She closes the gap, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a tinderbox.]

Hey Lorenzo! This one’s for Molly and Yasha!

[And she lights him on fire. He doesn’t even look. She hits him, desperately, jaw clenched, missing the first swing and beating him in the chest with the second-- and he doesn’t even turn towards her. The flames lick off his shoulders and he doesn’t even care.

Beau curses, jaw clenched, tears in her eyes, as she retreats.

Everything starts to reassemble itself. The live people collect themselves and their items, the woman Beau felled earlier unmoving on the floor. Another woman comes over and heals some of Lorenzo’s wounds as he approaches Keg, speaking to her quietly, and drags her over to where Beau now crouches- two other figures have appeared, a shabby-looking ginger human man and Nott, the small goblin girl some may have seen around the island. Keg doesn’t fight as Lorenzo brings her to her knees, flanked by his fighters, glaive at her neck as he addresses them. The memory is fuzzy here- he speaks, but Beau doesn’t remember the dialogue. Didn’t bother. What she does remember is him leaning down to whisper in Keg’s ear.]

That’s a bit too quick. I want you to live with the memory of what you did today.

[He kicks her back to the ground, finally pats out the flames, and turns to leave.]

We’re moving on! If I see any of your faces again– well, at least you’ll be able to see your friend on the other side.

[Beau can’t help herself, rising to her feet, fists clenched. There are tears burning at her eyes she doesn’t even realize, shoulders shaking with barely repressed emotion.]

Fuck you, Lorenzo.

[He laughs as he and his caravan pull off into the darkness, leaving only their four figures-- and Mollymauk’s corpse-- remaining in the dirt.]

Fuck me indeed.

[And it’s finally, finally quiet.]

(The silence is thick, and awful all around her.

Yasha knows that this memory is Beauregard's, and yet her eyes remain locked onto the crumpled form of Mollymauk spread eagle on the ground, arms and legs akimbo. Without Lorenzo's weapon blocking it she can see the true horror left behind. Blood stains the ground underneath of his back. His chest is a tangled ruin, skin in ribbons, the fabric of his shirt torn and wet from the wound. It feels like the glaive is at her heart now, twisting and twisting, hot and tight until she wants to scream with the pain of it.

His eyes aren't closed. They stare up into the sky unseeing. Beau is shaking, trembling like a leaf to her direct left and Yasha isn't even aware of the others, Nott and Caleb and the woman she vaguely places as Keg all standing stock still, shocked in the shadows.

She can't look at him any more. She wrenches herself away, covers her face with her hands. It's too much. She was fine with not knowing, she could handle the vibrant coat heralding the muted grave, the heaped snow, the single wooden marker. Barely, perhaps, but even so– she is not okay with this.

' This one’s for Molly and Yasha!' Beau had yelled, and set Lorenzo ablaze. Her angry screams keep echoing in Yasha's ears, mingled with the sound of Molly choking on his own blood, the horrible, sick gurgles of him losing his life. Where was she when this happened? She can't remember anything, she had been unconscious for most of the experience. They had all needed her, and she'd let herself been taken away.

She isn't aware of crouching down, her forehead to her knees. Just that it feels better to make everything smaller for a moment.)

Edited 2018-10-25 12:09 (UTC)

[It takes her a minute as the memory comes down to compose herself. It was bad enough seeing it across the field, but having the memory right in front of her, so close she can fucking touch it, and knowing how it's going to end is-- horrible. Knowing that now everyone that knows her knows this, knows she wasn't fucking strong enough, might be worse.

But then there's Yasha, as it fades away. Yasha who wasn't part of this experience and Yasha who probably could've fixed it, who knows, maybe she'd have died there and Beau could barely handle Molly. The thought of losing Yasha, really losing her, makes her feel sick all over again. But watching this wrap and seeing the bigger woman look small seizes her heart and forces her legs to move until she's crouching next to her, gently laying a hand across her shoulderblades.]

'Mm sorry. I shouldn't-- I mean, it. You shouldn't have seen that.

... It's okay.

(Her voice is low, a little choked. She sniffs, and sighs, and lets go of her knees. It's obviously not okay, but she knows that Beau did not mean for her to see this. She's spoken to a few people after watching their memories play out before her eyes, pulled directly from their heads like ticker tape. They had no choice in the matter. If Beau could have kept her from watching this she would have, and Yasha wants to make sure that Beau knows that she knows that.

