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ximilialog2022-12-06 05:02 pm
- ! event log,
- ace attorney: yujin mikotoba,
- adventure time: finn mertens,
- altered carbon: takeshi kovacs,
- doom patrol: rita farr,
- fullmetal alchemist: edward elric,
- grishaverse: the darkling,
- gundam seed/destiny: yzak jule,
- marvel comics: gwen stacy,
- one piece: rosinante donquixote,
- original: clayton epps,
- pacific rim: newton geiszler,
- red vs blue: felix,
- star trek aos: leonard mccoy,
- the iliad: helen,
- the old guard: andromache,
- the old guard: yusuf al-kaysani,
- the witcher: yennefer of vengerberg,
- transformers: minimus ambus,
- wheel of time: rand al'thor,
- yakuza: zhao tianyou
STATION LOG.03
● ● ● S T A T I O N 3 . 0
1.0 For those of you who often cross through the sunlight room to break paths into other areas of the station, you may notice some changes in the optics around you. Where the trees had once reflected images of a lush foliage of a typical temperate planet during its warmest season, now a series of various conifers (firs, spruce, cedars, hemlocks, pines) in deep greens and soft, spiky, needle-like foliage takes its place, scattered across your field of vision in no particular pattern. Snowflakes glisten and glitter at the tips like miniature crystals, catching the simulated wintery sunlight above from a crisp, cloudless blue sky.
Follow the path into the trees and you’ll find that the room’s detritus is now covered in a fluffy white blanket of snow not yet trodden over: perfect for your footprints. It even feels just a little cooler, brisker — each breath you exhale coming out in a cloud of fog, and yet it never feels uncomfortable enough to require any sort of winter gear.
When you’ve cleared the patch of forest, on the far end of the room is a snow-covered meadow just waiting to be populated with snow angels and maybe a family of snow-people. Grab some twigs for arms and a handful of pebbles for facial features, and you’re set to spend a couple of hours playing in the snow. The rest of the sunlight room has become something of a winter wonderland: the shallow river beneath the bridge has frozen over into ice, shiny and clear, leading into a small pond perfect for sliding across even if you’re lacking skates.
The atmosphere in the room makes for a pleasant in-between to the rest of the station’s rooms, or simply a pleasant space to chill (heh) for a little while.
2.0 During the early days of the festive month, Viveca’s voice will broadcast across every Orber’s communications device, announcing the reappearance of a box to be left near the mess hall. The purpose, she explains, is for any Orber feeling the holiday spirit and wanting to spread a little joy and cheer by way of a surprise gift. Those who have been on the station last holiday season will be familiar enough with what might be becoming a new tradition.
Anyone is welcome, of course, to put in a gift request for another Orber on the station. The intention is to spread good cheer and encourage team-bonding, and honestly? It’s just a nice thing to do. Once in a while you might come across another fellow Orber on their way to the box, or you might find someone already there, inputting their request onto the box’s screen. Don’t peek (or do, we’re not your mother) or you might ruin the surprise!
3.0 This month’s supply drop arrives like Christmas itself is here. There are a lot of reds, golds, greens, and blues, and the scents are unmistakably festive.
It consists of decorations and a tree to be put somewhere and dressed with all of the trimmings. There is also a crate full of small bags of baking and cooking ingredients, as well as a modest array of equally quaint glass bottles filled with holiday-specific spices: cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, to name a few. These will need to be taken to the kitchens, of course, for those who have a knack for baking.
4.0 And of course the simulation room will be decked out like a cozy cottage on Christmas morning, reusing a template from the Doctor and Clara and may be familiar to some of you from last year, with a fire crackling in the fireplace, the scents of cinnamon and clove in the air, as well as the distant sound of traditional holiday songs being played over an antique radio in one corner of the room. There is also a tree decorated in a variety of kitschy ornaments like Santa Claus on a T-Rex, and bears in tutus. There are also ornaments representing every orber present on the station, updated to match the newcomers while also leaving those who have come and gone in the past.
There are unmarked gift boxes within the room filled with toys and games such as plastic dinosaurs and robots that come to life when you wind them up. There is also no shortage of ridiculous squeaky alien toys, marshmallow launchers, and stuffed plushies. Of course, there are also boxes left under the tree for anyone who enters the simulation room with their name neatly printed on a tag containing an ugly Christmas sweater inside, one that can be worn as long as you’re here, and has been specially picked for you.
A week into December, you may be going about your business, holding fast to your daily routines or embracing the slight changes of the festive season. Perhaps you’re in the kitchen making breakfast, in the training room just finishing your morning workout, or taking a shower to get ready for the day … when suddenly, you hear it:
Olivia’s bright, sweet echo of a voice is all you hear before the power instantly cuts off on the station.
