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ximilialog2022-02-02 06:57 pm
- ! event log,
- ! open,
- altered carbon: takeshi kovacs,
- critical role: percy de rolo,
- doctor who: clara oswald,
- doctor who: river song,
- doctor who: the doctor (11),
- fear street: ziggy berman,
- grishaverse: alina starkov,
- grishaverse: the darkling,
- gundam seed/destiny: yzak jule,
- knives out: marta cabrera,
- marvel comics: gwen stacy,
- mass effect: kaidan alenko,
- mcu: daisy johnson,
- mcu: shang-chi,
- pacific rim: newton geiszler,
- pacific rim: raleigh becket,
- star trek aos: james t. kirk,
- star trek aos: leonard mccoy,
- star wars: finn,
- star wars: luke skywalker,
- supernatural: dean winchester,
- the 100: clarke griffin,
- the old guard: andromache,
- towards the terra: soldier blue,
- transformers: drift,
- transformers: megatron,
- twisted wonderland: deuce spade,
- yakuza 0: goro majima,
- yakuza: zhao tianyou
MISSION: BAD COMPANY, PART 2
● ● ● M I S S I O N 4 . 2
It is barely past twilight in Scorpion’s Bend, the twin suns having just set, taking their light with them — but the moons delay, and so darkness lingers over the town as Lan Xichen’s conversation with one Welford Branson comes to an abrupt end. At the same time, all around the town, the team will notice the town natives around them stilling — some freezing in the middle of a sentence, a man with a fork in the air, a woman mid-step on the street, some youngsters with their mouths open in laughter. All of them become statues in less than a heartbeat; still, eyes vacant, like everything that made them seem alive has been taken away.
And then — a reverberating sigh, echoing heavily in the ears of all the Orbers. What follows are words, spoken by a chorusing voice now familiar to most of the team —
The orb’s echoing sound is filled with disappointment, even annoyance.
Some may see that amidst all the frozen townspeople, an old man runs, clawing at his thinning hair. Some of you may hear his words, muttered, desperate:
The disbelieving mumbles trail at his wake, making it clear he does not know what is going on at all — in fact, you may have a better idea as to what has happened than he does. But as you turn to follow him, open your mouth to yell at him to stop... everything around you shatters.
The lights in the buildings grow dim and break; the smell of food disappears; the horses in the stables simply fade away. You notice that if you were wearing or carrying something you bought while here, it too disappears, your clothes turning to those you had on upon arrival, all equipment shimmering away slowly.
But perhaps most importantly… the frozen statues of people crumble into ash right in front of you. It may fill the floors of the now-silent, dusty and worn-down houses, or it may blow away with the harsh desert wind — whichever it is, sans the team, the town of Scorpion’s Bend is now devoid of people.
The town that now surrounds the team is very different from the one it used to be — the houses are quiet, filled with sand and dust; doors broken, tables turned over, drawers open and mostly empty, aside from anything not valuable. The beds in Thornbush Inn are ragged, insects of various sizes skittering along the floors. The Saloon is dusty, furniture broken, and a lone piano stands in the corner, half its keys having crumbled away. The door to the Mayor’s office is ajar, a banging sound repeating as it hits the wall in time with the wind.
1.0 In the corners of the Sheriff’s office, the school and the church, the embera slither along, searching for food; owl-shrews hide from the Orbers on the streets, while feathered coyotes howl at the five moons now lending their light to see the town’s destruction better. The team may be the only living humanoids, but they are not the only living beings in the town anymore; in the absence of people, animals have made the town their home. And coexist they must, now, to survive the rapidly dropping temperature of the night that has fallen upon them.
2.0 The next morning, as the moons disappear underneath the horizon and let the two suns bring out their scorching rays once more, the team wakes up to the reality of having to survive Scorpion’s Bend… with very little supplies. So search the empty houses, for they still stand; the fire that has burned away the people has not touched the buildings… but they have not been immune to the passing of time, or the harsh weather in the desert. You may find clothing, basic equipment, pots and pans left on a now-cold stove; but no valuables, no money, no gems, no jewelry, no weapons.
