kenoslogs | april event, phase one: seeds of unrest 🌱

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april event, phase one: seeds of unrest 🌱

THE BEGINNING

Summertime in Springstar has been on its way out, heralding the arrival of fall; winter has likewise given way to spring in Highstorm - at least, according to the calendar. Yet there is an unseasonable bite on the breeze - one growing as frigid as the mood among Meris and Zenites in their cities. Between Alenroux’s occupation and talk of ‘the Blight,’ worries have been on the lips of the citizens with increasing frequency - and with good reason. The reports of plant life dying, of objects crumbling, of people whose bodies are deteriorating are dominating the rumor mills and local papers.

Everything comes to a head early in the second half of Pelu.

After an unusual pocket of commotion in the Seat of the Tribune and the courtyard of Yima’s manor, an urgent announcement is made on behalf of both cities: both Great Trees have been quarantined, and no one is permitted in either location without clearance. New rumors spread of an ‘incident’ that saw those in the immediate vicinity of the Trees rapidly demonstrating symptoms of an illness that was becoming all too easy to identify. It had stricken with frightening speed; not long afterward…

The unrest had spread into the streets, and it wasn’t just about the Blight anymore.

Cetina and Kathova wasted no time in reaching out to the Bearers via Communion to offer them guidance from their leaders and incite them to action.

SPRINGSTAR: THE ROOT OF THE ISSUE

Day by day, changes unfold that render the city increasingly dangerous...

ROOTS:

Vine-like roots have begun to thread the streets, creeping upon and over buildings, spreading outward from the Tree in Heliopolis. Over the next two weeks, they will continue to grow in size and become more troublesome, slowly blooming ice-like leaves that radiate a sickly glow.

GROWTH: Contrary to the Blight’s normal behaviors, some people and things around clusters of vines or leaves can experience a burst of vitality, growth, and splendor as if transforming to beyond peak condition. In a normal citizen, this may result in an almost manic level of energy, reckless behaviors, and aggression. In objects, they become more durable and efficient, but dangerously so - for example, a stovetop cooks faster but burns uncontrollably hot. In plant life, this results in overgrowth that can overwhelm and choke nearby flora, objects, or even people. Then, they burn out an hour after exposure and immediately succumb to a dire state of Blighted.

CHILL: The temperatures will continue to drop throughout the next two weeks. It will be coldest where vines have clustered and outright dangerously so near where flowers have budded or bloomed in great numbers. This will force some people from their homes.

TIME POCKETS:

In seemingly random parts of the city, areas referred to as ‘time pockets’ have populated. There is no way to identify a time pocket but to stumble into one.

REGRESSION: NPC’s in these areas will appear to freeze in time once a Bearer has breached the pocket’s radius but appear normal from the outside. Time within has halted at the point the pocket manifested ( typically covering an area like a city street or inside a single large building that sees regular use ). Objects can be freely manipulated but will not fall if thrown, etc.
- The pocket cannot be left until the Bearer has achieved their objective. Attempting to exit the way they entered, they’ll run into an unseen barrier that is painful to the touch, a sensation of frigidity that travels to their Shard.
- Their goal will be to locate a past version of themselves hidden from immediate view. This past version of themselves can be from any point in their lives but must be from a moment when they felt extremely vulnerable, isolated, wounded, or fearful.
- Once finding this past version, they will feel the compulsion to either find a way to reassure their past selves somehow or kill them. Whether it is the Bearer themselves who performs these acts or another Bearer in their company does it for them, as long as their past selves are pacified enough ( to player satisfaction ) or dead, they will gain immunity to the pocket and may leave. The immediate area will remain frozen, however, and the past version will be revealed to be made of roots that will shrivel and die.
- Note: Bearers will be able to see other Bearer’s past selves, even after they have been freed. Whether the past reflections are capable of speech while functional is up to player discretion.

HIGHSTORM: THE ROOTS OF CHANGE

The snows continue to fall over the city, feeling brittle against your skin...

ROOTS:

Vine-like roots have begun to thread the streets, creeping upon and over buildings, spreading outward from the Great Tree in Yima’s manor. Over the next two weeks, they will continue to grow in size and become more troublesome, slowly blooming ice-like leaves that radiate a sickly glow.