5.0 It's in that split second that the stovetops stop functioning, the water from your showerhead no longer flows, and the lights shuts off leaving you standing in complete darkness.
There’s the quiet hum of a backup power source being turned on, but it is only enough to keep the station’s most vital functions running, supplying oxygen into the too-quiet spaces — everything else is just gone. All you can do from here is to try your best to manage: take care of any produce in the kitchen so it won’t spoil; dry yourself off if you had been showering (and hope your hair isn’t full of unwashed shampoo); perhaps find someone else to navigate the hallways with … or bump into them if neither of you can see clearly.
The blackout will last for about a day and a half before, just as suddenly as the power went off, it comes back.
6.0 But the glitches don’t end here. Throughout the days that follow, you will notice that rooms lock unexpectedly; suddenly, you might be trapped in your room, or the laboratory, or the Ximusic room, unable to leave and unable to force the door to open as no powers will work on the station’s structures. Maybe you’ll accept your temporary fate and settle in for a long wait, maybe with someone else in the room as your companion. Or maybe you’ll try to alert others and hope that someone has some abilities that could be used to spring you free.
It also appears that Olivia has managed to affect the earpieces, too: messages that you send to others might disappear altogether, never making it to the recipient; or other messages might accidentally make it to someone else entirely.
7.0 For anyone using the simulation room, either for seasonal cheer or for any other purpose, you might suddenly find it changing around you. The room will turn dark for a moment before it focuses again into a room a few of you might be familiar with: it's the room where the orbs are currently being kept, in the North Wing.
The room, however, is devoid of any such things. Only a single figure can be seen, an older man seated in the middle of the room and sagging under his own weight. Behind him, there is a trail of blood left smeared across the floor.
His voice trails off. Next to him, a faint form shimmers from the air. She resembles splintered glass, reflecting pink and turquoise off her uneven, sharp edges. Her humanoid form takes a step forward and pauses by the man.
Her voice lacks the echo. Instead there is a sharper quality to the cadence of her speech, as if her programming lacks the same level of refinement that she has now.
Still in the simulation, her form suddenly turns to look at you, her glassy eyes completely empty.
Her sweet and echo-like voice drifts around you.
Her lips turn up into the ghost of a smile, and her glassy form seems to glimmer in other colours, too: gold, white, red, green, blue, orange, violet.
By contrast, the darkness around you suddenly feels suffocating as the scene starts to fade away ... and it only takes you seconds to realize that something else is fading away too: your oxygen. You feel light-headed, suddenly gasping for breath —
With precious few minutes left, you might try and scramble to the door and hope it hasn't been locked. Perhaps someone has been with you this entire time, which would be lucky. Or if you're alone, you might try and save your breath until you can try and contact someone over the network and hope that they — whoever it is that receives your message — can get to you in time.
Some time later, Viveca’s familiar voice sounds in your earpiece.
And also — those who have any kind of powers or magic, I’d appreciate you coming, too. Not to help with Olivia, but the orb. Degar… well. Let’s say the orbs are growing in power, the more of them there are. Please, if you can, help him with them.”
After the message ends, some may notice the door to the North Wing is already open ... and even if you don’t intend to help, maybe you want to go in and take a look around.
8.0 The room you first step into is long and rectangular, and without any furniture to clutter the space — those who have not been to the North Wing will recognise it as the same room in Olivia’s simulation. In the room, you’ll find a large sphere, crackling sharply with magical energy front and centre and surrounded by open circulation, perhaps for its own protection — the barrier of this object is so powerful that even those without any magical talent can feel it, almost like static electricity. A (slightly) closer look will yield several different colours of orbs, all swirling around each other in what looks like a frenzied dance.
If you choose to take a step closer, you’ll immediately sense it: there’s an awareness, a quiet whisper in your ear, or a chorus of indistinct words, reaching out to you.
The voices whisper in your ear, calling you by name; but if you go close enough to touch the sphere, you will be flung across the room, feeling the force of all that magic course through you like electric shocks.
9.0 The other rooms in the North Wing aren’t nearly as exciting: the next room appears to have nothing of note except for a set of chairs lined up along the sides of the room, and then one larger one in the middle — a mechanical armchair with several different wires running directly into it.
On both sides of this space you’ll find maintenance rooms directly adjacent: one for the station itself, and one for the AI. Both of these rooms are filled with advanced machinery and screens — and one thing to note is how … clean the one designated for station maintenance seems to be. Not a fleck of dust to be found anywhere. On the other hand, the AI maintenance room feels quieter, looks darker … but as soon as anyone walks in, they’ll find a little cleaning robot beeping at them angrily. Whoops, it seems as though you’ve located the robot’s home, so make sure to not trail in any dirt. (This room is also spotless.)