But amidst your search through the town, remember that what you need, first and foremost, is to find water and something to eat — it will not be long until the suns are high in the sky, and some of you are already in desperate need of proper nourishment, without being left to endure the scorching temperatures the days on the planet of Badrock bring.
3.0 But should you want to brave the heat, you’ll find it is now possible to leave the town and venture out into the desert. Out there, the rock dragons search for prey, while bald vultures circle above your head in groups of three or four, their shrieks growing in volume the farther you walk. If you show weakness, any weakness, they strike — and the dragons, sensing their chance, are not far behind.
And when you least expect it, the ground underneath you trembles, like a small earthquake is approaching you… and then you see it: from the sand, a whale surges up, then another, and another, arcing through the air like suspended there, before the sand swallows them once more. Should you get too close, you too may be swallowed underneath the sand; unless you’re very, very careful, or have in your arsenal something else that may help you to deal with these near-immortal giants that have swam across the deserts for hundreds of thousands of years.
Time passes at a snail’s pace without the comforts of the town you were used to. Scorpion’s Bend is now a wasteland you must survive, and it clearly isn’t easy. Some of you might question whether retrieving the orb is still an endeavour worth pursuing after all of this, but the rest of you know that it is. That you’ve come this far and you’re nearly there; you just need to band together and form a gameplan.
As the suns begin to set over the horizon on yet another grueling day of scorching heat and rough, dry sand in the ghost town of Scorpion’s Bend, you might begin to hear a distant thunder that has nothing to do with an oncoming desert storm or otherwise. It rattles at the already weakened structures of the old Saloon and the General Store, bits of broken glass and debris vibrating with the raucous sound of clattering hooves, feet, and paws. And as the sound of the invasion grows louder – you’ll hear the unmistakable manic howling and bellowing in accompaniment: these are the Bouldersnakes that some of you have already heard much of.
4.0 The Bouldersnakes are not a group to be taken lightly, and have garnered the fearsome reputation that they now hold for a reason. Kicking up dust, they arrive like a cloud of chaos in different sizes, shapes, and forms. Some have the ability to shrink and grow in size to match their opponents in physical size and weight. Other Bouldersnakes are agile and quick; and others yet are superhumanly strong and robust – either way, they make for formidable opponents when you, yourself, have been weakened from weeks of a lack of proper nutrition and sleep. The individual members of the Bouldersnakes are like a band of bloodthirsty brothers: from all walks of life and all colours and creeds, with a severe and mean streak to them, who will stop at nothing to achieve their goals.
What goals, you ask? Should you listen carefully, their leader, riding a winged lizard-like creature, shouts to their underlings:
As it so happens, you are not the only crew in search of that elusive orb; the Bouldersnakes have been tracking down the whereabouts of this mysterious and all-powerful object themselves, burning through towns – quite literally – to get it. News that Scorpion’s Bend has seen a resurgence of life and might still be the resting place of the orb has the bandits seeking out the town again. Their first round through Scorpion's Bend about a year ago had them coming up empty-handed (save for a few bits and baubles), but this time they are determined to find what they've come here to find. Though if there’s anything left here to salvage... they’ll ransack as they please.
Whether you confront them head-on or they catch you in hiding, they won’t easily back down from a fight. It will be best to keep your distance if you can manage it, and hope that they’ll pass you by. But the Bouldersnakes have their weaknesses too: once maimed, they still bleed, and none of them are immortal, though they are notoriously difficult to kill based on their talents alone... and when they carry weapons, too, well — those not accustomed to battles may find it best to hide. And even for those with fighting experience under your belt, teaming up with your fellow Orbers and combining your shared skills will be your best chance at survival.
