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

[lifeaftr_mods]

"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!

Comments

[lesbeau]

[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.

[barberian]

... 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.

[lesbeau]

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.

[barberian]

(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.

[lesbeau]

[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.]

[barberian]

(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.)

[lesbeau]

[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.

[barberian]

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.)

[lesbeau]

[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.]

[barberian]

(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.

[lesbeau]

[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.

[barberian]

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.)

[lesbeau]

[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.

[barberian]

(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.)

[lesbeau]

[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.]