![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
- !event,
- arknights: gavial,
- baroque: koriel xii (dextera),
- bastard!!: dark schneider,
- boy's abyss: gen minegishi,
- expanse (the): amos burton,
- fire emblem: byleth eisner,
- fire emblem: claude von riegan,
- fire emblem: dimitri a. blaiddyd,
- fire emblem: yuri leclerc,
- granblue fantasy: eustace,
- jinba: hayame,
- legend of zelda (the): midna,
- locked tomb (the): john gaius,
- oc: liem talbott,
- star wars: cassian andor,
- star wars: jyn erso,
- vampire hunter d: d
Toxic Love: The Exalt Oracle
NOTHING GOES OFF WITHOUT A HITCH
You feel it, the moment that the Exalt oracle opens its eyes, like something that rips through your body from head to toe, something that feel like fire, wild. It sears into your veins, like acid and fire, something that triggers something that makes you want to run, or perhaps turn and face something head on. Before you can find what sets you off – if you could find it. Bearers know what this sensation is, it is different but the same at its core. The emotions, the feelings it sparks are different – but in the end, you know it for what it is: An Oracle.
Kenos groans from the awakening, like a part of a whole sparks to life, and though you do not know what it is that they want yet, you understand and know their existence down to your core. That feeling to attack or defend, perhaps even flee, does not leave you, but instead it fills your veins, you feel it thrumming, pulsing, like the beat of a heart – if one has one. With the sense of awakening, bearers know the shape of what comes next, they will be asked to act, to do. You do not know how it will happen, or what the Exalt will ask of you, but the knowledge that it will happen is borne from experience, not from the Oracle itself.
As you begin to move, to… look, you are not long for this day, it clouds your mind, a hazy, drowsy feeling takes over, the encroaching dark that threatens to swarm, crowding from the sides, taking over your vision – until… it fully takes over, and Bearers are put into a deep slumber.
When bearers awaken, it’s difficult to make sense of what your sleepy eyes see. Structures begin to swim into view, and they like tall figures looking down upon you. It’s difficult to tell what they are at first, but as you wake up, you begin to see, they are not people, or creatures, but long spore-like stalks. Some have ribbed overgrowths that you can see, and some end in growths that ripple and hang over, but have no “cap”. They tower over the bearers, like towering spires and buildings, on all sides, as if they were trapped in a ring of them. As bearers look around them they will notice tall green spires around them as well, and it takes a moment for things to really settle in. Mushrooms. Blades of grass. The springy moss about them is almost as tall as they are, low to the ground. There are pebbles that appear as boulders, and the thunderous steps nearby indicate an insect or arachnid walking by, far larger than you. There is a stillness to this space, like a held breath, and as the bearers awake, and regard one another, and then to the center of the circle is – a small effigy in the center.
It is here, the Exalt Oracle, and you feel compelled to regard it, before you are given a pang down to your core. It compels you – pleads, asks, begs, and demands, all in one – for what it wishes for. Precious mementos and precious items that they are missing. They have been lost, and they are somewhere within the Liosachán. It beseeches the bearers to return its items, and begs they be returned here to the circle. There are no words, but there is a pleading sensation, a feeling that these items are treasured by this Oracle.
You feel at your sides, your pockets, and find one item on your person, a weapon, a companion, whatever it is you would bring with you to the conflict, shrunk down to a tiny size with you.
Stay steadfast, bearers, and capture theflag Oracle!
Kenos groans from the awakening, like a part of a whole sparks to life, and though you do not know what it is that they want yet, you understand and know their existence down to your core. That feeling to attack or defend, perhaps even flee, does not leave you, but instead it fills your veins, you feel it thrumming, pulsing, like the beat of a heart – if one has one. With the sense of awakening, bearers know the shape of what comes next, they will be asked to act, to do. You do not know how it will happen, or what the Exalt will ask of you, but the knowledge that it will happen is borne from experience, not from the Oracle itself.
As you begin to move, to… look, you are not long for this day, it clouds your mind, a hazy, drowsy feeling takes over, the encroaching dark that threatens to swarm, crowding from the sides, taking over your vision – until… it fully takes over, and Bearers are put into a deep slumber.