5.0 By the time the suns have disappeared and the moons have risen, the Bouldersnakes invasion will make the bandit attack from the other night seem like a childish tussle. The Bouldersnakes don’t play nice and have adapted to the harsh lands as ruthless survivors. They arrive like a wave, many equipped with weapons: guns, sabers, pistols and small knives. A few others have engineered their own specially crafted weapons made of metal and magic (in the shape of guns, blow-torches, and blades) that wield a special element harnessed from mined ore called ‘pulsefire’. It is this pulsefire, glowing a deep blue (like the hottest colour of flame), that has the capability to destroy all living beings and allows the bandits to systematically ravage unsuspecting towns down to ash, reap its benefits (either for the town’s riches and wealth, or and especially: for any supply of ore), and then leave without a trace.
The best way to fight against pulsefire is to acquire weapons of pulsefire of your own and best a Bouldersnake before they best you. (Think high stakes, noon-time duels of the pistol.) Of course, this is a very risky and very dangerous affair as one shot by pulsefire could mean your untimely demise and the element itself isn't easy to put out either, so it might be best to work in teams to strategically disarm and swipe a pulsefire weapon to use before they manage to overwhelm you.
All through this, you must still remember your goal — it is not to stay in Scorpion's Bend, or even fight the Bouldersnakes, but to find the orb... and that means finding Welford Branson. How will you convince him to give you the orb, when all signs point to him not even knowing what it is, or what it has done? That is what you must decide... if you survive the Bouldersnakes in one piece, of course.
F Y I
• The voting for how to get the orb is now open! Please head HERE to submit your idea for how the team should proceed to get the orb, or +1 others’ ideas.
• The conclusion of the mission and the return to the station will be posted on February 13.
• If you have questions about anything in this log, please direct them HERE.
• And finally, your soundtrack for this log: ♪ ♪ ♪
no subject
Alina.
His heart doesn't stutter, there's no hitch in his breathing and no flush to his cheeks at the sound of her in this place. Near the spot he's picked out already, for sleep and to keep the meager treasures of his meat and water safe. It's just another corner to sleep in. Another short pause before he'll inevitably move on.
There's hate in that thought, of finding a place and leaving it behind. Still. Always. He hates, and it slips through him like vines, climbing over the ruins of everything he's ever had to leave behind. Cementing it until there's nothing but darkness, strangling even the tiniest sliver of hope.
Disappointment happens to other people, to those who have yet to learn that hope will always fail in the end.]
Do you always like to watch?
[As he carries it that last few feet, plonking it down in a cloud of dust and ash. It whirls in the air, blending with the dust already there from Alina's ministrations.
The fall of the illusion of life in this place was just the first step before the end and he doesn't know how to feel about that.]
Can I have one of those, or are they for your personal use only.
[It's a weak joke, delivered as he wipes an arm across his face to dry the sweat beading his brow. There are no names to hide behind, no carefully crafted story to follow to it's conclusion. There's just Alina, sitting on a table with her legs dangling and dark circles under her eyes.]
no subject
his little pause, and what isn't said in the small silence that lapses in the air at the call of her voice. the droplets of sweat glistening at his temples. (how he looks at her in the dark, how he looks at her with the filter of morning light spillng over their tangled limbs.) even the unsteadiness of what she assumes is a joke intended to tease her and her dusty collection of moth-eaten rags. when he secures so much of himself behind a vault, it becomes second nature to watch for what she can thieve, what he lets slip.
if those slips aren't intentional, something he wants to fool her into believing she sees, she reminds herself. alina's gaze ducks to the bunched fabric puddled across her lap in dreary grays and aged browns, most tattered with holes and littered at the corners. unlikely to keep them warm, but alina has since learned even leaves feel like a nest when you're freezing in the unforgiving wilderness. ]
Rule number one of bartering, [ she announces, like it's an educative lesson. ] If you have something of value, never give it away for free.
[ she makes no mention of the fact that she had planned to do just that, redistributing them at the schoolhouse for those that hadn't pillaged their own from crumpled chests and cabinets. instead, she pulls her hoarded sheets up to her chin, and quirks an expectant, inquisitive eyebrow. ]
I'm open to trade negotiations.
no subject
[A slightly startled laugh at her- bravery, her spirit, before it's choked on the dust he inhaled and he coughs instead, hiding all of it behind his arm until the cough tapers off.
Impish.
Alina.