10.0 Connected to the station maintenance room is the power and life support, a room with a large engine at its back, and closed pods on its sides. Most of them have a blue, glowing stripe on them; only one has a red one. But no matter how you try to open any of them, they don’t budge.
On the other side, connected to AI maintenance, is the old team’s living quarters. You count twenty beds in the room, half of which are divided into bunk beds on either side of the room… and most of them still have some items near them: clothes, a few books written in a language that your translators can’t seem to decipher, a soft elephant toy, and a photograph of all twenty people — a diverse mixture of women and men, older and younger, of different races, and makes; a few droids among them. Most notably, in the corner are Degar and Viveca, caught in the picture smiling at each other.
Only one of the beds is still in use — Degar’s bed, obviously; and the bed next to his doesn’t seem to have seen much use but the wall above it is decorated with the picture frames some of the team will remember from the room in the mayor’s penthouse in E-23b.
11.0 The last place to explore within the North Wing is a hexagonally shaped room that matches the ones teleporting food and other essentials onto the station. Indeed, in the middle of this one is an almost identical platform, though what it connects to is a little unclear — in any case, it doesn’t seem to be powered up right now. At the end of the room is a circular cut-out and a heavy-duty latch, currently locked into place to seal whatever is beyond it. It’s a door, of course, but it isn’t just any door … for anyone wondering about exits on this station, you’ll realize now where it’d been all along. There’s a control panel on the wall next to it but it requires a passcode … unfortunate for anyone who wanted a scenic tour outside of the station itself.
Those arriving at the North Wing to lend a hand will find Viveca waiting there for them, standing quiet and still by the door. She directs those who have arrived to help her towards the AI maintenance room, and instructs those with powers to remain in the orb containment hall and wait for Degar.
Once Rosinante, Gwen, Jyn, Cassian, Minimus, Newt, Matt, Yelena, Natasha, Itachi, Ryunosuke, Kazuma and Felix have all made it to the AI maintenance room (this time without the little cleaning robot in attendance), Viveca shuts the door, and nods to Rosinante.
Rosinante is quick to understand her meaning, and silence falls upon them, providing them with privacy that no one past these walls can penetrate ... not even a former AI.
Her tone belies her frustration and her android eyes burn with anger. She pauses and takes a breath more out of habit than out of any real need.
She pauses … and gives a wry smile.
With that, she instructs everyone to grab a seat (and as such, there happen to be enough for everyone: simple soft-backed computer chairs) before they get to work.
12.0 Those helping Viveca with the code will also be provided with their own screens, and a briefing on what the station’s coding looks like (an ever-changing multitude of complex code filled with encrypted sections) as well as a look into what the possible anomalies within it might resemble — they are small glitches, a number changing here or there, a combination that switches to another when you blink, before it flicks back. There’s no knowing how long you’ll be watching it all, and you may find it tedious… or perhaps intriguing, trying to isolate where the changes happen, why, with what frequency, and if there is a pattern to where Olivia appears, or when.
Meanwhile, Viveca herself sits next to you, or perhaps stands to the side, her eyes flickering; she needs no wires to connect to the station, and you may run into her in the code, seeing the way she shifts through it faster than you might have thought possible, constantly reinforcing the encryption that protects the station's most vulnerable and essential functions.
13.0 Once an anomaly has been detected, it will be the turn of those who have volunteered to be sent into the station’s systems. Viveca equips those crew members with a complicated-looking headpiece full of wires over them and begins to hook it into their earpieces. Once the set-up is complete and you are connected, you will feel a tug inside your stomach similar to the effects of the teleportation pad — but rather than your physical body being taken anywhere, it is your mind.
You arrive within what appears to be a large, round room. On the walls, code flickers in an endless stream of numbers that continuously switch and change. When you finally move, you notice that the code has changed ever-so-slightly; this is where stealth is of the essence. After all, the quieter and steadier you are, the less the code changes and the less chance there is that Olivia might be alerted to your presence.
As you slowly move around the room, doorways appear, seeming to correspond to different areas of the station. If you watch them for long enough, you’ll begin to detect a pattern of certain numbers that match those rooms — or do they?
Walking through that door leads you into yet another round room, then another, and then another. Doorways continue to open, close, and disappear.
A combination of 22-9-22-5-3-1 flashes in the code. Viveca’s voice comes through as a whisper.