When bearers awaken, it’s difficult to make sense of what your sleepy eyes see. Structures begin to swim into view, and they like tall figures looking down upon you. It’s difficult to tell what they are at first, but as you wake up, you begin to see, they are not people, or creatures, but long spore-like stalks. Some have ribbed overgrowths that you can see, and some end in growths that ripple and hang over, but have no “cap”. They tower over the bearers, like towering spires and buildings, on all sides, as if they were trapped in a ring of them. As bearers look around them they will notice tall green spires around them as well, and it takes a moment for things to really settle in. Mushrooms. Blades of grass. The springy moss about them is almost as tall as they are, low to the ground. There are pebbles that appear as boulders, and the thunderous steps nearby indicate an insect or arachnid walking by, far larger than you. There is a stillness to this space, like a held breath, and as the bearers awake, and regard one another, and then to the center of the circle is – a small effigy in the center.
It is here, the Exalt Oracle, and you feel compelled to regard it, before you are given a pang down to your core. It compels you – pleads, asks, begs, and demands, all in one – for what it wishes for. Precious mementos and precious items that they are missing. They have been lost, and they are somewhere within the Liosachán. It beseeches the bearers to return its items, and begs they be returned here to the circle. There are no words, but there is a pleading sensation, a feeling that these items are treasured by this Oracle.
You feel at your sides, your pockets, and find one item on your person, a weapon, a companion, whatever it is you would bring with you to the conflict, shrunk down to a tiny size with you.
Stay steadfast, bearers, and capture the
SURVIVAL OF THE SMALLEST ( DAYS 1 - 5 )
Unlike the still, stale apocalypse that had been the setting of the Iconoclast Oracle, the greenhouse is lush and vibrant with activity.
The Effigy present within yearns to be reunited with what belongs to it, fixated upon the five items lost within the greenhouse. The swell of its longing fills all Shardbearers, urging them to take action, claim the items and present all five to it to attain victory for that Faction.
Over a period of ten days, Shardbearers of both factions will have to navigate environmental dangers, and the normal procession of time, as the greenhouse is going about its daily routine. Workers plod around like towering goliaths, weeding and watering and pruning the greenhouse's contents. The Liosachán's native population of fae begin to take notice of the newcomers in their midst, emerging from grassy mounds hidden in the natural landscape to spy and pry about the newness surrounding them.
For Shardbearers demonstrating particular selflessness, favoring the protection and defense of another, the Effigy responds warmly from the third day onward — rewarding them with a sign of their dutiful nature towards others in the form of fairy wings, the form of which are unique to the Shardbearer themselves.
DAY FOUR. The sudden thunderous sound of a storm begins. No, not a storm, the tumble and crash of water pouring down upon the greenhouse — the workers of the Liosachán perform their routines faithfully, after all. In watering the garden, the danger of the environment threatens to overtake Shardbearers and their work alike. Drops of water fall, their size equal or larger than even the tallest of characters, and trickles of water muddy the ground in the form of raging rapids.
The security of Meridian and Zenith's camps is even called into question, because as simple as the act of watering a garden is, it is a nightmarish situation for such itty bitty Bearers to be in!
DAY FIVE. By day five, the fae of the Liosachán no longer lurk and linger in the corner of one's eye. They make themselves known, having prepared a banquet below one of the mushrooms, within sight of the Effigy. A table draped in spider-silk lace awaits any Bearer who comes near enough, the sagging piece of driftwood polished to a gleam with golden sap, leaving it waterproofed and pretty to behold. A handful of corks serve as seating, with most of the fae draping themselves across scraps of cotton as though they are simply at a picnic.
They invitingly wave to Shardbearers, chattering brightly in their foreign, lilting tongue, waving tiny sandwiches and little clay pots full of jams and honeys, brandishing sugared berries that they bite into with gusto, staining their arms and faces in swathes of blue and red. They clearly are welcoming to whomever comes upon them, urging them to avail themselves to the bounty they have prepared. Perhaps some characters know better than to eat the food of the fae, recalling legends and lore about the mystical properties and implicit bargains made in becoming a guest. Perhaps some have no idea, and are simply hungry enough to dig in!
The Effigy present within yearns to be reunited with what belongs to it, fixated upon the five items lost within the greenhouse. The swell of its longing fills all Shardbearers, urging them to take action, claim the items and present all five to it to attain victory for that Faction.