SACRIFICIAL: [ CW: self-harm ] Where the roots snake and gather throughout the city, NPC’s in several locations are falling victim to the quiet, slow pulse of the flowers and their buds. They will sit and stare at the flowers for hours, unblinkingly, as their body begins to succumb to the Blight. If they are disturbed in any way - a loud noise, an attempt to move their person, etc - they will calmly look up from their worship and crack off a piece of their brittle body before returning to their reverie.

In order to save them, a pair (or more) of Bearers must sneak up on the NPC - one using a pacifying spell given by one of the faction leaders while the other crushes the flower. If the NPC is not pacified before the flower is crushed, they will become hysterical and the Blight will rapidly consume them, causing them to perish. If they are pacified and the flower is not crushed, the spell will wear off within ten seconds with the same result.

CHILL: The temperatures will continue to drop throughout the next two weeks. It will be coldest where vines have clustered and outright dangerously so near where flowers have budded or bloomed in great numbers. This will force some people from their homes.

TIME POCKETS:

In seemingly random parts of the city, areas referred to as ‘time pockets’ have populated. There is no way to identify a time pocket but to stumble into one.

REFLECTIONS: NPC’s in these pockets are moving in surreal blurs, pieces of them moving forward as others move backward, some changing as if time were rapidly passing as others remain frozen still. The Bearers’ surroundings are distorted as if reflecting multiple realities simultaneously.
- Their goal will be to locate a tall standing mirror situated alone in the center of the time pocket’s radius. The Bearer who first touches their reflection ( henceforth called “mirror-Bearer” ) will cause the world inside the pocket to suddenly stop, reflecting a comforting environment they have fond or pleasant associations with. The mirror will be gone.

Something or someone the mirror-Bearer highly values, deeply misses, or sees as imperative to their character, goals, or desires will be present. If they make contact with this object or person, the Time Pocket loops and sends them back to searching for the mirror - but they will have no memory of this occurring. Their partner, however, will recall everything.

Both Bearers will be released if five loops occur without the mirror-Bearer being stopped from causing the loop or if the mirror-Bearer is stopped from reaching their goal for five minutes ( willingly or otherwise ). The longer they refuse to make contact with this object or person, the more tempting and dire the need becomes inside of them.

Once the Bearers are released, the Time Pocket disappears. If they manage to avoid contact with the temptation inside the Pocket, the roots and flowers in this area will be withered and dying, buying the NPC’s and buildings in this location some time. Otherwise, they will be thriving and dangerously blooming.

Note: the mirror will not respond to the non-mirror-Bearer once it has been touched the first time.

ENTREE-TING HELP

The Tree of Life is in danger, and you know it. Both Yima and Cyrus have directed all Bearers who might listen to increase visitation to the Tree and monitor it for signs of the Blight - of its leaves changing color, of any frostbitten bark, of its roots withering.

And then, during a moment in which you find your mind at ease, at rest... you dream, even if dreaming is unnatural for you. You dream of yourself sitting beneath the massive bows of the Tree's breadth, at peace. The perpetual dawn's glow warms your skin in a way that seeps into your bones, leaving you certain you are safe from harm. The Tree reaches out, and though it cannot speak to you in words, you feel it is trying to convey a message: one of urgency. One of plea.

But you cannot understand...

Soon, the branches of the Tree are reaching out to others. You cannot see them, but you know they're there; a spiritual tether connects your Shards together, bringing you all into a place of wordless unity. And once your fellows have been summoned, you know what you are here for.

You feel it rather than see it: some meager, barely-there brush of something cold in the warmth of the island's comfort. The Tree is already infected, and the clock is running down for all of you.

When you wake to yourself, a feeling of dread not entirely your own will chase you, and you will find a single violet leaf in your hand.

MISC NOTES

Bearers start with immunity to the Blight. They will not succumb to the effects of the Blight even if they handle the vines and flowers directly without precautions or care.
The above effects will occur in small clusters and are not yet spread city-wide during phase one. The escalation of frequency characters will come across problematic clusters or Time Pockets will be slow building.
For context, it takes about a month from infection to death or dissolution for the average person or object to succumb to the Blight. By the 21st, it will be three days to a week.
Bearers will be directed by Cetina or Kathova to make efforts to protect the civilians and investigate the manifesting changes around both cities. Both factions are working on their own methods to attempt to counteract the Blight, but neither has produced a failsafe solution.
The roots will remain mostly outdoors, for the most part, these first two weeks.
Tensions will slowly ramp up in Alenroux, and there are checkpoints for any non-PC visitors to screen for signs of infection.
Player characters who die inside the Time Pockets are dead and need their Shards brought to the Tree of Life for revival.
HAVE FUN!! ♥

CODING

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[ It's not like he really wants to scare Dextera, or hurt him. It's just -- anger has always been so difficult for him to contain, especially when he's agitated. Especially when he's anxious. And just the sight of that younger version of himself out of the corner of his vision has his nerves bristling hard enough that he responds to Dextera's meek response with a sharp bark of laughter. ]

And how're you gonna talk to it?

