EVENT #7: THE SIGHT

[abraxasmods]

Event #7 - The Sight

go to the OOC event info and plotting post

---

The night before APRIL 18, your dreams are disrupted by a vivid image of the same eclipse that occurred last month. The black sun seems to be an endless void in the sky, growing ever darker - until it suddenly opens into an eye that stares straight at you.

When you wake up, much of your night seems a blur except for the vivid dream of that eye. Whether you find it unsettling or try to ignore it, the image is something you cannot get out of your mind. If you ask, you will discover that none of the locals of your faction saw another eclipse. Speak with your fellow Summoned, however, and you may learn that while there was no eclipse that formed over the world, you were not the only one who had this dream.

Of course, dreams don't need to mean anything. You can't feel or see any immediate effects, and nearly everyone around you is going about their day as usual. Maybe you should do the same.

The Awakening

It might happen that very morning or a day or two later. You could be discussing the dream with a fellow Summoned or perhaps you simply brush shoulders with them as you walk by. Whatever it is, as soon as you make brief physical contact, one of you is struck with a sharp pain in your temple that grows into a terrible headache. It's disorienting and painful as the world around you shifts to someplace you may or may not recognize. Like an old film reel, you watch the events of the past play out before you: the past of the other Summmoned. It might be something they would rather hide, a moment of failure or despair, or something they are immensely proud of and brings them great joy - or even a jumble of several images over the course of a person's life. But you see it as if it were real and right in front of you all the same. When you come to, you'll likely find yourself on the ground or bent over, possibly with one or more people around you to see if you're okay. It'll take you a bit to gather your bearings, and the subsequent pounding in your head could last from minutes to hours.

Or, maybe you aren't the one who receives the vision. Instead, as you watch, another Summoned might grasp their head and crumble in front of you. They may go silent or groan in pain. They'll be impossible to shake out of their stupor until it's over. If you ask what happened, they may be inclined to tell you the truth - that you, you were what happened to them.

Or, if your Arcana signs happen to line up in a specific way, you'll see each other in the shared memory itself. You may also find that for certain Summoned, you can help soothe the effects, calm their emotions, or help draw them out of the memory before it consumes them for too long. It's not entirely clear what determines which effect, but one thing is for certain - within each memory, every Summoned as they appear in the past seems to wear the mark of their Arcana somewhere on their person.

For some, they might experience this only once. For others, they might experience it multiple times: with the same person, with several other Summoned, or with a different memory each time. Over the next 7 days, you'll find the Summoned around you are all receiving a glimpse into each other's past, as if the Singularity has awoken an eye within each of you.

Flee for the safety of the Horizon if you want, but you'll find that in there, it's much the same. In fact, inside the Horizon, the other Summoned don't even need to be anywhere near you - just existing in the Horizon space itself together will be enough to possibly set off a headache-inducing vision.

The Factions

What has occurred between the Summoned will not go unnoticed within the factions. While it's difficult to say how faction officials have picked up what's happening, it'll be obvious they do know.

In THORNE, characters will be asked to remain in the castle walls until further notice. Characters will not be allowed to leave the castle grounds, not even to go into the surrounding city, and anyone who is already outside will be requested to not leave again as soon as they return. If asked, they will be told it's for their own safety, given the Singularity is behaving unpredictably and the Summoned have a unique connection to it. Soothing potions and healers are on hand to offer assistance, if anyone is particularly suffering from ill effects.

In the FREE CITIES, characters will find the army by the outposts show more activity than usual. A higher number of guards will patrol the streets throughout the event, particularly in areas frequented by the Summoned. Anyone who publicly and visibly experiences the effects of the memory share (pain, doubling over, etc.) will be offered assistance by the guards. They are generally there to help, but they are also there to maintain order and ensure anyone behaving erratically due to this incident is properly contained. This might include confinement for a day or two if anyone is especially posing a risk, but no one will be punished except in the most extreme cases, as the locals are aware this is not within the control of the Summoned.