Over a period of ten days, Shardbearers of both factions will have to navigate environmental dangers, and the normal procession of time, as the greenhouse is going about its daily routine. Workers plod around like towering goliaths, weeding and watering and pruning the greenhouse's contents. The Liosachán's native population of fae begin to take notice of the newcomers in their midst, emerging from grassy mounds hidden in the natural landscape to spy and pry about the newness surrounding them.
Naturally curious, and equally dangerous, the fae of the Liosachán are Highstorm natives. They range in cool coloration, from soft violet-greys to deep stormy blues, and wear clothes fashioned from of goods pilfered from the pockets of workers, dropped on the ground or handcrafted from the environment itself. Wielding bits of copper tightly wound into blades and spears, they are a ferocious and cunning little people who seek to trick, trap and toy with Shardbearers. Direct violence is anathema to them, but violence that happens as a result of falling to one of their ploys is a badge of honor.DAY ONE - THREE. The Effigy initially urges Shardbearers to build bases of operation for defense and practicality, as surviving ten days without supporting one another is a surefire way to meet a grisly, tiny little end. Resources must be gathered: gather food and water, prepare shelter, establish unity and organization and prepare to set off into the wilds soon.
For Shardbearers demonstrating particular selflessness, favoring the protection and defense of another, the Effigy responds warmly from the third day onward — rewarding them with a sign of their dutiful nature towards others in the form of fairy wings, the form of which are unique to the Shardbearer themselves.
DAY FOUR. The sudden thunderous sound of a storm begins. No, not a storm, the tumble and crash of water pouring down upon the greenhouse — the workers of the Liosachán perform their routines faithfully, after all. In watering the garden, the danger of the environment threatens to overtake Shardbearers and their work alike. Drops of water fall, their size equal or larger than even the tallest of characters, and trickles of water muddy the ground in the form of raging rapids.
The security of Meridian and Zenith's camps is even called into question, because as simple as the act of watering a garden is, it is a nightmarish situation for such itty bitty Bearers to be in!
DAY FIVE. By day five, the fae of the Liosachán no longer lurk and linger in the corner of one's eye. They make themselves known, having prepared a banquet below one of the mushrooms, within sight of the Effigy. A table draped in spider-silk lace awaits any Bearer who comes near enough, the sagging piece of driftwood polished to a gleam with golden sap, leaving it waterproofed and pretty to behold. A handful of corks serve as seating, with most of the fae draping themselves across scraps of cotton as though they are simply at a picnic.
They invitingly wave to Shardbearers, chattering brightly in their foreign, lilting tongue, waving tiny sandwiches and little clay pots full of jams and honeys, brandishing sugared berries that they bite into with gusto, staining their arms and faces in swathes of blue and red. They clearly are welcoming to whomever comes upon them, urging them to avail themselves to the bounty they have prepared. Perhaps some characters know better than to eat the food of the fae, recalling legends and lore about the mystical properties and implicit bargains made in becoming a guest. Perhaps some have no idea, and are simply hungry enough to dig in!
UNWILLING TEN-ANTS ( DAYS SIX - EIGHT )
The scuttling, scrabbling feet of ants crawling over surfaces, winding their way through this grassy playground, has become normal. Their feet thunder as they go about their business, and it seems to be a normal cadence to life here in the underbrush, in the greenhouse. It is normal, and it is has become nothing to really concern oneself with. They are ants, after all, what do they do, but work? Endlessly, continuously.
That is, until the heavy, loud sounds of their feet draw closer to whatever place that the bearers have found to camp in. Whether solitary or as a group, these workers are no longer content to simply ignore the bearers, but they are a curiosity, perhaps even a bother. You have disrupted their lifestyle. The sleepy pattern of obtain food, return ot the hive, and back out again now has obstacles. Now there are not simply the fairies, who live their own lives and existences, a part of the ecosystem, but now there are these tiny bearers. Fighting, working together, arguing and disagreeing.
You are disruptive to their way of life.
The ants have come to collect on this due, and some bearers that are vulnerable, or perhaps merely caught, are taken away, your weight so light compared to the rest of their burdens that they carry. The strength of these ants is overwhelming, incredible at this size, and try as you might, if you are caught in their strong mandibles, you cannot escape. An ant, after all, carries 1000 times their weight with those powerful jaws. You, bearer, are nothing to them.