His, in all the ways that mattered. A few of her hairs still caught in the buttons on his shirt from the last time she came to the tent. From the last time he watched her sleep, her whole body curling up inside the circle of his arms as if to hide from everyone but him. His fingers trailing against her face, brushing those loose tendrils of hair away from her cheek to press them against the flutter of a heart beat on her neck.
Blinking back memories, he taps his fingers against his mouth.]
Well, let's see- I have a bed to use those on, and I might be persuaded to share if you let me have one.
no subject
it would be safer not to fall back into that pattern, now that she has so few flimsy excuses to protect herself from the truth, but — her mouth is already moving on impulse before she can stop it from shaping words, a victim to her reckless wanting. to her own foolishly bold, prideful inability to simply back down. ]
Yes, but I can warm these. That's worth more than a "might." [ golden light filters out of her fingertips, turning the ragged blankets translucent. a cozy heat settles in their threads, weaving her summoning through its roughspun yarn. ] If I give you one of these, you will share half your bed. Do we have a deal?
no subject
As she looks away, his eyes dart to her face.]
You drive a hard bargain, Alina. If you share your heat with me, I will share not only half of my bed, but all of it.
[This world is still here, even if the illusion as faded and the truth of the prolonged starvation is evident to all. His own face thinned down, leaner than he used to be when he looks down and even Grisha powers can't keep the loss at bay forever, and he can see it in every rib when his shirt comes off.]
I know how much space you really take up in bed.
no subject
more than once, she's woken to the soothing rhythm of aleksander's breathing — the calm waves his chest creates, a constant pattern of rise and falls that seems to rock her back to sleep when she's sprawled atop his chest. but admitting he knows her so well, so intimately, means confronting that he now has that knowledge. that she had conceded it willingly, a little breadcrumb trail that leads to alina starkov's well-kept secrets.
— or what should have been her well-kept secrets from him. it doesn't feel fair to have given even a speck of herself away when she's worked so tirelessly to avoid sharing what she can't strip out of his hands. a secret once uncovered cannot be unlearned. a confession given cannot be unspoken. and now, he'll always have memories of her at her softest, her most open. vulnerable, unguarded.
imperious, she sniffs, nose childishly crinkling. ]
Should we discuss how I've woken up to your drool in my hair?
[ hardly. but deflecting from herself with an exaggeration is fair play, latching onto it as she slides off the edge of the rickety table. once she's steady on her feet, she thrusts one of the worn blankets out toward him — two, for good measure. the rest find their way sorted into a rumpled pile as alina shuffles them onto a chair arm. ]
no subject
[Holding himself still as she moves, as the bed is made and the pile of pilfered blankets are deposited in the only chair in the entire room. Standing, with his hands behind his back and his head tilted to watch her, the still-breathtaking swish of her dress around her ankles and the waves of dark hair that trails down her back.
Stays still until he isn't, until his feet move across the floor, as silent as his shadows, gliding through the dust and the debris to stand right behind her, his chest pushing in to her back with every breath he takes.]
You wanted that, my- drool in your hair, my hands on your body.
[Just as much as he had wanted, had ached for it - her head pillowed on his chest, his hands against the warm skin of her back. Had longed desperately to listen to the sounds she made in the dark.]
Every kiss, every whispered word.
no subject
is the arrogance bleeding through the veins of his words, seeping out of his lungs and into the suffocating air. dragging in a cupful of oxygen doesn't rid her of the impression of the room closing in around her, aleksander's presence pressing in like the four walls of a cage. he doesn't need to touch her for his presence to feel engulfing, lingering at her back the way smothering darkness closes in on the sun. goosebumps assault the nape of her neck as his breath whispers through the dark, tousled veil of her hair.
thankfully, she has her own methods of enduring aggravating, arrogant men: ignoring them, being deliberately frustrating. he seems to be so certain of himself, anyway — why bother with responding to his needling with any maturity? as though her spine isn't grazing his chest with every inhaling breath she takes, her only offer of attention is a flippant tilt of her gaze over her shoulder — before it returns in front of her, brushing dust off a chair arm.
he should know by now, alina thinks, that intimidating her into telling him what he wants to hear has never been a persuasive tactic to use with her — but she's content to remind him as she breezily counters, ] So you admit it. You drool in your sleep.
