abraxaslogs | EVENT #7: THE SIGHT

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EVENT #7: THE SIGHT

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Without thinking about it, she tilts her head to his hand, looks up at him with lowered eyelids. For as difficult as being in Abraxas has been, for the lack of choice she actually has in making this world her home, she is happier here than she ever was in her own world. Even at the best points of her life before, Julie had very little agency, very little choice in the people she could surround herself with. She'd known the same people her entire life, and many of them were related to her. By the time she found freedom to meet new people, the pickings were so slim that it was enough to just not be assaulted.

And, though the Summoned are a smaller group than either Pratt or Vegas, she feels a greater freedom than she ever had before, to choose who's important, who she spends her time with. She doesn't feel powerless anymore, even though she knows she's at the whims of the Singularity and the native Abraxans. The panicked, desperate girl who was kicking doors open in Kansas, who fell apart on her kitchen floor after her parents died -- she doesn't really exist anymore. She doesn't have to. Only in those painful memories does she linger, and only when those are triggered down she try to return. Even in Vegas, she'd had free reign under the sparkly dresses, the makeup. It was necessary, living somewhere that a single wrong move could end your life. But not anymore.

However unintentionally, Geralt was responsible for a lot of it. They stumbled across each other at the worst point of her life (turns out that being killed, then resurrected only to immediately be thrown in a medieval dungeon is somehow even worse than living through a plague), and he was the first person from outside of her own world who she befriended. Who made her feel any sort of comfortable someplace so foreign. ]

Monsters, of course. [ She says it airily, like it's obvious. Running her hands down his chest, she absently pulls his shirt loose, slides her fingers under it. ] But in my world, we had plants that were basically little monsters. Venus flytraps, they look like little open mouths. They smelled sweet to insects, drew 'em in with flowers. When the bugs landed, the mouth would snap shut before the bug could ever get away. No threats needed.

[ It strikes him now and again, when he reflects on when they met—because how many of them remain who remember it, being trapped in the dungeons? Julie, scant others he can count on one hand. The number dwindles further when it comes to the first of them, who arrived locked away at the very start. More and more, he senses that part of their beginnings waning into rumours and stories. He supposes he should be familiar with that. Time wears down all things. It happened so quickly, though. Within months, barely a year. He feels it, deep down inside: an unconscious drifting towards the handful left who remember, a kinship he can't help grasping onto. It isn't quite the same thing, but it just—it reminds him of the way his own kind would fade and fade. In the world, in the memories of others.

But a few of them are here. The people most important to him remain. It means something to him, that Julie trusted him—him, Sam, everyone—enough to travel all that way to where they were in Cadens. ]

Of course. [ Monsters. A classic. Every Witcher loves good beast to hunt; what else are they made to do? He wraps his fingers around her wrist and guides it a little further up his chest. The quietest sound escapes him, something that passes for a laugh. ] Julie. Are you calling me a bug?

[ He will not deny she smells plenty sweet—does not hesitate to lean down and breath in the scent that he's grown more than familiar with. If she's here to snap him up, he can't say he minds. ]

[ She finds it harder and harder to trust the newer Summoned, the ones who not only came after those initial few months, but came so much later that they haven't even heard what happened secondhand. Julie met more of them than she'd thought existed at the Summit, and their steadfast refusal to listen to her was beyond aggravating. It also unnerves her that so many of the remaining Summoned from those first two groups are those that the crown had welcomed -- ones who know what they went through, but never experienced it and so tend not to care. What does that mean? That the imprisoned really were mistakes? Does that mean that she's doomed to be sent back to nothingness soon?

She tries not to think about it. Tries to push it out of her mind with other justifications. If she was a mistake, then surely she wouldn't have so much natural power in this world. She wouldn't have such special control over the Horizon's magic. That all has to mean something too.

Desperately, she needs it to mean something.

Fingers splayed, she presses her palm where he put it, where the too-slow thrum of his heart vibrates into her hand. She blinks up at him, caught off-guard by what he says, then laughs hard enough that she has to turn her head for a moment. ]

No! Venus flytraps are small plants, of course they catch bugs. Nothin' bothers catchin' a meal that's impossible to eat. [ She shifts, hooks her legs around his like vines and tightens them. ] I'm a hell of a lot bigger than a potted plant, though. Big enough to catch a wolf.

[ Geralt's history means there's only one understanding of mistake that he has and it's one that suggests Thorne believed them a threat of some sort that needed to be contained, suppressed. But that doesn't quite account for them all—and it equally implies Thorne knows about Ciri, or...what. Sensed her power? Somehow? Found her a concern?