They squirrel away the bearers within their hill, a complicated network of tunnels, junctions, and large spaces. Down within, where the air becomes stifling, and stale. The ants guard their pray, and you get the distinct sense that they see you not as people, not even as enemies, but as prey. You will be food – perhaps to the eggs that are gathered within this room, where you can see the stirring of new life, just beneath the surface. You may not have very long to live, if these little larvae get their mouths on you.
Or perhaps, your friends will save you? Once it is discovered that bearers are missing, the trail of ant prints on the ground is apparent – they are not stealthy creatures – and the feet lead from the locations of several kidnapped bearers toward the grainy ant hill that lies not far away. The hill itself swarms with life, with worker ants all over the surface, scuttling about, looking for the next meal for te colony. Or perhaps for more bearers to bring back for their young.
It will be dangerous, bearers, to save your friends. Should you choose to do so, you will be kicking the anthill, and the ants will protect what is theirs. Even if they just took it. Those bearers belong to them, now! Rescuers will find not only your average worker ant, ready to defend, but winged male ants will attack from above, and deeper, within the nest, near where the bearers are kept, lies the strongest ant in the colony: The Queen. Staggeringly large, strong, and vicious, when her subjects begin dying. She will do everything in her power to protect her colony, and that includes killing bearers, if need be. Or trying, at least.
Good luck rescuing your friends, bearers!
That is, until the heavy, loud sounds of their feet draw closer to whatever place that the bearers have found to camp in. Whether solitary or as a group, these workers are no longer content to simply ignore the bearers, but they are a curiosity, perhaps even a bother. You have disrupted their lifestyle. The sleepy pattern of obtain food, return ot the hive, and back out again now has obstacles. Now there are not simply the fairies, who live their own lives and existences, a part of the ecosystem, but now there are these tiny bearers. Fighting, working together, arguing and disagreeing.
You are disruptive to their way of life.
The ants have come to collect on this due, and some bearers that are vulnerable, or perhaps merely caught, are taken away, your weight so light compared to the rest of their burdens that they carry. The strength of these ants is overwhelming, incredible at this size, and try as you might, if you are caught in their strong mandibles, you cannot escape. An ant, after all, carries 1000 times their weight with those powerful jaws. You, bearer, are nothing to them.
They squirrel away the bearers within their hill, a complicated network of tunnels, junctions, and large spaces. Down within, where the air becomes stifling, and stale. The ants guard their pray, and you get the distinct sense that they see you not as people, not even as enemies, but as prey. You will be food – perhaps to the eggs that are gathered within this room, where you can see the stirring of new life, just beneath the surface. You may not have very long to live, if these little larvae get their mouths on you.
Or perhaps, your friends will save you? Once it is discovered that bearers are missing, the trail of ant prints on the ground is apparent – they are not stealthy creatures – and the feet lead from the locations of several kidnapped bearers toward the grainy ant hill that lies not far away. The hill itself swarms with life, with worker ants all over the surface, scuttling about, looking for the next meal for te colony. Or perhaps for more bearers to bring back for their young.
It will be dangerous, bearers, to save your friends. Should you choose to do so, you will be kicking the anthill, and the ants will protect what is theirs. Even if they just took it. Those bearers belong to them, now! Rescuers will find not only your average worker ant, ready to defend, but winged male ants will attack from above, and deeper, within the nest, near where the bearers are kept, lies the strongest ant in the colony: The Queen. Staggeringly large, strong, and vicious, when her subjects begin dying. She will do everything in her power to protect her colony, and that includes killing bearers, if need be. Or trying, at least.
Good luck rescuing your friends, bearers!
IN SMALL PACKAGES ( DAYS NINE - TEN )
The day after the ant-pocalypse brings with it the brush of recognition — the Effigy has foreseen the likely victors, and calls to them to approach it once they have suitably recovered. It judges them the ones whom are most devoted to what binds them, loyal to memory and remembrance, and begins to clamor for them to restore to it what belongs rightfully. Thus begins a full day of resting, locating last-minute items, shoring up defenses and preparing for the sprint to the finish line.