She stands up, and turns a little so she has time to wipe her eyes before she speaks again. Usually she might feel embarrassed that Beau is here to see her like this but she just feels hollow, and numb. She had no idea his death was so violent. For Yasha, Molly had simply been there one day and then suddenly, awfully not there, and she hadn't ever imagined that it had come to be like that because some bastard had driven a glaive straight through his heart and twisted–

She feels sick.)

What happened, (she says eventually, her hands curling into tight fists,) to Lorenzo.

No it's fucking not.

[Beau's not one to keep her mouth shut, even if she should. The words come too quickly before they lapse into silence again, Yasha moving slightly away from her as she uses her newly free hands to press down the hair on her head. She wants to keep talking, wants to keep saying it's not okay and she knows it isn't, that Molly made the world a better place and tried to bring a smile to people and she just broke it over her knee before it snapped her in turn. What does she deserve to be here, when her friends were kidnapped and Molly took that blow because she was too stupid to stop when he fucking told her to--]

I don't know.

[She sighs, letting her shoulders drop.]

Nott told me we killed him. But it hasn't... happened yet, I don't know, whatever weird timeline shit that made me show up earlier means I didn't get to see it. Which sucks because I want to break his fucking teeth with my bare goddamn hands.

(Well, she isn't wrong.

Yasha can feel the hurt and anger radiating off of her, and it only fuels her own righteous fury. She wants to take the Magician's Judge and get off this island and hunt Lorenzo down. She wants to make him pay for what happened, for what he did to her, and to Jester and to Fjord, and to Molly. She wants revenge.

It's infuriating to know that she will never get it.)

Me too, (she says, her voice low and hoarse. There's a lot at war inside of her right now, her heart thumping hard with a combination of rage and terrible sadness.) I want to kill him.

[That's the problem with revenge, with craving a fight that will never come. So rarely is something so neatly wrapped with a punch, or a scream, or an all consuming fire. She knows this in her head, but her heart still burns, fingers itch for the connection with skin. There's a power in violence. A fear you impart on the world to be bigger than it could ever tower.]

Yeah. He fucking deserves it.

[He hurt a lot more than just them, she thinks about saying, but she doesn't much care about all that right now.]

... Molly shouldn't've done that shit anyway. I had him. Whole thing was stupid.

[Oh, and now we're going here, huh.]

(That last comment stings. She knows that Beau is being logical; and how many times has Yasha tried to warn Mollymauk off of using Blood Maledict while already injured? He's too reckless, he's careless, he throws himself in his entirety into battle. He will do anything to keep the people that he cares for safe.)

He protected you, (she says. She can't look at Beau, she can't– do this. She wants to leave, she wants to go.

It's also tempting to turn it back. To tell Beau that she had leapt for Lorenzo without looking first, had gone after the bigger fight as per usual. If she hadn't picked a battle she was certain to lose, Mollymauk would not have thrown his life away to let her keep hers. Yasha can feel the words bubbling at the back of her throat like acid. She says nothing, she bites the insides of her cheeks, and turns to walk away.)

[Beau is an expert at going too far, and simultaneously knowing when she's done it. Yasha speaks and then goes to leave, and Beau has known what he rage looks like on the battlefield. She doesn't want to be on the receiving end of that.

And yet, she goes too far.]

Yasha! Come on, don't...

[They probably don't have much time here. There are more people, more worlds left unseen, more things they'll all have to view.]

I tried to stop him, okay? It wasn't on purpose.

Go away.

(It's not that she's angry solely with Beau, it's the entire situation. The dull shock of seeing Mollymauk's body is wearing off, replaced with steadily rising horror and grief, and the urge to get away is overwhelming. She needs to be alone with this. Yasha keeps walking, shoulders tight, her head bowed to keep Beau from seeing her face.

She wasn't done mourning him. She got dragged here in the middle of that storm and then confronted immediately with Molly, whole and uninjured. She'd expected those feelings to go away.

Turns out they haven't.)

[Once again, Beau takes the stimulus given to her, and gives in to her instincts to fight.]

Fine! Go on! Leave like you always do so we have to fucking deal with it! Whatever! We'll take care of him instead!

[Here they are again she thinks, as she refuses to give chase and goes back to her seat to await the next memory to be dragged out of someone here. They're always going to hate her. At least she can know why, and control how.

Even that is a form of keeping it handled.]