With a pleasant ‘Right this way!’ lacking the usual Degar-like flourish, those of you helping with the orbs will be led around the large spherical container in the middle of the room, smaller bulbs of brightly glowing light in several different colours hovering within. There are also thick bands of metal wrapping around the otherwise clear container like ribbon, reflecting that crackling energy back into the sphere itself, a continuous feedback loop of the orb’s own energy. The group of magic users and teammates with power abilities: Geralt, Rand, Wei Wuxian, Yennefer, Rita, Sabriel, Helen, Rodimus, Joe, Yzak, Dante, Aleksander, Ziggy, Bucky, Zhao, and Ed might feel the room buzzing with a powerful magic they may find frighteningly familiar — and foreign all the same.
For those of the group who have been granted access into the orb containment room the last time it’d been open for visitors, you might immediately recognize how different the space looks, but especially the way it feels. There is power here, heavy enough that it seems to weigh every last atom in your body down towards an unseen gravitational pull that you can’t quite locate and calls out to you with tantalizing whispers. It almost feels like you might suffocate if you stay too long, and it’s a wonder how Degar spends almost all of his time here.
Some of you might notice the orbs within the container start to crackle and pulse with brighter light as though reacting to the Commander’s words. His usual attire consisting of his hooded cloak picks up some of the light and then dims again the moment he takes a step forward — as though his movement momentarily breaks some kind of agreement he has between him and the orbs.
14.0 He begins to speak again, but this time there’s a different air in his tone, something tired and serious and sure of what he’s about to explain next. The matter of these orbs isn’t something he takes lightly, after all — and that includes his role as Commander of the Ximilia too.
He lets out a breath and lifts both of his gloved hands up before him in demonstration of something.
“The metal bands are temporary, by the way. They’re a safety measure I’ve installed to keep you guys from getting any of the possible physical recoil that might occur. The orbs might try and speak to you but do your best to ignore them, okay?”
He’ll direct you all to spread around before him, get into your most comfortable pose, before he does the countdown to removing the first containment spell.
It’s instant the way the force of the orbs’ power hits you. And for thirty agonizingly slow seconds, you may start to hear a chorus of whispers and murmurs that grow louder and more insistent the more they begin to realize they’re free, the more the old spells continue to fall away like dust and debris. In this time, you might start to feel the effects of the orbs, angry and maniacal and eager for their own brand of vengeance.
15.0 Second after agonizing second passes before a voice rises above the rest of the commotion; it’s Degar, his presence clear and like a balm amongst the horrible discord of the orb’s voices.
If you manage to shake yourself out from the torture of voices and visions and tricks of your mind, you refocus your efforts, thinking of your magic, your power, and your ability viewed as ‘unnatural’ in your world. It takes incredible concentration but if you manage to see through the blast of bright light that isn’t the orbs’ but your own, you might catch the way Degar’s ‘sponge-gloves’ have become a conduit for your power before it seems to run through him and directly into the container, rattling against the metallic bars that groan and buck in protest, almost not strong enough against the team’s powers combined; it’s truly impressive. Degar seems almost unbothered by it; if anything, he seems to know exactly how to handle this capacity of power, where to focus it, how to direct it towards creating a coating over the orb’s containment unit like you are the palette, and he is the paintbrush. His cape glows as bright as the orbs, and for a split second, you could swear his eyes do too.
Between wisps of swirling dark magic from Wei Wuxian and the Darkling, and the deep violet of Yennefer’s magic, to the unseen sources of power from those such as Rita and Joe and Bucky, you begin to notice that the noise from the orbs speaking to you grows quieter and quieter until something snaps into place with an audible crack, like a large tree being split in two, and then the pleasant peal of a bell. It dings once, like an oven announcing a finished roast.
And then there’s silence, save for your own beating heart, before the low hum of the station’s engines start to make themselves apparent again, your ears readjusting to all of the ambient sounds you’d become so accustomed to.
You did it.
He looks more exhausted than ever, but any voices of concern are simply met with a quick hand-wave and an excuse that a few hours of real proper sleep will spring him back, good as new. He needs to start removing the metal ribbing, make sure everything is tip-top shape, and starts off to do just that, removing the gloves (which now look … a little worse for wear, full of burns and holes) and goggles. But the deed is done, and you can feel it in the room. It feels lighter now, easier to breathe in a way that has nothing to do with the oxygen levels, and it’s thanks in part to you.
F Y I
• If you have questions about any of the prompts or the mission in general, please direct them HERE.
• If characters want to speak face to face with Viveca or Degar (or both of them), they can do so HERE, or of course through the usual reach the residents page.