[ It's shitty, he knows. It's a low blow even for him, prodding at the fact that Dextera can't speak.

A shiver of regret and guilt almost immediately cuts through that heady curtain of bloodlust, if only for a moment, before Gen attempts to squelch it. And while he can't bring himself to apologize or admit he was wrong ... he does glower at Dextera for a only moment longer before looking away. Biting at his lip in thought before muttering, ]

... fine. You can do what you want. [ Even if the prospect of letting Dextera interact with another version of himself has his gut churning uneasily. Gen keeps his gaze averted. ] But if it doesn't work, we're doing it my way.

…

[ it’s strange to have someone attack that, and frustrating. dextera knows he wasn’t born like this. from everything he recalls and knows of his life, the reason he has no voice is because it was exchanged for the power of god. he would rather be able to speak—nothing affects his daily life quite so much as being forced to rely on the willingness of others to listen.

gen doesn’t apologize, but dextera can tell it was a moment of instant regret, so he quells his own instinct to snap back. his shoulders flinch, the brief moment of hunching in on himself like an animal in the wild, and he doesn’t respond to gen directly. instead, he marches forward, but his steps slow to something gentler once he’s actually casting a shadow over the child form of gen. ]

…

[ he crouches next to him, as if gen has been waiting for him to join all this time. ]

[ The fact that Gen only trails behind Dextera for a few more steps before stopping is it's own silent apology, in his mind. In truth, he'd be reluctant to let even Dextera -- or perhaps, especially Dextera -- interact with that younger version of himself at all. But ... for now, he settles for leaning against a nearby tree, arms crossed over his chest and gaze tensely averted, though those canine ears of his remain pointed in Dextera's direction.

Gen's listening closely when that younger version of him looks up from that little makeshift grave with a start, staring at the 'stranger' who's crouched down beside him. ]

... what d'you want?

[ It turns out Gen's voice had had the same cadence back then, still a little too bold and a little too confrontational, but it had been higher-pitched and just a touch softer. Not quite hardened by years of bluster and tobacco smoke. The child listlessly dusts his hands off as he looks Dextera over. ]

I don't think I've seen you before.

[ he’s not so different from the gen that dextera knows.

dextera refrains from acknowledging the older form some distance away, instead focusing his entire attention on the child who seems to be finishing up some task—burying something, or marking something already buried. ]

…

[ he shakes his head, either affirming that they’ve never met or simple discouraging the question of what he wants, and he gestures curiously at the little grave. ]

[ He was clearly a shrewd child even from a young age; when he doesn't receive an answer, that younger version of Gen narrows his eyes in what must be a familiar, wary squint. And while he does briefly open his mouth, as if debating what kind of sharp-tongued retort to give, he ends up staying his tongue when Dextera gestures at the grave. Small shoulders stiffen, and a beat too late, small hands are hidden against the folds of his shirt, as if wanting to hide that he'd bothered making such a thing. ]

Dragonflies.

[ But that version of Gen averts his eyes immediately afterwards. His voice is lower when he mumbles, ]

... it's just some bugs.

[ dextera didn’t know what he expected, but he’s surprised to hear dragonflies. they are, indeed, just bugs—he feels as if most people would be willing to make a grave for something traditionally more beloved, like a dog or even a field mouse, but this child version of gen has extended care to insects. ]

…

[ he reaches out to help pat down part of the grave and straighten up the twig sticking out of it, a sign of peace and sympathy for the little gesture gen seems afraid to admit to.

with that same hand, after cautiously withdrawing it to ensure he doesn’t disturb more of gen’s work, he gestures to gen and tilts his head. were they pets, he wonders, or just creatures on the side of the road…? ]

[ This guy's weird. He's an adult, isn't he? What kind of adult stays quiet like this? What kind of adult just listens instead of telling him what to do, how to behave? The silence is somewhat unnerving, as is the lack of authoritative presence, and that younger version of Gen warily watches Dextera reach for the graze -- shoulders tensed, as if expecting that little twig to be slapped out of place because he shouldn't be wasting his time like this.

