abraxaslogs | INTRO LOG #2

Entry tags:

INTRO LOG #2

Intro Log #2

It has been two months now since the initial group of summonings first took place. Castle Thorne, or at least the part above ground, is buzzing with a vibrant air of hope following the 'success' at the Singularity. Eager smiles and excited chattering are to be found in nearly every corner of the castle and surrounding town. The honored guests may find grateful looks turned their way more often than not. A new and brighter day seems to be dawning on the kingdom.

In the dungeons it's a different story entirely. The mood is somber and uneasy. The prisoner taken for trial has yet to return, and no word has come regarding her or her fate. There has been no mention of any further trials as of yet and guards seem to have little patience for unruly behavior or even conversation. Some seem to not even look at or acknowledge the prisoners at all.

[ Feel free to continue threads from the TDM here or start your own! As cell and room assignments will be short-lived due to this month's event, you're free to assume whichever cellmates and roommates you like instead of officially signing up as long as there are ICly no more than four people in a cell or room at once. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'm still not calling it magic." The mild stiff indignation is mostly played for effect, a habit he picked up before the Horizon. "Powers, if I have to talk about it. I started just. Knowing things. Realized that asking questions a certain way, I would always be answered. Used that on the wrong people." He holds up the burnt hand, turns it so Martin can see what that scar is.

A green eye opens in the crease between his thumb and his palm, blinking at Martin for a second before Jon snatches the hand back again, hiding it against his chest, aghast.

Unfortunately, Martin does see that one. And it puts a very sudden twist on his wry, bemused smile.

"Oh God--!" He yanks his hand back out of Jon's and scrambles back a few inches on the narrow bench, putting instinctive, panicked space between him and Jon, eyes still locked on that hand. Which-- almost feels stupid, a second later, it's just an eye - in the weirdest possible spot, on someone he knows who very much didn't have them before and extra things in people has never been a good sign before - but his heart's still hammering in his throat.

"Is that, um--" His voice cracks, panicked and high-pitched, and he gives a weak cough to clear it. "I-is that part of th-the whole 'powers' thing, too?"

Jon exhales shakily, looking down at his palm, digging his thumb into the scar beside the eye to make it close, which makes his actual eyes water.

"... I don't think so." And he hates that he's uncertain. Because they would be right on theme, wouldn't they? "I think they're a 'here' thing. Have you heard anything yet about the Singularity?"

"Uhh..." Sorry Jon, he's still staring at the eye until it closes, and he blinks sharply at how it just. Turns back into a normal-looking scar.

"Um-- n-no, I don't think so." He meets Jon's eyes again, and doesn't miss how they're watering. "We all just got-- brought straight down here here wait for our trials."

"It's a... a monument, or maybe just the power inside it. It's why Ambrose has been bringing us here. We're sorted by who he thinks will help with it, and who won't. The people native here, can't interact with it, but we can. Apparently it tears them apart. And recently they took all of us - not just the prisoners, but the guests upstairs too, and-"

He shakes his head, eyes distant for a moment. "Inside it, I remembered... my name, and... things, I knew about things, but I forgot how I fit into those things. Who I was. Who you were," he adds, with a glance at Martin. "And I could make anything I wanted. Just out of nothing." He picks at the sigil on his sleeve, the eye-like circles and crescents of the High Priestess. "This was important there, somehow."

All of that doesn't make... a lot of sense, but. Martin's doing his best to keep up.

"S-so, you. You all got taken to... to somewhere else. Just, completely. A whole nother... other dimension, sort of thing? Where, you didn't... really remember... anything." His mouth is a tight line at the end, trying to look he's getting it and really, really not. "Right. I-I believe you, is the thing-" he's quick to add, "But it- it's just a bit hard to wrap my head around. No offense..."

"Martin, it's hard for me to understand, and I was there. I made Elias's panopticon, there, without remembering what it is. So I could watch it rot. Every brick that fell... it felt like I was building something precious."

Martin's mouth opens to say something, but it just sort of hangs there, before he remembers to close it again. Elias, apparently, has a panopticon.

"Right." And then, a bit more confidently, "R-right! I can... I'll take your word for it."

Jon pulls his hand down his face, hiding a bit of a smile behind it. Martin. He can't be glad he's here, but he's so, so glad to see him. The two feelings lie uneasily together, thorny in his chest.

"It's a lot. I'm not telling it all in order, and it's a lot."

And Martin lifts a hand up to rub his face too, with a tired little chuckle.

"It's... yeah, i-it's a lot, Jon, I'm not going to lie. But... we'll have time to work through it all, alright?" He lifts his hand a little, and hesitates - but gently offers it to Jon, as his face burns red again. "It's just... really good to see you're alright."

He's not sure he could get tired of how easily Martin flushes. Deliberately, he takes his hand again, and squeezes it firmly.

"I'm- Christ, Martin, I'm so angry you're here," he says earnestly. "And here now. If we'd come here together, I would have... would have made some different choices."

Or perhaps not, if Martin had been sent to the cells at the beginning.

"I mean- it's not exactly my fault," he can't help but comment, perhaps a little passive-aggressively, but he'll drop that in favour of Jon's words. "W-what do you mean, different choices, did you--" He frowns, confused more than anything (and by God he wish that would ease up soon). "Did you not start in jail?"

"Not at you," he adds, voice a little sharp. "You- None of us got any say in the matter. It's Ambrose."

His eyes flick down to Jon's hand again, the one holding his, and when he looks up there's just the faintest hint of steel in his gaze.

"Jon," he says, patiently, "What happened?"

He glances away and back, catching his lip in his teeth. There's plenty he doesn't want to say. Not today. Not when he's just gotten him back.

"I questioned Ambrose. With my power."

"So you... knew things, about him? O-or... oh." There's a slight look of realisation. "You-- did you make him tell you something?"

He nods, after a pause. "They were telling us - the guests upstairs - that we had been chosen to fight some evil. Never what the evil was, never why we were chosen, and especially not why half of the people they pulled out of that well were sent down here."

He exhales, looks up and out of the yard. "I waited for them to give us something. Anything that was true, and nothing came. So I got the truth. A friend upstairs has the recording. Statement of High Mage Ambrose Rhett, taken from subject by force. Statement incomplete," he adds with a breath of a laugh. "He shut me down before I got all I'd planned to ask, and called the guards."

His first thought is, if they're supposed to fight evil, what's that make the rest of us?

The second is, oh God Jon.

"You - and semantics aside for a moment, Jon - you magically assaulted a high mage," he breathes, and there's something of a laugh in it despite himself. This may have officially reached his Weirdness Threshold. "No wonder you're down here with us."

"... I did. And he deserved it." And he didn't regret the decision until he saw you standing in this yard, Martin.

"Well, maybe now that I'm here, I can-- maybe I can put in a good word for you, at your trial," he comments with a slightly brittle brightness. "And we can sort of- work from there."

Jon was slightly prepared for that. Not enough. His gaze still flicks sideways, a tell Martin has seen before. And recently.

"The guards took Miss Peacecraft, from the cell by the stairs, for her trial a week ago. We're waiting to hear how it's gone."

He takes a deep breath, and can't quite hide how it quavers, just a little.

"...ah. Right, then."

He's quiet for a moment, running his thumb softly across Martin's knuckles.

"I probably should have let you take me to the walk-in clinic, that day."

The randomness of that statement makes Martin look up from Jon stroking his hand (and from how it gives him butterflies in his stomach).

"Sorry, what? When?"

"That day I told you and Tim to go home. You offered."

(no subject)

antichristsplusone - 2021-08-16 06:53 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

the_archive - 2021-08-16 23:33 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only