He isn't sure. It troubles him, too. Opens up more questions than answers. Too much speculation will drive anyone fucking mad. What he can say is, of the welcomed guests who remain now, only a sparse few ever set foot alongside the prisoners. Sam, Jaskier, Nadine. The others—he can't recall seeing them near the cells, some whose faces he never once glimpsed until that day by the portals. And that tells him all he needs to know.

Her laugh draws a hint of a wider smile out of him. He shifts atop her. ] You sound certain you can hold a wolf.

[ Her legs wind around him; he cups her cheek, runs his thumb along it. Leans in to kiss her. Some mild concern lingers that another episode might trigger, but he spent a time with Sephiroth in the aftermath, a couple hours further drinking with Dean and nothing flashed through again in either case. He anticipates no different now. ]

Edited 2022-05-10 02:35 (UTC)

[ Well, they were told they committed crimes, so it would only make sense for Thorne to consider them a threat. And it might track in some ways that they can detect power; of the original Vegas group, two of the four were imprisoned. And Flagg is a massively powerful being, but more interestingly, Julie, without ever knowing it, also turned out to have unexpectedly strong magical abilities. But no, there are certainly others on both sides of that divide that would seemingly go against the theory.

It makes Julie ever more certain that the native Abraxans have no idea what they're doing, the havoc they're inviting on themselves. Already, they've drawn in some frighteningly powerful folks, from what Julie can tell -- people who could easily put their minds together and turn on the inhabitants of this world.

Then again, she's not sure she wouldn't prefer that one of the Summoned were in power. ]

Oh, I'm very certain. [ She murmurs before she arches her neck to meet his mouth, grabbing the back of his head. As far as she can tell, if she's the third person he's swapped memories with, and the other two didn't get an encore, she shouldn't be the exception. Although, honestly, with her luck, it's definitely not a foolproof bet. Her calves tighten around his sides as her toes curls, and she bites at his lip. ] I can trap a wolf before he even knows what hit 'im.

[ That's always the fucking case, isn't it? People who haven't a clue what they're doing. In some ways, he wishes the tensions between the territories, their scheming around the Singularity and the Summoned, were made tidy, a carefully manipulated plan set into motion. He doesn't believe it is. Not with the mess down in the dungeons, with how quickly the other nations began to do summonings of their own. He's never forgotten Relena telling him she thought these people were above all afraid and desperate, mistrustful of those not their own, and he agrees. This is what it feels like. And in his experience, that's more dangerous than anything else.

It concerns him, what might happen should some of the Summoned begin to reach the same state of fear. If he's been protective of those close to him before, these surges of memories have only reinforced that. ]

Hm. [ He acknowledges that, grips her thigh and hitches it higher against his waist. Her fingers bury in his hair, and he lets her pull him as close as she wants. She tastes heavily of wine; he undoubtedly does, too. (Wine and vodka and some ale: a statement of how his day's been going.) It takes a little balancing for him to fit on her couch, but he's good at making nearly any surface work. ] I don't know. I don't feel all that trapped right now.

[ Just as she fears the Free Cities because she knows what military governments are capable of in their pursuit of power, Julie knows better than most what people do when they're afraid and desperate. What they're willing to justify and how quickly they'll turn to those options. She's lived it, on both sides; she's been an ordinary person caught in that mire, and she's been an elite, cheering on things that she now knows are insane and cruel.

They hadn't seemed that way at the time. Everything that happened in Vegas made sense, had appeared to be the only sensible choice. What actions will make sense here, in this world?

Her thighs squeeze around him and her ankles cross at the small of his back. She doesn't mind moving if necessary, though he'll probably have to carry her, because it will not occur to her to actually go elsewhere. Her free arm wraps around him too, her hand down the back of his shirt and her nails digging between his shoulders. ] You ain't tried to escape, neither. Like I said, trapped before you even know it.

[ Part of him has already accepted the inevitable conflict that'll arise. Maybe they'll be fortunate. Who knows? Maybe it'll be years off. But everything he's had, he's always fought to keep it, one way or another. Feels like it'll be no different this time, too.

In the meanwhile, they have what's in front of them to take care of. Mostly, he just wants to put these memories away for a bit. He can worry about the consequences later, when his head isn't pounding and he no longer smells the blood that isn't here. It's a little easier to push it all aside when she's warm around him, nails pricking against his skin. ]

Who says I want to? [ Being trapped doesn't seem too bad, if it grants him this. She might end up carried off in a moment—right now, he's more interested in kissing her than the comfort of their arrangement. His other hand sneaks under the hem of her skirt, rough pads of his fingers gliding upwards along soft skin. ]

[ Look, as far as Julie is concerned, these people can blast each other to smithereens as soon as she's dead in the ground. It's been hundreds of years, apparently -- they can hold out for another sixty or seventy more.