In SOLVUNN, the locals will be watching what's happening with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. Host families and neighbors will be on hand to help with charms meant to offer protection, as well as general care and assistance (soup, blankets, and so on) if your character seems to be especially under the weather or afflicted by the event. Towards the end of the event, more elders and mages will be out and about to check up on the Summoned to make sure they're doing okay. If asked, the mages will say they aren't sure what's going on, but that they are currently divining with the gods and hope to have a definitive answer soon in the upcoming days.

None of the factions appear to be doing much more than keep a watchful eye on the situation - but as the week comes to a close, officials will start making a decision as to what they want to do and how to handle the Summoned who have demonstrated this unforeseen connection to the Singularity.

Comments

[nightwash]

"It's gonna get worse," Ronan says. He's the sorry one. It wouldn't matter if he were alone. He's relived this moment a hundred times. But Rhy? He's being forced to live it for the first time, and all because Ronan allowed him to get close.

Gansey and the others are trying frantically to keep the younger Ronan awake, but he falls unconscious once more, and the present Ronan and Rhy fall with him. Over and over, they dip in and out of the nightmare while the demon unravels the dreamer, and the dreamer wakes again and again with handfuls of stubbornly beautiful dreams, refusing to give up on the magician he loves and the brother who needs him and — himself. Ronan had wanted so badly to keep living. He'd believed with all his heart that he'd finally found happiness and he wasn't going to let it go.

It feels like an eternity and no time at all before Gansey is making his sacrifice. The dying Ronan is still slumped in the driver's seat of the BMW, awake but paralyzed. The others are gathered in the road: Henry, the useless witness; Adam, now free of his binding but helpless when Ronan himself is the source of his magic; Blue, weeping because she's already seen the end, has known all her life that she was destined to kill her true love with a kiss; Gansey, a king who's been living on borrowed time, about to hold up his end of the bargain.

"I hate this," Blue says.

Ronan hates it, too. He should have been strong enough to stop this. But he doesn't look away when Gansey and Blue finally kiss. When Gansey declares, "Let it be to kill the demon." When Gansey sinks down, gone before he hits the ground.

[londonbound]

[ It's barely a touch at all. There are clothes in the way, even. Rhy's wearing gloves, for king's sake.

Apparently, it doesn't matter. Rhy's legs buckle, and he staggers under the weight of the sudden wave of pain and vertigo, the flurry of images and sensations dumped into his mind. He's been through this before, but never like this. It is like living it. Like seeing through Thancred's eyes--

Only it isn't Thancred. It's someone else running the show, as Rhy is only along for the ride. There are a mess of people Rhy doesn't know, foreign names and words in a jumble, but of one thing, he is terrifyingly certain: this is what it feels like when someone else is in control, and all you can do is watch.

As Thancred must, caught in his own vision from within Rhy's mind.

The room is beautiful -- richly furnished, with drapes of various colors hanging around the enormous bed painting the ceiling like a dawn sky, thick rugs cushioning the intricate inlaid floor and leading to an open space in front of a marble fireplace that takes up half the wall. There is a couch in this larger, front part of what are clearly ridiculously lavish personal chambers. On the couch sits a young man.

Tall and thin with a shock of red hair, the man -- Kell -- sits pinned by helmeted guards on either side of him, his wrists cuffed in solid iron manacles carved with some sort of spellwork. He is struggling. His eyes -- one blue and the other pitch-black all around with not even a sliver of white or iris showing -- are fixed on Rhy, who sits across the couch in a high-backed chair, a teacup on the ornate side table next to him. He has leaned far forward, regarding the red-haired man with a smile that is all jagged edges and scornful glee. A look he wears like an ill-fitting suit put on inside out, unnerving and wrong.

"I wanted you." Rhy's hand tangles in the prisoner's red hair, pressing his cheek to Kell's bloody face to whisper in his ear, "I told you once, that I would own your life."

No, comes the feeling from inside, more desperation than word, an overwhelming terror. It permeates the scene, yet it is locked out at the edges, beating wildly at an invisible wall to get in.

The hand that is not Rhy's hand holds a dagger to Kell's chest, the tip of it sliding down to pop open his buttons. Pressing against the fair skin revealed beneath.

The panic rises, even as Rhy's mouth says: "So few scars... We'll fix that."