[ with a rabbit-like twitch of her nose, she curves forward to reach for a dusty lantern hanging near the corner's edge of the dining room table. ]
Don't be sour just because I'm the only one who's ever had the nerve to point it out to you.
no subject
How much more of her is he willing to submit to, how far is he willing to lower himself to keep her.
Hands hovering just above the tempting curve of her ass as she bends down, the swirl of images, the tales and fantasies unfulfilled that it provokes.]
All our nights, Alina, and all of our mornings.
[Clinging to that promise, as weak as it was. Speaking them in to the stifling air of the small room, as if saying it out loud will hold her to anything if she's determined to run away. Jaw clenching, his hand fall down to grip the swell of flesh.]
I admit it, but you are very much mistaken.
[Heart racing, he breaches the small space between them to plaster himself against her back. Broad hands almost spanning the slight width of her waist.
Is this mission the one? The last one that will leave them all spinning away in to different worlds- he doesn't know, hates the fact that he will never know until it's much too late.
Unless-
The glimmer of a plan forming, still unborn and vague, but it's still there. Lingering like sparks of hope as his mouth comes down against the back of her neck, the hair tickling his lips.]
No one but you would ever know.
no subject
if it is a demand — and she wouldn't doubt it, from a man used to doling out orders — it's an effective one. he's made himself impossible to ignore; in failing to cage her into an answer, he's caged her within the draping shadow of his body. trying to tip her head to shoot him an incredulous look is impossible, with how surrounded she is. shifting only parts the messy curtain of hair at the nape of her neck, leaving it vulnerable to the lingering grazes of his lips.
an unbidden shiver courses down her arms in response, pulling a puff of breath out of her. the table fogs beneath the warmth of her exhale, wavering with the slightest hitch, and disperses old dust.
some part of her feels like a kitten pinned down by the scruff, but she makes a valiant effort to force herself to continue fussing with the lantern. new heat rises through her fingertips, refracting through its glass panes until the wick inside ignites and casts the room in a burnished glow. ]
Because I'm the only one who will always be alive to carry that secret.
[ after all, that feels like the only way aleksander's statement can possibly be true — because she refuses to fool herself into believing she's the only one who has ever shared his bed in such an intimate way, or being singularly special enough to believe she's the only one who ever will.
she gives a little skeptical shake of her head, the coils of her hair fully cascading down over one shoulder. it's not a thought she wants to entertain long, for the strange sensation that bubbles up within her. better to rip out the roots of that thought before it can take hold, before she can wonder who else has ever known that piece of him, before she can consider what his wife must have been like for him to be capable of loving her. ]
no subject
[That he will only care as long as she's useful. That she is a tool he dreams to command, when she's so much more.
And she refuses, so stubbornly, to see it.
His words fall on deaf ears, even the heartfelt ones she lured out of him in the dream of the lake. Faced with his greatest weakness, his shame, she still refuses to see him as anything but the demon in the woods. The shadows that swallows children out of bed in the dead of night, the specter of evil that he's become in the minds of the otkazat'sya.]
No.
[With every slow exhale fanning over the nape of her neck, his lips moving against the soft skin.]
I don't need much sleep.
[The golden glow of the lamp casts him in her shadow, shaded behind her back from the soft illumination of her Science and the oil lamp on the table. Hides him in the darkness, with his face in her hair as his hands slide around her middle to pull her back in to him.
Alina is so much more than a simple tool. She is the culmination of his dreams, the sum of all of his hopes and the nail he's hung all his plans on - for their world and for the freedom of their people.
He made a promise, once. Tattooed it to the soft part of his heart, to keep his people safe. To build them a world without fear, where everyone will live free and die of old age. Not this world that they're returning to - the one that will happily set them all on fire, or sell them to Shu Han or Fjerda for more weapons.
With her, he can finally be human. He can see an end to the thankless, endless journey through war and strife and find a place to rest.]