• And finally, your soundtrack for this log: ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪
no subject
[And almost naked, the lingering heat of her skin against the palms of his hands and the front of his shirt. The towel absorbed most of the liquid, apparently, but it did not remove the heat.]
Perhaps you would also like to get dressed.
[Or not. Most choices Yennefer made were still a mystery to him, not one to always pick the harder road but she didn't shy away from it either.
Tendrils of smoke and life in her hands...]
I don't know where your room is.
no subject
[ She has to fumble a hand outward, feeling along the wall for the panel that responds to her touch — but then there's the unmistakable hiss of door to the room sliding open, even though the interior is nearly as dark as the space they're standing in. ]
Surely someone is already working at turning them back on.
[ It seems a logical conclusion to make, but just the same, she gives voice to a soft murmur, and then the slightest, sputtering light appears to hover over the palm of her hand — weaker than it would be if she had full access to chaos, and drawing on the darkness itself to form, but enough to see by so neither of them trips over something.
She doesn't wait for him to follow as she and the light move through the doorway, but the door does remain open, a silent invitation in and of itself. ]
no subject
The contrast of the weak light in the palm of her cupped hand and the shadows around them as he steps over the threshold of her room. The door shuts with a soft whoosh.
There was a lot to be learned about a person by looking at the place they choose to sleep, what personal trinkets they might choose to display or hide away. But Aleksander's eyes never look away from Yennefer, the light she made and the wet towel wrapped around her.
Tendrils of wet hair trailed down her neck.]
I would assume Viveca and Degar are doing just that. They know this station better than any of us.
no subject
[ She personally has no strong loyalties to either of them, and therefore few qualms about potentially laying the blame for this at their feet. Perhaps it has more to do with what little time she's abided on this station next to some, or perhaps it has to do with the fact that she hasn't sought Viveca or Degar out for anything in the way of answers. She has little reason to expect they'd give her a wholly honest response even if she did.
For the immediate moment, she drops her hand, leaving the light hovering in the air, and steps over to her closet, dropping the towel on the floor as she goes in favor of reaching for a dress to pull on instead.
There's no hesitation from her about being in any state of undress before him, but she'd use as little discretion with anyone else, having none of the reservations that others might about being glimpsed naked. There may be little to make out across the small space, given that the light is only so powerful, save for the brief exposure of skin. ] So your plan is to simply wait for them to fix it?
no subject
They would work harder for it, certainly. Fear was a powerful motivator.
The fragile light shows him very little as the towel drops, except for the damp, dark hair cascading down her flawless back and the glimpse of tanned skin, flashing through the shadows.]
There is nothing I can do to help with mechanical malfunctions, and I can't die.
[Should the station fall, he would merely exist in the void. Trapped and barely breathing. Taking a step closer, Aleksander shrugs.]
We either fail and nothing was won from all our efforts, or-
[Inch by inch, he closes in on her in the dark. His voice low, not soothing or reassuring, but stating the facts of what they are in. Close enough to get another hint of the scent of her as he hovers behind her.]
this is resolved and we go back to fighting on worlds I care little about.
[Reaching out, he trails the tip of a finger down the curve of her naked spine.]
no subject
[ She isn't eager to test her own mortality — just because she's the bearer of certain enchantments that allow her to look as young as she did when she was first changed doesn't mean she cannot die. In fact, there's an awareness she has of the fate that could potentially await her, one she's always had, and even if she doesn't know the exact circumstances of her demise, she would be foolish to pretend that it doesn't exist at some point in her future.
She straightens after initially stepping into her dress, only to find herself confronted with his presence just behind her, a shifting perception of him standing closer to her. The fact that she hasn't reached for any fastenings means the fabric gapes away from her back, leaving that exposure for his finger to trail along, over an unbroken curve, before she finally turns to face him directly. ]
And what is it that you do care about?
[ Her voice is hushed in the darkness, but she finds herself suddenly compelled to ask, chin tipping upward; the quiet light hovers close to them, but it only allows her to see some of his features, the rest filled in by memory alone. ]
no subject
[Quietly in to the darkness and the light she made for them. Barely enough light to see the outline of her against the shadows, but he knows the shape of her face from hours of talking. From riding and missions and watching her step in to battle, something like fire raining from her hands.]
I care about my people.
no subject
[ It's not a question she's posing selfishly, or because she desires a particular answer from him — in fact, she'd prefer the answer didn't involve her altogether. It would be easier to keep this at a certain remove, until she can ultimately determine whether it benefits her to get closer.