Instead, Dextera straightens the twig, and that feels worse, somehow. ]

It's nothing important.

[ It's snapped, bristly and defensive, terribly obvious in the way that children often are. That grave is definitely important. Gen fixes his gaze down at the scuffed toes of his sneakers. ]

Don't bother with stuff like that. ... I only buried them because they were gross. They died m-mating. [ His cheeks flush hot as he says that word with obvious indignity, hands twisting into the fabric of his T-shirt. ] Like I'm going to leave that lying around for him to see.

Edited 2023-04-25 03:40 (UTC)

[ gen’s explanation is sort of impressive, even if he stumbles over the critical word. dextera wonders if this is something all dragonflies do, or if gen has just laid to rest two unfortunate souls—the care he’s shown in doing it at all, though, suggests he feels it’s more than just gross. ]

…?

[ and, gen’s conclusion brings a curious tilt of the head as he looks over at the child’s flustered expression. he might normally just leave the other person to intuit what he’s asking, but since this version of gen is still young—he reaches out to the dirt, scratching a question into it.

“Him?” ]

[ He's still looking at his sneakers, and Gen only looks up when he hears the scratching of a fingertip against the dirt. And while he doesn't actually say anything about that unorthodox method of communicating, he does give Dextera a hard stare that communicates without words: 'you're weird.' ]

... my friend.

[ But maybe it's because this guy is so weird (and so silent) that it's a just a little easier to talk than usual. That younger version of Gen answers quietly, reluctantly, but he does still answer after a hesitant moment. ]

Reiji. He's my best friend. ... but he's just my friend. So ...

[ So he can't let Reiji see something so unsightly. He has to be a good friend to Reiji -- but nothing more. ]

[ dextera has to look back through his memories, but he doesn’t think he’s ever heard gen mention this name before. gen is already so reticent with details of his home life, too, that even if he’d talked about this “reiji” in vague terms, this must be the first time a name has ever been given to him.

considering that the blight seems to be drawing on things that will hurt them, dextera can easily assume that reiji has remained important to gen even through his later years. ]

…

[ instead of asking this child version of gen for more details outright, dextera gently nudges his arm, somewhere between scolding him for the comment of reiji being “just” a friend and prompting him to further speak his mind. the benefit of saying nothing, as it’s always been, is that people read what they need to hear into it. ]

[ Perhaps unsurprisingly, that little nudge first earns an grunt and a look of childish indignity. ]

W-what?

[ But for all his confident bluster, this Gen is still a very young child, and too accustomed to being told to obey the adults around him. The defiant look he gives Dextera only lasts for a moment or two before he ducks his gaze away to look at where he fidgets with his hands, picking some dirt out from under his nails. ]

He's ... my friend. [ He picks at the skin around one of his nails, frowning as he tugs at a loose bit of skin. ] So I can't show him something like that ... that kind of ... [ His restless picking at his finger grows sharper, digging into a hangnail, and he bites nervously at his lip before mumbling, ] ... I don't want him to think I'm ... like that. Towards him.

[ 'Like that.' He can't even put it into concrete terms just yet. But he's been taught just enough to know that his feelings are wrong and must be hidden. ]

[ there’s a lot revealed in that. despite gen’s immature, limited vocabulary, he says everything he needs to in the nervous picking of his skin and his reluctance to put a name to any feeling—particularly the one that he’s trying so desperately to avoid acknowledging. even dextera can understand that not wanting to say it at this age means that it has some truth.

he looks at the real gen, just briefly, out of the corner of his eyes. it’s not the time now, and it may never be, to ask him about all this; even so, it’s a piece of gen that dextera did not know previously. ]

…

[ dextera slips his hand into his pocket to withdraw a well-worn notebook, feeling now as if he has more to say than can be conveyed through gestures or words scratched in the dirt. ]

Do you think it would scare him?

[ he offers the notebook to the child, too, in case there’s something he would rather write than speak aloud. ]

[ A glance back makes it obvious that the older Gen is trying very hard to pretend he isn't paying attention. But equally obvious is how much he's fighting to keep himself from interfering -- his gaze is fixed too firmly off into the distance, arms crossed and fingers twisting violently into his sleeve, face pale. A sickly pulse of disgust is ever-present in the connection between them, and his jaw clenches when the younger version of his speaks again. ]

You should have said so in the first place if you had something like that.