Rhy finds himself on his hands and knees in the dirt, training sword discarded beside him. He gasps for air, and his skull feels like it's trying to collapse in on itself. ]

[londonbound]

Rhy doesn't know why, this time, Ronan is here with him too while he's witnessing this. He assumes it must be related to Ronan's magic -- memories are akin enough to dreams, right? -- or perhaps that it has something to do with their connection, after he's relied on Ronan's energy for so long. Whatever the case may be, they are together. And he is grateful for it, in some small way, because at the very least, he doesn't have to fall into the darkness over and over again alone.

It is the most disorienting, terrifying part: the way memory keeps thrashing between one nightmare and the other, the oppressive weight of dying and the scrambling desperation of trying to hold on.

Distantly, Rhy remembers Ronan trying to explain, in the bath. A sacrifice. It would be too much to say he understands, but now-- he knows.

As though afraid he too might fade to nothing, Rhy's hands fist in the fabric of Ronan's clothes. He is crying, quiet, choked sobs.

[cointosser]

[Fuck.

He slides carefully to the floor, sitting upon it. His mouth still has the taste of the tea in it, but he feels as if that was a day ago. Honestly, he isn't sure how he's holding it together, either. He can't get those words out of his head.

I'm killing my son.

As if it were the final lines of a gothic novel, with the words ringing hollowly in the room they were spoken in. But he knows how this was spoken. Gentle. Defeated.

He holds his face in his hands. What did you see? he wants to cry. He doesn't.] All right.

[So they sit. While the tea grows cold, and the storm powers on around them. If anything, he imagine it grows stronger. Radu. Radu is out there. He's all right, isn't he?]

[nightwash]

Ronan's lips pull back into a sneer when she bumps into him. The girl Kylo can't seem to stop looking at, in that way people look when they don't want anyone else to notice they're looking. The girl Kylo warned him to avoid, even though he doubts Kylo is avoiding her.

He's about to say something shitty when the headache strikes like a clap of thunder.

This has happened often enough now that Ronan has a good idea what to expect next. He's almost eager for it, once the wave of pain fades enough that he can focus on the scene playing out before him. Here, finally, a chance to see more of the life Kylo's kept hidden from him —

The handcuffs take him by surprise.

Maybe it should have been obvious. Ronan had gathered enough to know Rey was an enemy, but he'd been imagining a distant sort of enemy, always eluding capture. He had no idea that she had been captured. This is very different from the other vision he'd caught from Kylo, though. This prisoner isn't being interrogated, isn't screaming in agony as Kylo tortures her. The two of them are side-by-side, speaking in hushed voices. Co-conspirators.

"I feel the conflict in you," she's telling Kylo. "It's tearing you apart."

Ronan knows Kylo's face well enough to recognize the vulnerability written there. His uneasiness at having failed to hide something crucial. Rey is telling the truth.

"Ben."

...Ben?

[nightwash]

Ronan holds Rhy against him, cradled gently in his arms. "I'm sorry," he whispers again, pressing a kiss into Rhy's hair. He shouldn't have to suffer through this tragedy. It doesn't even belong to him.

The past Ronan is snarling, "Get him off the road." All his grief turned to rage. As always.

"It doesn't end like this," the present Ronan promises Rhy.

"Wake up, you bastard," the other Ronan hisses, on his knees beside Gansey, pleading because he hasn't figured out how to do it right. Not yet. "You fucker. I can't believe that you would..."

Ronan pities him, that weak Ronan. Even after he figures out the key, it will take him much longer to understand that he doesn't have to plead and beg. Reality was always under his command.

[londonbound]

He doesn't know these people, but he knows Ronan. He cares about Ronan. He feels the pain, both pressed into him from the effects of being trapped in this unraveling memory and inside his heart, which aches for the younger Ronan bent now on his knees over his dead friend.

It feels out of place to speak. It feels wrong to be here at all, living through this nightmare that doesn't belong to him. Rhy doesn't ask what happens next because he doesn't need to. He stifles his voice against the side of Ronan's chest (his Ronan, he thinks again, a selfish differentiation to help him keep track of reality). Rhy is a wordless witness, but Ronan has not asked him to look away.