Beyond that, though, there's a desire to know who, on this station, matters in his view. They're the names she wants to keep an eye on for her own reference. She could very well say the same about giving him any of the names of who she's held close, though — so she doesn't anticipate an entirely honest answer, even as more and more of him filters into her awareness as her eyes adjust to the significantly dimmer lighting. ]
no subject
[The sight on the world in flames, of being lost in the void in Scorpion's Bend never leaves him, it burns behind his eyes when he blinks and the soul-destroying loneliness that sank its teeth in to his soul during the eternity the orb showed him, it never wavers.
But beyond it all, he wants.
His people.
To save them all.
Raised through the ages to rule them all, to be the one to bring greatness to Grisha and finally (finally) give them what they all want more than anything - security.
To live a life worth living. He tried, over and over, to get that. Through hard work and diplomacy, he waged wars to get it and he build walls tall enough to keep everyone but the tsar out.
But after this, would be better. It would light the path for glory and it would bring out the secret promise that lived only in his own heart.]
People like me. [And tendrils of darkness waft up from his hands, barely seen through the darkness]
no subject
And yet, standing before him, she can almost feel the ache that emanates from him when he thinks of his people, his kind — the desire to protect them — and for not the first time since they crossed paths, she wonders how differently hers would have turned out if she had been able to call him ally.
Her hand closes over his within the shadows, the tether that links them almost as an afterthought to what she can perceive from him already — and she thinks she can feel his power sinking into her, wrapping around her, as it had that day in the simulation room when he had demonstrated it for her the first time. ]
You are not alone here. [ Perhaps she is saying it as much for herself as she is for him, in that moment. ] Or on worlds you care little about.
no subject
Swimming in it, and drowning in his own mind, the visions from the orb still writhing like snakes through his thoughts but Yennefer's soft voice brings him back, eyes snapping to hers in an instant.]
Do you care?
[It hadn't seemed like it, but he had lost sight of most of the others here in the moments after Scorpion's Bend. Had been too wrapped up in warring wants and the weakness that never stopped hammering through his heart.
The warmth of Yennefer's hands sinks beneath his skin, heating the cold pads of his fingers. The words almost mirroring those he'd heard before, those that he'd longed for for so long.]
We are all alone here, Yennefer. Or, we will be soon enough. A year from now, or ten. [Time wasn't a river, washing away the sins of the past. It was breaking branches and lost choices. His fingers close around hers.]
no subject
Her first instinct, when he poses that question to her in turn, is to withdraw from him entirely, taking away the light along with it — but she holds fast, refusing to retreat. How often would she have more readily done so in the past, without thinking twice about it? ]
That would be ample reason to close yourself off from everyone and anything, then. [ She doesn't yank her hand free of his, gaze continuing to study his features in the dimming light. ] And yet here you stand.
no subject
No reason at all for his eyes to be drawn to the bow of her lips as she speaks, only for them to snap up to meet hers when she stops. Nothing pushing him forward on to this, no force to compel him.
There is no army to command on the station; no people to keep safe from harm. No home to build among the stars.] here I stand.
[ with you.
Swallowing, Aleksander's throat bobs. He made no promises here.]
Reasons are not always enough. [Yennefer is not Alina; there is no threads to the Making tethering him to her. Yennefer's eyes carry a calmness rarely seen in the young, her control of herself and her powers far vaster.
She isn't Daisy. No whirlwind of chaotic emotions begging for understanding or acceptance in her gaze.
She is teasing smiles and the glint of sharp teeth in the dark. Pale skin against dark cloth, and the warmth of skin against his own. Long, elegant fingers and eyes that seem to see him, even when he might want to hide.
His fingers slip to brush against her wrist, soft and slow.] I'm still human.
no subject
Only after the words leave her does she realize how they could be interpreted — how he could believe that she's referring, specifically, to him standing here in the shadows with her.
There's a second, more discomfiting revelation that comes on the heels of the first — which is the possibility that she could very well be saying that, too, even if she hasn't expressed the precise words out loud. Out of every thought swirling in her mind, every potential idea she could give voice to, only one finally emerges, challenge and interest entwined. ]
... prove it.
[ The light winks out above them, plunging them both into an unforgiving blackness, but she no longer needs it to feel her way to him, to press herself against him in the quiet dark, her dress gaping away from her body where she hadn't succeeded in fastening it previously. ]
no subject
The dark doesn't bother him anymore. Not like it used to, when every dawn was longed for and every dust feared from under cold furs.
Yennefer lands in his arms, against his chest and the very human part of him should be evident already in his thundering heartbeat so close to her naked skin.
Skin that presses against his hands until he shifts a little, pulling her closer as he wraps her more firmly in his embrace.