(She stops dead in her tracks, her jaw set. It's not the comment about leaving, because that's just what she does. Sometimes it is without warning and if Beau isn't used to that by now, well, Yasha isn't sure what to say in reply. To comment that the rest of them will have to look after Molly though... that's too much.

Beau most likely did not mean for it to, but her words strike the heart of Yasha's survivor's guilt, so much so that she feels a little winded by it. She turns on her heel. Beau is sitting like she's about to go into meditation, her posture angry and recalcitrant; Yasha storms back over, fists a hand into the neck of her singlet, and pulls her up from her spot.)

He is my friend, (she says. Her eyes flash like thunder, threatening, but the corners of her mouth tremble.) He is my family. I–

(She pauses, breathing heavily. She doesn't cry. Yasha doesn't remember the last time she cried, but for a moment she feels breathless with it, almost choked with tears. She loathes the idea of anybody thinking she can't look after her friends. That there might be a sliver of Beau that holds her responsible for getting kidnapped because if she had been there, nothing would have happened to Mollymauk.

She's been holding onto Beau for too long. She releases the tight fist of her shirt she had, and shoves her away, shaking her head.) I can't leave. This is an island.

[Beau can feel Yasha coming back, but she realizes too late to do anything about it. From zero to sixty, she's off the ground, one hand on Yasha's wrist where they're connected and the other clenched into a fist like she may need to strike.

But when she sees her, really sees her, all she sees is someone she hurt behind that strength. When did she start caring about all of them? They're the ones who have stuck around the longest, sure-- she's never really had friends before. Is that what that is, real friends, real people who give a shit?

They shouldn't. This only proves it.

She doesn't say anything, but doesn't break from looking in Yasha's eyes either, until she's back on the ground, barely stumbling with the shove as she adjusts her gaze to the ground.]

Then I'll leave you alone. If that's what you want.

[What is she saying, what is she doing, why can't she shut her fucking mouth--]

It's me you should be mad at anyway.

It's not what I want, (Yasha tries, frustrated. She is staring at the ground too. She has always been bad at talking about what she wants, and the situation is now so uncomfortable that she is close to leaving, but she holds herself fast in place because– well, she has it in her head that Beau deserves more than that.

They are friends. Or, at least, Yasha thinks that they are. As close to friends that she can ever get with anybody save for Mollymauk. She closes her eyes with a sigh, and gathers herself, and tries again. Her gaze remains trained on her feet.)

I am not mad at you, (she says eventually, gesturing with one hand.) I am mad at the situation, and I... need time. That is why I want to go, because I need space to think. But I am not mad at you.

(It's the truth. The plain, stumbled over truth of the whole situation, as stark and as open as Yasha can bear to put it. She already feels guilty for having pulled Beau off of her feet earlier, but isn't sure how to apologise without it sounding forced.)

[Beau would argue that she doesn't deserve much of anything, if the universe has anything to say about it. Yasha's well within her rights to go down swinging, and so is she. But sometimes she forgets that Yasha and Molly were so close-- it's times like this, in quiet honesty, that her perceptions are found wrong.

It's making her realize, for all the time she's spent with the Nein, she barely knows Yasha at all.

Beau sighs, crossing her arms.]

Fine. I'm not stopping you, just... go on.

[If anyone doesn't know how to apologize, it's her. Didn't she make a commitment to be better? Didn't she say she was going to be a better person?

So much for that.]

See you when we wake up.

(Yasha sucks in a breath and huffs it out again; she's felt misunderstood by people before, this is not a first for her. She is bad at explaining herself, it is why Mollymauk clicks so well with her. He just knows, and doesn't have to ask her anything. He understands her. She forgets that not everybody has this same ease.

She doesn't know how to convey to Beau that she is not leaving, she just wants to be alone for a couple of hours. That she's sorry for pulling her off the ground before. That she doesn't know how to deal with her grief, with the bad memories that it triggers, and she certainly doesn't know how to ask for help with it. Beau... is not making it very easy for her, either. Yasha doesn't know what to do. She tried, she laid it out as neatly as she could but Beau still doesn't get it. What else can she do?

This inner turmoil manifests in her standing very still in place, obviously struggling with herself. Then, she slowly turns, and she starts to walk away. At least she knows how to do this.)

Edited 2018-12-08 10:11 (UTC)

[Don't worry, Yasha. Beau doesn't know how to say that either. But she's never had a friend like that, someone to relieve that all-important tension. It's just her, and her messy words and her messed up head and her fists. She can't expect Yasha to do something with that, to waste her time on the way Beau is treating her. And maybe that's by design. Control how they hate you. Control what little you have.