Certainly your rivals will not allow you to simply walk to the Effigy unassailed and unchallenged.
Eat, rest, ensure your fellows are close and bolstered, for tomorrow begins the final rally.
On the morning of the tenth day, Meridian Shardbearers approach the Effigy with its five items in hand. In the midst of the mushroom ring, the Effigy stands as it had in the beginning — arms outstretched and back bowed skyward, gnarled fingers seeking contact with that which has been lost to it. It awaits, it strains, and even as it does, it requires one last test of ability. From the shadows of the towering mushrooms, the rasp of scale and soft hiss of a great beast descends upon the fae ring.
A gleaming garden snake, with glossy black and green stripes, blocks the way between approaching Shardbearers and the Effigy.
Between its bright eyes, pressed upon its brow is a scattering of brighter scales that appear to be in the shape of a delicate, three-leafed plant with spiraling patterns for leaves. It braces itself against the approach, and there is no doubt that to claim victory, the serpent must be subdued. Though Meridian approaches with victory in hand, they have not yet attained it — their rival faction and this beast remain in their way.
Certainly your rivals will not allow you to simply walk to the Effigy unassailed and unchallenged.
Eat, rest, ensure your fellows are close and bolstered, for tomorrow begins the final rally.
On the morning of the tenth day, Meridian Shardbearers approach the Effigy with its five items in hand. In the midst of the mushroom ring, the Effigy stands as it had in the beginning — arms outstretched and back bowed skyward, gnarled fingers seeking contact with that which has been lost to it. It awaits, it strains, and even as it does, it requires one last test of ability. From the shadows of the towering mushrooms, the rasp of scale and soft hiss of a great beast descends upon the fae ring.
A gleaming garden snake, with glossy black and green stripes, blocks the way between approaching Shardbearers and the Effigy.
Between its bright eyes, pressed upon its brow is a scattering of brighter scales that appear to be in the shape of a delicate, three-leafed plant with spiraling patterns for leaves. It braces itself against the approach, and there is no doubt that to claim victory, the serpent must be subdued. Though Meridian approaches with victory in hand, they have not yet attained it — their rival faction and this beast remain in their way.
MISSING LINKS ( THROUGHOUT )
As the Effigy desires to be reunited with what belongs to it, the swell of its longing stirs something more within all present Shardbearers.
With that foreign longing arrives knowledge: beyond the five items prized by the Effigy itself, there are other lost things within the greenhouse. Like a compass, each Shardbearer's mind points them in direction after direction, urging them to seek and explore. Implicitly, the thrum of comprehension fills your mind: these are things that do not belong to you, per se, but seek to have your hands ferry them home.
Amidst tangled brush, hidden under doffed acorn cap, tucked away in the belly of a fae's glittering den, lost in the depths of a puddle of spilled water that seems an insurmountable lake now, folded secretly into the petals of a towering, skyscraper-like flower, there are three additional items hidden within the tumultuous landscape that each Shardbearer feels a draw towards. Things that belong to someone else, eager to be reunited with them, but subject to whim.
Upon locating and retrieving one, the Shardbearer is filled with a sense of information — they know who this item belongs to, and they will know that they have a choice. Bonds are fragile things after all, and they exist to be enforced or abused, in order to advance a goal or to deepen a connection. How will you treat someone's precious bond? How will they treat yours?
With that foreign longing arrives knowledge: beyond the five items prized by the Effigy itself, there are other lost things within the greenhouse. Like a compass, each Shardbearer's mind points them in direction after direction, urging them to seek and explore. Implicitly, the thrum of comprehension fills your mind: these are things that do not belong to you, per se, but seek to have your hands ferry them home.
Amidst tangled brush, hidden under doffed acorn cap, tucked away in the belly of a fae's glittering den, lost in the depths of a puddle of spilled water that seems an insurmountable lake now, folded secretly into the petals of a towering, skyscraper-like flower, there are three additional items hidden within the tumultuous landscape that each Shardbearer feels a draw towards. Things that belong to someone else, eager to be reunited with them, but subject to whim.
Upon locating and retrieving one, the Shardbearer is filled with a sense of information — they know who this item belongs to, and they will know that they have a choice. Bonds are fragile things after all, and they exist to be enforced or abused, in order to advance a goal or to deepen a connection. How will you treat someone's precious bond? How will they treat yours?