[ Because of course he has to make that indignant demand, first. Now he feels stupid for having talked so much by himself if this stranger can communicate properly, and like the child that he is, he takes it very seriously when he feels like he's seemed stupid.

Though that's not the only reason it takes him a moment to steel himself before he can properly answer Dextera's question. ]

... I don't know. [ Said haltingly. Then, after a ragged breath, with grim conviction: ] Probably. [ He clenches small fists before continuing more sternly. ] That kind of thing is wrong.

[ His gaze is hardened when he looks back up to Dextera, seeking confirmation. He agrees, right? ]

[ “that kind of thing” is so vague, but in its vaguity, it manages to encompass a lot of things that would be hard to put a word to anyway. most importantly, dextera understands what he means.

so, he shakes his head.

dextera genuinely believes that; the ways love or even innocent crushes may manifest can be wrong, they can hurt both the person holding those feelings and the person they feel something for, but on a cosmic level, dextera thinks that a connection like that to another person couldn’t possibly be wrong. gen is just a child, besides. ]

I wouldn’t be scared.

[ ever placing himself in another person’s position, he gives this sentiment. if someone were to feel that way about him… no, he wouldn’t be repulsed. ]

[ Wrong answer. ]

You're just saying that 'cause I'm a kid!

[ Sneakers scuff against the dirt as he abruptly gets to his feet; too bad his age means, even standing at full height, he's not much taller than Dextera when he's crouched down. Still, there's obvious indignity in the clench of small fists and the way he bristles, voice rising to a more defensive shout. ]

Don't lie! I know how it's supposed to be! [ He'd been confrontational and eager to fight even at this age; he half-lunges forward to get more up in Dextera's face. ] That kind of thing is disgusting! Boys aren't allowed to --

[ He catches himself, gives a shaky huff. Glowers at Dextera as he continues, breathless, though his eyes are starting to water the slightest. ]

Don't treat me like I'm stupid. I already know that kind of thing isn't right. It's not allowed.

[ dextera flinches back when even this young version of gen gets in his face; he’s gotten somewhat used to the flashes of aggression from the older one, but the sudden shift in a conversation he thought he had a handle on gets his dull eyes to widen. ]

…

[ but in the instant after the surprise passes, he’s able to take stock of the reality. it’s still gen—defensive, but worse at hiding what exactly he’s defending. he looks just about ready to cry from the kind of frustration only a child can grapple with.

he’s not a physically affectionate person, or else he might try to reach out. instead, he lowers his gaze, properly cowed…

or so it seems, until he shakes his head again in quiet but firm defiance of gen’s dramatic declaration. ]

[ He just looks confused by that shake of the head at first, squinting uncertainly at Dextera -- blinking quickly lest the watering in his eyes spill over -- before snapping, ]

W-what's that supposed to mean?

[ Because he knows what he said is right. It's what he's been told all his (short) life, what he's learned from his surroundings. Whatever feelings he might hold towards Reiji beyond simple, pure friendship are wrong and not permitted. There's a certain way he'll always have to be, and that will never change.

The younger Gen glowers at Dextera for a moment longer before abruptly turning to kick at that makeshift grave; the little stick serving as a headstone topples as dirt scatters. It's an obvious challenge when he looks back to Dextera afterward, huffing another hard exhale. ]

I never should've bothered.

[ And from behind him, Dextera might hear the sound of faint movement, along with a pulse of emotions that prickles at the back of his neck -- irritation, mostly. It's the original Gen pushing away from the tree he'd been leaning against, hand once more coming to rest against the handle of his mace. Because even if it's just another version of himself, hearing Dextera being spoken to like that still pisses him off; he might as well step in soon, since it sounds like Dextera won't be able to do much here.

It's not like that younger version of himself is wrong, after all. ]

[ maybe there was only one way this could have ended after all, and dextera was only delaying the inevitable by trying to speak with him. maybe he even made it worse—if this were the real thing, and gen had years and years to sit with this conversation, it’s possible this could have been a seed planted.

instead, dextera is still on the ground, and he leans forward to brush the scattered grave back together. ]

It’s okay.

[ he says it quietly to the real gen, without lifting his gaze from the little headstone he’s putting back together. ]

I don’t want you to do it. I can do it for you.