With his weight on top of her and him taking up her field of vision, it's easy to close the little boxes she keeps in her mind back up and push them away. Compartmentalization is what she does best, and he's right here to absorb all the focus.

Laughing softly, she arches her hips up, the gauzy material of her skirt riding and bunching at the top of her thighs. ] So then you surrender. [ Her hand goes to his face, the side of his neck, and she kisses him with a quiet noise. ]

[ He chuckles, too, low in his throat. ] You've caught me. What sort of trouble am I in?

[ Very caught. She can be one of the only he's surrendered to. Her legs are wrapped around him, and his knees are straddled on either side of her. He has one hand against the back of the couch, bent over her as they kiss. Julie said Nadine would be out for awhile so—there's time.

No need for clever distractions, to keep everyone busy.

His nails dig a hint into her leg. He rocks gently against her, the last of the pounding in his head leeching away. ]

Oh, every sorta trouble. You might as well start beggin' for mercy right now.

[ She exhales and there's the softest edge of a whine on it, barely there at all. Her fingers thread through his hair as she clings to him. There's still a dull ache lingering in her temple, but the worst of it is long gone. What has really remained is the prickle in her spine from before, from a tone she has never otherwise heard from him, and while it's not like she's pleased by the circumstances that brought (and shared) it, it was still... a lot. In the best way possible, given everything going on.

Silver linings.

There really isn't any urgency, except for what appears to be a very small likelihood of another memory swap. Which, honestly, if it's inevitable -- and it does seem like it might be, if this is the third time Geralt's gone through it -- then Julie would much rather it be with him than anyone else. So she's content to move slowly, indulgently. ]

[ Frankly, given the sheer horror he's inflicted on everyone else with his memories, he'll more than accept this outcome. Even he can only brood for so long. At some point, he just wants to fucking move on. Before the inside of his head is scraped completely raw. ]

I can be convincing. [ There is a thicker, deeper scent that fills the air as she grips him. He responds without hesitation. Trails his lips over her collarbone. His attention stays there for a time, alternating, exploring, returning to kiss her again—up until he's really beginning to feel crowded by the couch.

The motion is quick, smooth: one arm around her and hitching her up. He doesn't break the kiss as he stands. She's light as a feather to him, fits easily in his arms. ]

[ It's fine, they can just inflict their horrible, horrible memories on each other between rounds of sex and alcohol until this is all over. Sounds like a rock solid plan, if you ask Julie. Can't be worse than the alternatives.

He scoops her up and she squeals, laughing against his mouth as she wraps her legs around his waist. She drapes her arms over his shoulders, leans into him with a sigh, and her fingers press into his back again, curl into his shirt.

When she does pull away, it's only to press her lips to his neck instead, over his pulse. ]

[ Somewhere between the couch and the bed, he lets himself fall back against a wall. His head tips to the side; grants her more room to explore. His pulse beats a little quicker than usual, a skip to it.

A prickle starts at the base of his spine. He shifts her weight, lets his nails scrape lightly down the side of her leg where he's gripped her.

Her breath is warm on his skin. He inhales, sharp, when her mouth grows especially hot against his throat. ]

[ His heartbeat is so slow, but she's gotten accustomed to the odd pace, can tell when it picks up speed. She presses her hips down and her own heart thumps in her chest, feels like it rattles her ribcage.

He rests on the wall and her teeth graze over his skin before she straightens to slip free from the top half of her dress. It puddles around her waist as she takes his face back in her hands, kissing him with slightly more insistence and a soft noise. ]

[ His head bumps something hung on the wall, and he reaches up on instinct to steady it, before his hand returns to her.

He helps slip the fabric off. Kisses her bare shoulder until she pulls him back to her lips. He deepens the kiss, feels that spark jolt through him every time her teeth scrape or her nails bite.

Fuck. He might be distracted from making the bed his goal, for the moment, but this is perfectly good, too. Walls are a fine surface. ]

[ She has, by now, sort of forgotten exactly where they were going or why they stopped. Other than her legs knocking against the wall, it doesn't seem to matter all that much, and they're only a few more steps from her bedroom door anyway.