NOTES
Here are some prompts to set the scene and foundation of the Exalt Oracle!
— The theme of this Oracle is a loose edition of capture the flag, where the Effigy's items can pass through multiple hands within the ten day allotment.
— For additional ideas and fun, it is known that several Shardbearers have concluded their efforts to fulfill the Greenwood Yards' sidequest request.
— All details of the Exalt Oracle can be found here, and questions for the mods can be submitted here.
— For additional ideas and fun, it is known that several Shardbearers have concluded their efforts to fulfill the Greenwood Yards' sidequest request.
— All details of the Exalt Oracle can be found here, and questions for the mods can be submitted here.
no subject
He stands there and waits, still trying to see if his eyes will pick up on anything once the photograph vanishes from the air. The vampire eyes won't do him any good here, it seems. But his nose isn't so bad. Not that he likes what he smells.
Finally, he heads after the smell. He's not in any hurry, taking his time and being cautious.]
Think it was a fae...?
[The strange, old and decrepit voice is surprisingly quiet. D shushes it just in case, not trusting invisibility, light refraction, whatever it might be. His eyes lower, and he pauses his pursuit. Footprints....? And small, too, like they are. Hm.
He continues his slow chase.]
no subject
It clung to him, like a cloud, and he kept creeping away, his feet slow, but steady. The voice --
He turned his head, and squinted.
There was still only one person. Right?
Was there someone else invisible?
He ducked behind a large blade of grass, and waited -- to see if the man would continue pursuit.
His fingers touched the photo, and he considered sending him (bad vibes) a hex of a sort through the connection to his artifact, but not yet. No need to be obvious about it, right? ]
no subject
It's a somewhat familiar smell he could pick out of the overwhelming smells of the market when he met Silco the first time. If anyone smelled like anything related to cigars, it's Silco. Something heavier and richer than the smoke hanging around someone like Gen.]
Return the photograph, [his voice rises briskly, but not loudly, through the air,] and I'll let you go.
[Very like (grits teeth) inwardly about the next part.]
What do you want for it?
no subject
So it is with a soft chuff of amusement that D's words are accepted. What does he want for it? For the end to all of this, he could say, for Zenith to find victory and for this all to be silenced. He does not think of this as giving up as much as he does...
Lashing out at a world that refuses to give him even a scrap.
So he picks out the photograph — he hadn't even bothered to look at it, and holds it between two fingers. ]
You want it?
[ It's derisive, though he starts to move, not away from the man this time, but toward him. ]
You'll pay the price for it. With your own suffering, of course.
[ This time, he doesThat was probably sufficient negative energy toward the man for what he wanted to achieve, was it not?
He dropped the photograph from between two fingers, and it fluttered back into vision as soon as he let it go. ]
no subject
It quickly becomes such a bad thing when Silco's voice is what peels out of the air like a Cheshire cat.]
Don't.
[The warning is undoubtedly futile, but he gives it anyway. The photograph winks into view, spinning gracefully toward the ground. He jerks toward it and reaches out, but for some reason... begins... falling? He's falling toward the ground, and the cape around him is much too large, tangling him.
No, he doesn't fall...? His chest and arms and hands don't come with any impact. No, he's standing there swallowed up by a long cape and over-sized pauldrons. The only thing that has really shrunken is the bodysuit, the cape. The long, dark hair has receded into something cropped close to his face, too.]
no subject
Nobody here, at least. Though the fact that other people had loved ones that waited for them was not... exactly something that Silco bothered to consider for more than the briefest of moments.
He considered, for a moment, driving his heel into the photo, into the mud. Considered the casual cruelty. He could almost see it in his mind's eye, doing it, fully destroying it before him. It was tempting. Really, truly tempting.
He didn't, however, but he did laugh, a short, dark sound. ]
Guess it will be a bit harder to move around now, hm? Should take better care of your things, I think. Especially reminders of home.
[ Says Silco, who's missing his own treasured items, but says nothing about his. ]
no subject
Well! This is decidedly inconvenient!