[cointosser]

They're all beautiful. Even if there are places and things he does not understand -- for surely her world is far different from his own -- it speaks to him that such scenes need no further explanation. That a love like this is universal. That people can bond the closest under adversity is surely one of the oldest tropes in stories. Yet how true it rings.

He moves through the memory as much as he can, attempting to move closer to the boy. To take him in.

"You were separated?" He looks back to her -- the real her -- then to the remembered version of her, kissing the child's brow. As terrible as it is to believe, perhaps that was for the best. That she was not forced to leave him when she was brought here. That she can at least rest, knowing there is a family with him.

Though he realizes a moment later: had she left him? To go to where that man was?

He rises, joining her side again, taking her hand. "I'm sure you made quite the impact on him." She certainly has on him, as well, and it's only been months. "I can't imagine a warmer woman to be a mother."

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri's head snaps up-- and she immediately regrets it. Pain is something she's no stranger to, but this feels so many levels of wrong, twisting up her senses and thudding arrhythmically all around the inside of her skull. She grits her teeth, about to wave Sephiroth off, when she realizes what he's said.

You too.

And then, he touches her shoulder, and Ciri is quickly dispossessed of any leftover doubt she might have had about whether it would happen again. ]

[londonbound]

Kell's words strike a chord Rhy refuses to acknowledge; he stares intently down at his own hands as he pours himself a cup of brandy. Then, after a moment's thought, one more for Kell.

Where his brother's voice has risen, incredulous and angry, Rhy's remains at a reasonable pitch. He walks back over to Kell when he jumps to his feet and hands over the glass before retreating to lean against the side of his writing desk.

"Whether or not you think it's better, it's what we have to deal with. The Singularity is the heart of magic in this world. As far as I'm aware, it's no more an entity that the Isle. You may think magic is beyond my scope, brother, but despite everything, I can read. I've been here longer than you have. I'm the one attached to the damn thing. Do not tell me what kind of discomfort 'we both' can tolerate. You're being an ass."

[nightwash]

Ronan looks at all of them in turn. These people are strangers to Rhy, but as he looks, Ronan realizes they're strangers to him, too. This had once been his entire world. They had been his entire world. The Ronan weeping over Gansey had believed that this moment would be where it all fell apart, the moment they would all be shattered into pieces and scattered and lost.

But he was wrong. It's not this moment. And it's only Ronan who ends up shattered and lost, because he's about to sacrifice more than his life, and he doesn't even understand what he's giving up.

"What about Cabeswater?" Adam asks.

Both Ronans look at him. The present Ronan tightens his hold on Rhy and braces himself. The past Ronan says, "What about it? It's not powerful enough to do anything anymore."

"I know," Adam replies. "But if you asked — it might die for him."

Ronan sucks in a breath like he's about to dive underwater. But then the blood-soaked road is gone, the hills of Henrietta are gone, the entire nightmare is gone. He and Rhy are back in the courtyard and the past returns to the past.

[aurasight]

The Singularity's Eye... [ It's said quietly, contemplative, and she listens with rapt attention despite the clear mulling over she's doing in her silence. ]

That they have a name for it implies this has happened before. [ To their benefit or detriment remains to be seen. The similarities to the Final Days and even the Calamity, as Dalamud's moon fell, could be a coincidence, but she isn't in the business of chalking things up to chance. ] Did anything else accompany it? Disasters, creatures?

[ Her logic matches his: it stands to reason they should be looking for other parallel occurrences that match their own star's troubles. It might even be worth knowing if anyone else has experienced such a thing in their own world.

She tips her head, considering what he says about Fandaniel. There is, again, relief that Thancred already has things somewhat in hand, and though she doesn't think a warning is going to stop such a man from doing what he pleases... Well, she can't say she wouldn't have done the same.

There's something she wants to say regarding the summit, but she supposes she'll cycle around to that later. It isn't pressing. ] Yes. I stumbled upon a distant memory of Amon's and, in turn, encountered Fandaniel. It certainly wasn't a pleasant experience but I am unharmed. [ She shrugs. ] I saw his efforts to look for other worlds. A rather tame memory, I should think.