So she lets Yasha go, head tilted down, settling back on the ground into a familiar pose. She won't meditate now. But she'll lie and say she is, purposefully letting her form fall.

It's hard to live a life of solitude. Double so when you do it to yourself.]

[This scene is tighter than it appears; the space morphs into a warehouse, the room illuminated by only a single lantern hanging from the ceiling. Inside, Beau stands with her arms crossed in the center, a female elf with a shaved head standing close in front of her and watching her intently. Meanwhile, a delicate and lithe looking elf stands, posture looking a bit desperate and if he's almost about to resort to begging. Beau stays stony-faced as they seem to argue.]

Expositor, I do not think that I have been given a fair shot. Please–

[She waves her hand at him, cutting him off easily.]

I know this girl, because I see much of myself in her. You cannot reach her. Go.

[The elven man looks like he's been crushed, but looks sympathetically towards Beau, mouthing "I apologize that I failed you" as he takes his leave. Meanwhile, Beau finally speaks, looking between the door and the woman before her.]

The fuck was that? -- I feel like he made me look like an asshole, feel like an asshole. Fuck, maybe I’m an asshole.

Maybe you’re an asshole. You probably are an asshole. That’s all right, because so am I. Because sometimes you need someone to be an asshole to get shit done. I am Expositor Dairon, of the Cobalt Soul. I take it you have heard of our station through whispers.

[Beau rolls her eyes, chattering back as they go back and forth. However, Dairon charges forward, serious in her speech and intent.]

We are the hidden strength of the library, you are not wrong. We wade in the filth of society. We weed out the corrupt. We pursue the secret evils of the world, and expose them to the light. We twist the arm of the unjust, until they spill their mysteries. We are the spies. We are the hunters. We are the watchmen to those who rule. We are not kind. We are forthright. We are truth. Do you, Beauregard, want to see the truths of the world?

[It's silent for a second, before Beau cocks a hip, tilting her head and reaching down to rub a hand on her ass.]

Oh god, I’m sorry. I have this burn in my butt from all the smoke you just blew up my ass. It’s just, oh god. Is that a magical talent? All tha--

[She's cut off all of a sudden as the woman moves, lightning quick, and her fist connects at Beau's jaw without even seeing her move. Beau hits the ground hard, the sound echoing through the empty space as she tries to pull herself up.]

Are you listening now? Do I have a choice?-- Let me be your teacher.

[Somehow, Beau still manages to roll her eyes.]

Oh, boy. Is that what I have to look forward to?

[The woman simply shakes her head, otherwise unmoving.]

No. What do you want to do now, that that’s happened?

[Beau's pulling herself off the ground at this point, wiping some blood from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.]

I kind of want to fucking punch you back.

[Dairon grins, wide and excited.]

Then do it. What’s stopping you?

[And finally, Beau grins back.]

Now you have my attention.

[Beau takes a reckless swing towards her face, relentless and pissed, and Dairon sidesteps her easily. They fall into this repertoire in the silence- Beau is strong, and fast, but she's reckless and difficult. She gets in some good hits, but Dairon is obviously stronger and faster- she seems like she's barely tapping Beau, but with every hit, her movements get more stiff. It's obvious as the battle goes on that it's one-sided; Beau won't give, won't relent, but Dairon takes shots where she stops herself just before impact to give light taps, or sidesteps gracefully out of the way of lunges that take Beau to the ground. Eventually, she stops, Beau in a heap and frozen.]

I can start you on this path. You can return to your wanderlust, your allies. Our kind learns more in the world than in a library. Agree to my instruction, to use the skills I teach you, as you return throughout your journeys. One day, you too, can become an expositor.

[Finally, Beau is pulling herself from the combat, breath returning to a shaking body. She has bruises forming on her arms, blood falling from her lip, but she looks excited. Alive.]

Okay. I got to hand it to you, that was awesome, and I want to know how to do that. You beat me.

[Dairon's wild smile returns, and she crosses her arms.]

Very well. Your first lesson begins now.

[Be careful wandering into this one, watchers. It may not be safe for those who don't wish to become an example.]

Edited 2018-10-24 04:35 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[MU] - FEELING LIKE A GHOST (PART II)

beau | ota

i. they beat the bitter of war / where nobody won / we were just casualties

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ii. but if i let it out / vibrations in the throat can convey more than just sound