There's a beat of silence, of listening to her breathing in the darkness. The soft sounds of cloth rustling and the whoosh of air fanning out against his neck, before he slides a hand up to cup the side of her face.]
I could show you that I still bleed like one- [A whispered sentence, his lips close enough to hers to brush against them with every single word]
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She's equally unnerved and intrigued by the possibility, as he takes her in his arms — as she feels the slide of his hands across her uncovered skin, the sensation removed from sight enough to make her shiver in a much more damning way. ]
Is that what you want? [ For her to make it bleed, make it hurt, make this feel like penance of some kind. In response to the lightest skimming of his lips, she gives him a graze of teeth, a nipping bite to his lower that nearly breaks skin to bring red welling to the surface.
But just as soon as she does that, she soothes it over with a curling lick, gentling the pain with wet heat, wanting to coax more of an answer from him as they tangle together on the precipice of something that almost feels bigger than themselves, even while she'd happily pretend it means nothing at all. ]
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The station had seemed so small, compared to what will come. Compared to the suffering waiting just around the corner of his own story. He had been swimming in despair, knowing that he will lose this knowledge did nothing to soothe the agony of knowing it now. The sacrifices he would have to make, the half of him - the better, kinder, more human half - would be left behind. The branches of choice narrowing until all he could do, was cling to them.
Who are you, when no one is watching
When wanting made you weak?
The sting is barely felt, the warm lick of her tongue erasing it as if it never happened. But it did, the offer he had made had been picked up so expertly.]
No.
[There was enough pain waiting, enough suffering to be endured and if this was punishment, it was of the sweeter kind.
Pulling her closer still, close enough to feel every exhale from her lips, the minute shivers underneath her skin when he bends down-
Darkness is nothing new. It lived in him since the day he was born, but this is softer in ways he will only look at tomorrow - if tomorrow comes.
And Aleksander catches her mouth in a kiss, tongue flicking at the seam of her lips.] No blood. Only this- [Whispered almost low enough to not be heard, before he takes deepens the kiss, inhaling her clean scent in a shuddering breath.]
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She doesn't want to be his absolution — the forgiveness or reprieve he might be seeking for himself wrapped up in her arms, but perhaps this can serve as enough of a diversion for them both to keep the greater pain at bay, at least for a little while.
The way in which he deepens that kiss swallows up her softer moan — one she lets herself release into the shadows of the room, and now she's not even sure which are a natural product of the power outage and which could very well be his entwining around them, as much a part of this as their actual bodies are. It isn't the first time she's thought about what it might feel like if she allowed her power to touch his, to intermingle on a level far beyond what could be achieved on a physical plane, if she pushed her chaos into him deeper than their skin could ever reach. ]
Only this.
[ She says it hushed, but almost urging too, as she finds his mouth with hers again, an easy return when he isn't retreating that far from her to begin with — and after a beat, deepens it too, makes it harder and hungrier, and pushes herself into the flex of his fingers across her back, giving him tacit permission to start removing what she'd previously attempted to put on. ]
No slapping, tho-- damaged people being soft.... for now.
Yennefer.
Soft skin underneath his fingertips after slipping underneath her dress, the fabric ghosting against the back of his hand and then that is swallowed, overpowered by the hunger of her.
She doesn't shy away, pushing herself against him as if she didn't want to be anywhere else. Aleksander is a realist, or so he tells himself in the dark, this isn't absolution.
This isn't salvation or something edged in gilded letters and shining like hope on the horizon. It's her mouth on his; her skin, her hair, her. He doesn't know what face she sees in the darkness around them, but all he sees is her- standing in a meadow, hands splayed and chaos spiraling from curling fingers. Her pretty black dress and the wind playing with the ends of her dark hair.
It's the flash of purple eyes just before she unleashed her power on E-23b, stepping through the fighting like something out of a fairy-tale. Cautionary tales disguised as harmless stories.]
I want to see you.
[As he mouths eager kisses down her neck, pressing close until he picks her up to crush her against his chest.]
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They may have been dancing around this very thing for months on end, missions and outside of them, but when there are none but shadows to bear witness, it feels remarkably easy to give into what she has never given voice to where he's concerned.
For all that she can't see, though, there's no possibility of her mistaking him for anyone else, not when she's learned the taste of his mouth on her own, his scent filling her senses, the splay of his fingers across her skin. She remembers standing in the simulation room with him, the falseness of a forest around them, and the moment when he'd laid eyes on her in that black-and-gold coat — something in him had responded then, even if she hadn't been able to understand it at the time. ]
So there's no mistaking it? [ What they're doing now, what they're choosing, who they're choosing it with. The waggle at her fingers at her side produces the orb of light again to float over them, close enough to illuminate both her face and his, but she's swept up in his arms by then, the hold of his arms, the trail of his mouth on her throat briefly stealing her breath. Her head lolls back, exposing that vulnerability, and she urges him on with a hand sliding up into his hair. ] Aleksander.