[cryptsleeper]

[The floor is good and comfortable. Moreover, it is warm, be it through how Alucard's enginered the house or through the dhampir's willpower within his Domain. Either way, it is a tiny step to try and make sitting in silence a fraction easier to contend with. Alucard can't know how long Jaskier will actually stay. The bard might decide that he needs time apart to process, and Alucard couldn't blame him.

It was always easier to talk about those moments as sad facts and nothing more. That Dracula's death was needed and he did the action as the universe required. The approach removed the emotion of it all, and that is what makes this different from telling others. He shared the basics. Geralt and Gideon did not live through them or see them as they happened, as Jaskier just did.

Alucard does not try and decode everything he saw in Jaskier's mind. It is cruel and invasive. The bard did not share what happened at home for a reason, and Alucard always refused to press for details. It was a matter of respect and it kept things easier to deal with. Trust was talking about those moments in one's own terms, when they were ready for them.

Somewhere, Radu has decided to be annoyed at the rain. Probably. And somewhere in Alucard's mind, he considers how badly they may need to break the silence.]

--Do you wish to know, or are you happier in ignorance?

[frontlinetitties]

Riiiiight on the edge, but I'll allow it.

[The thin smile grows a touch in strength, and she's quick to retrieve the glass. Knock back more of the rich, dark liquid inside.]

Are you saying I should make her jealous? Because you know, that might just work. She's always been a possessive little shit. Maybe if she thinks there’s a chance I’m gonna run off with one of the local hotties she’ll realise she’s rightfully besotted with me.

[Behind her, the tavern is continuing to fill up, the buzz and thrum from newly arriving patrons growing louder. It's something she's only distantly aware of right now though, far more focused on the two of them and what feels like it's swift becoming one of their regular sessions. Despite her dramatic woe, it's kinda nice.]

[cryptsleeper]

I'm not saying anything. To my ears, what you're saying sounds petty and like it might back fire.

[There's a shrug, elegant and knowing that Gideon's gonna do whatever she's gonna do. He's not so cunning in the romance department.

Alucard's eyes go up for a moment, scanning the room. They're still the only two Summoned around, which is a good thing as far as he is concerned.]

What do you even want out of a relationship?

[carmesi]

It must have been very exciting.

[despite how composed and generous both viktor and jayce are with their patience and amiability towards her (and, likely, others), wanda gets the impression that they may not have been the popular guys back in their own world—at least not initially.

and she understands that so, so well; to be the one expected to fail, or to not be able to pull the trigger when it came down to it. but wanda never hesitated in her own battles, hard as they were, in perhaps the same way these two men never hesitated to trust the process, believe in their theories.]

—you looked it, anyway. [excited, happy, even.] I understand now why Jayce thinks so fondly of you.

[when nobody thinks something can be done, it is but the other individual who does believe that becomes such an instrumental, valuable part of a person's life.

like vision had been to her.]

[frontlinetitties]

Rude.

[She slants him a mutinous look as she takes a sip of wine, before sliding the glass his way again.]

And what do you think I want out of a relationship? Sex on demand and access to someone else's boobies, obviously.

[She gives him the finger guns, tips him a wink. But almost immediately, she deflates again.]

But seriously? Just between us hoes? I have no fucking clue. I've barely had any kind of relationship before. Like, with anyone. Take you and me, for instance. You're the best friend I've ever had, like, ever. You probably know more about me than anyone alive, bar Harrow. And we've known each other for, what, a few months now? So fuck knows what I want. All I know is, she and I have a profound connection. We were forged down there in the dark together, and sure, maybe we're polar opposites and I once hated her fucking guts. But we're just...connected. You know?

[Her eyes meet his for a moment, bright and earnest...until abruptly the gravity of the situation comes crashing down on her and she looks away. The dim lamplight of the bar casts many a long shadow, and she just hopes they’re long enough to conceal the heat that rises in her face.]

Gimme the wine back, I've changed my mind. I need it more than you.

[carmesi]

[perhaps she should tell him to leave, take the action he's offered. but—something tugs at her, perhaps an irresponsible emotion, swelling past the rush of anxieties that are birthed from reliving her memories and witnessing those of others; of the pain that comes after the fact.

but, thancred, a man she can barely consider to not be a stranger stands in the mirror image of someone she knew and is no more, a sense of stalwart calm and unprejudiced care.

the words are out before she can consider them:]

Stay. [abrupt, sudden] Please.