Many may lie in my bed, but I never sleep.
[Only with her.]
no subject
[ easier to kill her hope before it can enflame her. easier not to believe there's any other end for them. only a fool plays with an inferno and expects it won't char them to the bone; only a glutton for punishment slides their fingers across grisha steel and expects it won't slice them open. it's a dangerous game to toy with grand ideas about what he could be to her, what softness he might hold inside of himself for her, when he has already flayed her open once before.
that admission pricks at something vulnerable in her ribcage, a foreboding sensation of defeat gnawing at her tangled insides. a sigh deflates her as her spine curves back against the wall of his chest, tipping her head until the buttoned point of her nose grazes his cheek. she can't coax him to meet her eyes, to discern the truth in them — but maybe aleksander's choice to steal away in the shadows of her hair is evidence enough, like the shade might shelter him from his own honesty.
for a long moment, she's silent, letting his words sink beneath her skin. her slow breath granches across his skin, until — ]
It's easier to believe you don't need something when you've lived so long without it, too. But easier isn't always better.
[ for him to believe he doesn't need sleep. her. anything and anyone, as though he's above such human needs. like she might thaw the cold touch of the centuries he's endured, slipping into his cracks and crevices to freeze him, her palms fold over the backs of his hands — rubbing back and forth, generating heat to flow into his fingertips in the chilling evening air. with a parting circle of her thumbs drawn into his knuckles, she clumsily twists in his hold to face him, blinking up at the pooling black of his eyes. ]
I should get these blankets to the others. They'll need them.
[ anything to have a reprieve from the confessions they've manifested, to have time to herself to absorb the full weight of their impact without feeling so unmoored. ]
[ softly, she breezes out of his grasp and toward the door — then awkwardly pauses, mouth hanging open. that task only works if she remembers to grab the blankets. mortified, her lips twitch upward in sheepishness as she quickly sidles back to him to pluck them off the chair, folding them into her chest. ]
— Right. Can't forget these.
[ for an uncertain moment, she teeters there, toward him on the balls of and heels of her feet — and then finally yields to the impulse to press her mouth to his, firm and fleeting, a mystified look passing over her expression when she leans back to part from him. ]
I'll be back.
no subject
It is easier for her to paint him the villain of her story, to cast her light against his own endless darkness and claim it a victory when he goes to her. Sneaking in to her chambers at night, appearing beyond the bend of a hallway or watching her through the dark fall of his hair as she sits in the kitchen, hands waving as she talks with someone who isn't him.
But-
Her quiet confession slams the breath right out of him, halting the next inhale as he stops, blinking blindly in to her soft hair. Wrong-footed for once, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth as all the pretty little words dry up like the river during a drought.]
Alina-
[Whispered in to the growing darkness that seems to sink in to him as soon as she twirls out of his arms, as her heat vanishes and the coldness of the desert night slinks in to take her place.
Again, he's reminded, painfully, of how much she surprises him. And even her fleeting kiss leaves that behind, a lingering ache that he doesn't know what to do with, doesn't know how to handle except to act.]
You better return. There is nowhere you can go, that I will not follow.
[His curse, or a blessing from an someone eternal. Only time will tell, as he lets her slip away in to the ruins of a town.]
no subject
rather than torture herself with questioning which it could be — a sentiment of an attachment, or a warning to steer her back to him — her eyes harmlessly roll, with all of the casual air of a school teacher being needled by a misbehaving child. ]
It won't take long. [ unrepentantly, alina's fingers latch onto his cheek and pull in a chiding pinch. instinctively, her thumb smooths across the pink stain that blossoms from the light pressure. ] Haven't you been getting enough sleep lately? Enough to not be so grouchy about it?
[ her dress billows around her ankles as she takes a step back and then another, slipping into the doorframe. with a finality that brokers no time for doubt or argument, she repeats, ]
I will be back, Aleksander. I've already told you I'll return. [ she pauses, only for another sentence to trail her out the door: ] Wait for me.
[ and with that, she floats out of the door with blankets in tow, striding through the ashes of scorpion's bend. ]