Heat rises under her skin, flushes over her face and chest. Though she knows he's holding her up, she slides her hands up under his shirt, her nails grazing over his stomach. Thighs tightening, she rolls her hips against him. ]

[ His mind is mostly on her, her hands on his skin and the pink rising in her cheeks. He shifts her higher as her hips press down on him.

Eventually, he turns them around. Pushes her up against the wall instead. With her braced there, he releases one hand to pull her dress off altogether before slipping his arm back around her. The fabric pools on the ground.

He delves back in. His teeth scrape at the side of her throat. Her heart thrums, matching the pulse he can hear. He knows, by now, exactly how hard she likes him to bite and how much of a mark to leave behind. ]

[ He presses her to the wall and she croons, watching him with dark eyes until he comes back to her neck. Head tilted back, she closes her eyes, one hand tangling in his hair as she clutches him. He does know, almost eerily precisely, what she likes; her skin raises up in goosebumps when he bites, a shiver running down her spine. ]

Geralt. [ It's half gasp, half whine, and she swallows hard, digging her nails into his back. Her chest heaves when she breathes. ] I want you inside me. Please.

[ The sound she makes sends a pleasant rush through his veins. He pushes her more firmly against the wall, nips once more with his teeth. She grows ever warmer, skin heated, and so does his own. ]

Yeah. [ He breathes out the word, a low rumble.

His grip shifts around her. He works at the buttons on his trousers with an impatience of his own, slips his hand inside. It takes not long at all to give her what she wants, his hips rising to meet her. His eyes fall shut, fingers tightening. ]

[ When he adjusts his hold on her, her legs squeeze to compensate and help keep the balance, her ankle pressing into the small of his back. Her fingers scrabble at his neck and shoulders, in time with quiet little noises that she can't stop from emerging on every exhale.

Her eyes snap shut and she moans when he sinks in, head falling back again. In that dark, the memories have stopped repeating, corpses and fire and swords, and her mind is blissfully empty except for him right here and now. She murmurs, nothing important, just his name and all manner of endearments between sharp breaths. ]

[ Her head tips back, lips parted, and he takes in the sight of it. She's clinging to him, the pinprick of her nails familiar where they dig into his shoulders, his spine. A hunger that borders on greedy swells, his forehead pressed against hers. She fills his senses easily, the stutter in her breaths curling around him.

If they're rattling anything on the wall again, he doesn't notice. They probably are, because he isn't near holding back. (Not that he ever really does so, and especially not with her.)

The world shrinks to just them. He's no longer paying attention to much outside of it—hitches her leg higher around his waist, arm just under her knee to hold her up. The more she encourages him, the more he responds to it. When his name falls from her, he swallows it with a kiss. A quiet noise catches in his chest. ]

[ Things have definitely been rattled along the wall and off the shelves. But she hasn't heard any glass shattering, so it's all things that can be cleaned up later, just random little knick-knacks and gifts they've accumulated over the months. There does not appear to be a shortage of small crystals and crystal-based goods affecting the city of Cadens, based on the things Julie has chosen to collect.

He kisses her and absorbs her whine, coming from somewhere deep in her chest. Her thighs stay tight, not just from the position but as if to keep him close; there's sweat beading behind her knees. Pressing her forehead back to his hard, she opens her eyes when she gasps for breath, dark and unfocused from the nearness. Her fingers knit in his hair behind his neck, catching where she's already tangled it. ]

[ Her skin is slick against his palms, and he grips her more firmly. Most of his shirt hangs loose, half-fallen off a shoulder. Up close, he can see the shadow of her lashes, the flecks of colour in her eyes.

He lets where she's knotted her fingers in his hair guide him, follows the line of her jaw to the spot just under her earlob. There's an unsteady exhale, a coil that tightens within. He sinks deeper inside her each time—a curse that slips free, and then another.

When he feels her nails cut sharper into him, it only sparks an electric flare that snakes through him, makes his fingers curl. He offers a low sound, one undeniably demanding more. ]

Edited 2022-06-08 11:15 (UTC)

[ Her neck cranes and her eyes roll to the ceiling before she closes them again. He doesn't fill her vision anymore, but his breath is in her ear, every little huff, and the air she swallows feels cold in comparison. There is something somewhat satisfying in the way the back of her head gets jostled against the wall.

The crackling tendril that winds around the base of her spine, her hips, pulls ever faster and more taut, and her nails claw first on his skin and then on his shirt. It's much sharper than she even means it to be, enough that she can foresee the marks on his back, but that consideration is beyond her now.

There's a belated realization that she's babbling, very little coming out other than ragged swearing on top of his name. ]

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nsfw.

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