[wanda pushes away from the doorframe to allow him entrance, the small space but one room adorned with trinkets and a cozy set of furniture—cushions and curtains and a fire on the hearth, offering a small sense of comfort.]

Perhaps it won't happen, and if it continues for longer than we could expect... [there's a sigh as she takes a seat on a bench by a window, holding on to one of the cushions she keeps there.] My runes and protective spells don't have an effect here, but I would rather stay somewhere I feel at home in. Your company is not unwanted, either.

stephen strange • thorne • death (fixed)

[sorser]

(( closed starters below! ))

for wanda.

[sorser]

[The timing could be better; he could wait for when the Summoned are not being assaulted by unwanted memories, shared suddenly and randomly between them, but he knows this isn’t something that should wait. That time will only cause whatever connection that exists between them to erode further, and no effort on his part to fix it would just be proof, in her eyes, of his uncaring nature.

He can’t allow that, able to cite a multitude of logical reasons that keeping a bond of healthy trust between all of them is essential. But namely, it’s more of an emotional one that brings him here — guilt, that whiles away at his insides. Knowing his words were too sharp, too unthinking, the truth behind them twisted into something harsher than reality.

He wants to apologize, simple as that.

Stephen finds her domain in the Horizon, doubting that he’ll be welcome, but stubborn enough to arrive unannounced all the same. His boots thunk against the porch of her cabin, landing after a swift flight, courtesy of his cloak. There’s no idle stroll to her doorstep today, no time to appreciate the sights.

The wind feels more bracing than he recalls.]

Wanda! We need to talk.

[He calls out to the closed door in front of him, but even if she’s not there, no doubt she’d feel his presence should she be in her domain at all.]

for rhy.

[sorser]

[He is moments away from retreating to the Horizon, to stop the influx of memories assaulting his mind when he does so little as accidentally brushing shoulders with another individual. But Stephen stubbornly refuses to take apparent refuge in that spiritual plane just yet; not before he's checked on how well Rhy is holding up since his time on the road, in spite of the situation they now all find themselves in.

In his haste, he tries to remain cautious. Gives himself a wide berth between himself and others. But even then, there's not much one can do about a corner too-quickly turned. Bad luck and bad timing have him taking a turn into another room, and the young man he wishes to speak to is on a collision course with him -- Stephen jolts to a stop, but his cloak, of all things, doesn't completely halt. It sways forward from the leftover momentum of his expedited walk, its very edge brushing the tips of Rhy's knuckles.

It's more than enough to incite yet another memory, gone flying into Rhy's mind whether or not he wishes for it-

The memory erupts in a whirl of color, disjointed and in fragments that seem to repeat as though on loop. Stephen stands in some strange, cosmic domain of lurid hues and a backdrop of infinite darkness, facing off against a being so much larger than him, so much more powerful. Dark magic rolls off of it looming before him in waves, lording above, its face tilted down at disgust at the sorcerer.

Dormammu, I've come to bargain. The phrase appears to be the crux that everything hinges around, circles around, repeats itself. Because Stephen dies by the hand of this awful thing; Rhy would see it clearly every single time. Blasted by energy, impaled by spikes of magic, crushed under a giant fist, suffocated when the floor beneath his feet devours him whole. It happens again, and again, for what seems like forever, and resetting always with the same utterance.

Dormammu, I've come to bargain.

Until, finally, the bargain sticks. The threat of time on repeat causes hesitation from the thing called Dormammu, and there's a pause of consideration, one in which so much relies upon. The fate of Earth itself.]

[gynvael]

[ The very first time he spoke to Nadine as herself—memories and past intact—she'd told him she had an encounter with magic. He'd thought then, her husband, the way she spoke of him, it left him uneasy. They had not known each other well enough them for him to pry, but knowing what he does now: is this what she means? The magic?

My queen. She left that part out, a bit, exactly how young she was when Flagg had promised her this. And yet somehow, he almost isn't surprised to learn this.

The words are etched heavily into the wood. He wonders still—why her? What had the demon sensed in her over the other girls?