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[You are not alone, Yennefer had said. A brief moment of breathlessness for him as he had stared at her, disbelief and want warring on his tongue before he had slipped it in to the back of his mind. Something to remember as the missions took their toll, as the suffering kept coming.]
I want to see you, when I kiss every inch of your body. [how her skin would glisten, her cheeks flush and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her usually neutral expression twist in to something softer, as he pressed passionate kisses against her warm skin.] Every hitch of your breath- every little sigh, Yennefer.
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Then is this enough? [ Enough light to see her by, enough power by which to do all of the things he is vowing, enough to satisfy the instincts he has to keep reaching for her. There are also the parts of it she won't say or even so much as imply, whether she's enough for him in this moment, in truth because she doesn't want to know the answer.
She steps back by a pace, once and then again, putting enough of a distance between them so that when she drops her shoulders and leads her dress down, it falls from her in a whisper to the floor, rendering her bare again as she steps out of the puddle of fabric and leaves herself as open for the taking as she'll likely ever be to him. ]
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The chill hits him all at once, the warmth that doesn't come from the wall anymore, vanishing like the light, and he shivers, eyes on her the whole time. He doesn't look away, only a brief flicker of his gaze down as he takes her in inches at a time.
Beautiful.
Dark hair cascading down her shoulders, a wet tangle of it but no less breathtaking for it. How it plasters to her skin, clinging like his hands did and he takes a step closer.]
Yes.
[It isn't a lie, but it isn't the truth either. It's the careful balance between what he wants to take for himself and what he needs, it's the temptation to make promises he won't keep to make her stay, and to be honest. To let her see him, and the light is more than enough for that.
Another step closer, his fingers already pulling on the hem of his shirt.]
And how much do you want to see, Yennefer? What do you want. [Fingers already itching to touch, to feel her again. To feel all of her, pressed against his own naked skin, to feel the warmth of her. He wants, wants to feel something, anything, but the desperation that claws at his mind and his memories.
The futility of hope that won't leave him.
And he wants her, the teasing, smirking mouth of hers. Her clever, powerful fingers and that little tilt of her head that means that she sees. Seeing with the edge of scorn or judgement in her gaze. Wants to reach out and know that she will reach back, even through the deepening shadows between them.
There is naked hunger in his eyes as he closes the distance, finger tips skimming across her throat.] Is this what you want.
[Am i?]
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In fact, maybe it would be better altogether if they just dispensed with talking for the rest of this — however long it lasts, whether it involves her bringing him down over her, his weight bearing her into the bed, or her pinning him down with her own strength and taking her pleasure from him no matter what. There's less of a risk of treading too closely to territory that both of them would prefer to avoid if their mouths are too occupied to betray their truest selves. ]
Good to see that I don't need to drop any further hints.
[ He's already leading it in the right direction with the removal of his shirt, and she closes more of the distance between them again, her hands moving to rest against his bared arms, touch skimming along the length of those limbs until she can make a direct and purposeful contact with his chest.
His fingertips roaming across her neck temporarily skew her focus, and she lets him tilt her chin up with a slight catch in her breath. It would be easy, all too easy, for him to close a hand around her throat, to claim his kisses from her and feel the damning flutter of her pulse against his palm, but instead she takes his hand and leads it down, over the swell of a breast and toward the apex of her thighs. ]
Feel for yourself. [ Her want is there, painting evidence against his fingertips, but she'll only let the moment pass without moving for the smallest instant before she's leading herself in to slant her mouth against his again, intent on stumbling them both together in the general direction of the closest bed. ]
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[He doesn't need pretty words, or promises made in the dark while they were both too naked and the truth lingered on the back of his tongue. To spill something of himself to her, words that he could never take back if the lights came back.
If this wasn't the end, or a break-down of the station.
Something that would null the deals they have made, and force him back to the life he left behind. The regret still very much present.
Fingers hooked in her, he follows, devouring her willing lips as she kisses him back, as the room vanishes in to shadow and the rest of the station can burn alone for a while.
While he smooths sticky fingers across her thigh before scooping her up in his arms, stumbling the last few feet to the bed. He lays her out like an offering, like an altar to pray to, hands shaking to get her naked and dripping, heart pounding in his ears and mouth tingling from her.]
Are you sure?
[Even as he sinks to his knees between her spread thighs, hands running up a leg.]
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