[ That earns a startled little jerk, both physically and across their connection, a little blip of something surprised and wary. There’s a brief pause before Gen grits without words, ]

What difference does it make.

[ But lying across Communion is a fairly futile endeavor.

Those words prickle with the same sort of defensive ire that that younger version of his had displayed, almost as easy to see through. Gen is loathe to admit it out loud, but a small part of him does desperately want Dextera to take that step for him. (Simply because he’s sick and tired of dealing with that wretched thing, he tells himself. Not because the prospect of dying at Dextera’s hands, even by proxy, sends a strange thrill of gratification shivering through his guts.)

The child, meanwhile, unaware of that covert exchange between them, gives a derisive little huff aimed at Dextera. ]

Say something! [ Even so, he does back off a half-step to let Dextera continue patting at that little grave. ] Or you’re just admitting I’m right! I know how I have to be!

[ dextera doesn’t immediately go in. the child gen is still talking, still obviously torn between the world he knows and what’s being told to him now—it’s just a matter of seeing which one will win out, even though dextera now feels a real concern, a dread, that years of whatever life he’s lived outside this brief hallucination still has him bound.

he straightens up the grave as much as he can, until it resembles what had been created before. his hands linger over it for a moment, unhurried, and then he returns to his notebook to hastily scrawl a message before the child’s limited patience runs out.

does gen still feel this way? is he struggling even now? it seems so foreign to dextera, who has never had a relationship with being a boy, nor struggling with any feelings he might have because of it. he’s always been so secure with it that it’s never occurred to him; any panic he’s ever felt was the pure fear of feeling anything at all.

if he thinks about it like a baroque, it’s easier to understand. everyone has their obsessions. ]

I want you to be wrong.

[ he shows the child this sentence first, before he continues writing. ]

You can feel however you want here.
No one else has to know.
It’s OK to me.

[ if this doesn’t work, then… ]

[ For better or for worse, that does earn a reaction. The younger Gen balks when he sees that first line Dextera's written; by the time the addendums are offered to him, he still has his face scrunched up as he visibly considers what he's being told. And after a moment, he mumbles, ]

-- that's just 'cause you're weird.

[ (Behind Dextera, Gen-the-original exudes another spike of irritation laid atop the steady, simmering blanket of discomfort.)

Sneaker-soles scuff against the dirt as the child retreats another small half-step, fingers balling into the hem of his T-shirt. Though he's still struggling to act tough, that offer of acceptance and understanding is obviously something he can't turn down easily. ]

It won't matter if one weirdo freak says it's okay. I still can't -- ... [ He takes a shallow breath, blinking hard. ] I still have to act like everyone else. It's what's normal. It's just ... just that I'm strange. So I'm not allowed to ...

[ The discomfort radiating off of the original Gen is starting to reach suffocating levels, boiling hot and restless with near-anxiety, but the child doesn't notice that. He takes a deep breath, then another one, before angrily swiping his sleeve across his eyes. It's with great effort that he meets Dextera's gaze before managing to speak again. ]

... you're just saying all of that anyway. It's not like you really think it's okay.

[ 'I want you to be wrong,' Dextera had said. Maybe he wishes that for himself, too. He wants to be able to believe in this odd, mute stranger. ]

[ dextera is weird. he doesn’t fight that—he doesn’t even register it as being an insult, however childish, just an apt observation that this younger gen has made about the world. certainly to anyone, this whole conversation would be weird on an objective level.

but although the consequences feel massive, they aren’t, not really. speaking softly to this phantom of the past won’t have any rippling effect. the real thing standing behind him, so tense in his discomfort that it feels like the air would warp around him, is going to be the same coming out as he was going in. it’s dextera’s selfish indulgence to have this moment, even if he didn’t know—and still doesn’t—how it would turn out. ]

…

[ he taps the last sentence again. it’s okay to him.

then he decides to put the notebook away in favor of shrugging off his coat just enough that it slips from his shoulder, giving him slack at the sleeve. gesturing first with it to his own eyes, dabbing at tears that don’t exist, he offers it out. this child gen has been cleaning his face on his sleeve and dextera’s coat isn’t any better, but that’s not what really matters about the gesture. not in his mind, anyway. ]

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april event, phase one: seeds of unrest 🌱

ROOTS:

TIME POCKETS:

ROOTS:

TIME POCKETS:

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