( The surroundings take on an almost familiar edge. Nadine will have been here before—the keep rising up over the mountains. Except this one is much larger than the one that sits in the Horizon, the path towards it far more treacherous. The snowy peaks are so vast they're a blur of white against the grey-blue skies. Inside the cold stone walls, the echoes are louder and nearby heartbeats can be heard almost as a backdrop, as if it's just something that's always there for him. No different than the whistle of wind.

A door creaks open. Ciri runs towards him, wraps her arms around him. Blood stains both his hair and his sword; something obviously fucked him up, but there's only relief in the air when he sees she's all right. Her image flickers. She's shed her dress for worn ill-fitting clothes and yet seems more at home than ever with a training sword in her grasp. He's watching her over several days, weeks, keeping one eye on her, firmly prodding her to eat and sleep. Maybe not break her head wide open out of sheer stubbornness. She storms away from him in a huff.

He patches her up again and again, scrapes and bruises; it's clear, that however careful he warns her to be, it isn't gentle, either, the training he puts her through. But she's bright-eyed every time, eager and determined to prove herself, and more often than not, he has to make her come inside. Her exasperation with him is softer, less genuinely frustrated and closer to a child being told it's past their playtime. I trust you, she says, and the air grows warm. ) ]

[princessvegas]

[ Likewise, there's a wary sort of reluctance to the way she takes his hand, but nothing happens this time. She feels like someone is banging the inside of her skull with a hammer. It's making her feel kind of sick.

As this is her first experience, it has not occurred to her that it can work in reverse, without her also being there, so she doesn't know that he's seen anything from her at all. If she did, she would apologize; as he can probably tell, much of what occupies her memory is truly horrifying, and no one should have to experience it. And honestly, she doesn't believe there's all that much she could have seen from him that would have made her ever view him differently. This woman has literally seen a man disemboweled with bare hands and teeth, watched people chop each other up with chainsaws, was present for the incredibly violent death of her now best friend. What could Geralt possibly have that's any worse? ]

I'm okay. [ A bit pale and discombobulated, perhaps, but fine. Her fingers tighten around his. ] How did you kill it? The demon?

[carmesi]

[the wind is indeed more bracing than he recalls, and the crows that inhabit the forest behind her home have moved away from their branches to line along the roof of her cabin. they caw at doctor strange, a warning—a choice—to remove himself entirely from her domain. her emotions are at play here, considering him a threat and an individual she would rather not speak to again outside of professional courtesy.

stepping foot on her horizon without letting her know ahead of time, simply calling her name and demanding they talk? it does not fly with her.

the weather showcases this, the world becoming darker as menacing clouds glide in from the mountainside, the crows even louder and hopping now onto the railing of the porch, the flutter of their wings stark against how quiet everything else has become.

the door to the cabin opens, a whining sound at the hinges, and there's nothing but darkness inside—except for the very familiar orbs of scarlet magic wanda wields between her fingers. hex bolts traverse that darkness, through the doorway, and towards doctor strange; wanda steps forward in time, her face locked on a cold expression, with the hope that the sorcerer on her porch steps off.]

No, we don't. [she'll stand where he used to on her porch, surrounded by crows, thunder booming overhead.] I've not invited you to come.

[sorser]

[Well. He should have expected this.

It’s far from a warm welcome, the weather turning into a storm, the crows cawing overhead as a warning, as accusation. Wanda herself appears in the shadows of the now opened doorway, her magic illuminating her form in that telltale scarlet red, and any sane person would take the hint. Step off the porch. Go back the way he came.

But he’s stubborn, and knowing that he was in the wrong adds a bit of steel to his spine. He won’t turn tail until he’s said his what he needs to, until he can try to clear the air. His cape billows behind him as wind rushes around his form.]

I know. But I’d be waiting for an eternity if I held my breath for an invite.

[She’ll just have to forgive his trespass. On top of everything else.

Stephen holds his hands up, a placating gesture. What will she do? Toss him off this porch? …Well, probably, but he has to risk it. He’ll get up and do it again if he must.]

Let me say my piece. [No time to wait for a yes or no, he figures blurting this out is as essential as him standing his ground—] I wanted to say I’m sorry.