D shifts around with the clothes, keeping himself from tripping as he crouches down and grasps at the photograph with his smaller hands. He's too tender with it under Silco's goading. Carefully, he inspects it briefly to make sure it hasn't been torn, not knowing Silco's former intentions of destroying it. Not the last little bit he has left of a former world!!]
It was stolen.
[JUST POINTING THAT OUT. He was taking care of it, thank you... D stands up again--to a whopping shorter height.]
Show yourself.
[The voice that comes out of him is just as soft and quiet as it had been, but three times less deep. His baby child voice... so threatening.]
no subject
[ His voice mocks, though clearly, he wasn't about to show himself. He would not make himself an easy target, though the goading continues, a nasty little bark of a chuckle to accompany the words. D has met him, and he can likely imagine the sharp, enjoyable smile on his face, the way he enjoyed rubbing this in just as much as anything else.
Silco had, in all honesty, reacted to the tragedy of his position and birth, by taking it out on everyone else, and the mocking in his tone said, very clearly. that he was enjoying this. ]
I think I shall not.
[ A chuckle, and then: ]
Perhaps I shall leave you to have fun, hm? Isn't that what children are supposed to do?
no subject
Though younger, D is sure he still has quite a bit of strength in him. He could make an attack on the invisible man taunting him, but he does not know what all Kenos has given Silco. Surely Silco of all people, invisible Silco, isn't empty-handed.
The tussle wouldn't be worth it. So D keeps the photograph close to himself, remaining where he's at.]
I won't forget this.
no subject
[ It's chiding, mocking. If sad was the emotion, it was put upon, almost gleeful in the sound of it. He would have enjoyed this, if this world had not thought to take away that which was most precious to him.
It leaves him bitter and vindictive, and everyone is in his path. ]
Well, I suppose I'll just have to be ready for that long memory of yours. Perhaps when you grow a few inches, hm?
[ As it is, he's shorter than Silco, who's short! ]
no subject
But this. He can from this alone what kind of person Silco may be, and, of course, he doesn't care for it. D does not worry so much about himself, but he has a soft spot for children in general.
Without all the hair, it's easy to see how heavily his brow creases. For a young man who rarely emotes before, it's surprising to see how serious he gets at the words. He does not crumple the photograph in his hand, thankfully.]
Do what you will to me, but leave others alone.
no subject
Aw. You want to protect them.
[ It's derisive, again, but he's not done. He lingers at the edge of this space, does not loom over D, but he probably can nearly feel the weight of his unblinking gaze. ]
Too bad.
You all exist. You dare to continue to be here. You stand in my way. I want this world — all of these worlds to fall. To watch them be crushed under the weight of Zenith, and torn apart for the crime of daring to continuing to exist. You too. All of you.
[ The crime of being everyone but his daughter, but he does not say that. None of them need to know how truly broken the man was, how desperately he'd clung to the ghost of his daughter, so much that she'd been here twice, only long enough to leave remnants of her presence and the lingering, nagging doubt that left Silco worried.
What if it hadn't really been her? What if this world only served to torture him, because he dared to try what even those in his faction didn't want to do. They wanted to continue this existence, they wanted to make their venerated new world. No, Silco wanted to destroy it, crush it, ruin it. Them. Every single one of them. He was weak, small, and powerless, but he knew his rage was as fathomless as the bottomless ocean. ]
I will never leave you, or any of them alone. As long as you continue to fight the inevitable.
no subject
But maybe, instead, it is him and Silco.
He also wonders if Silco had always had these ideals. Who hurt Silco for the man to be almost as doubly as bitter as Gen? Just how far is Silco ingrained in the Zenith side of things?
D's little mouth thins. He is still himself for now, but surprisingly feels decidedly small in the wake of Silco's invisible stance. It feels exactly like a child trying to rally before an adult.]
If we all stop existing, so will you. If the worlds are gone, and if another one isn't created, you will share the same fate as all of us. [He assumes this is something that doesn't matter in the least to Silco. The end justify the means.] If not existing doesn't bother you, you can always get it over with whenever you want.
Being gone for good, you won't be bothered with the jealousy of the rest of us living on.
no subject
[ He was an antithesis. Silco wanted to rage, wanted others to suffer, and find suffering in the wake of his actions. He had already suffered enough in his life, after all, but unlike D, he'd never found kindness or connection — except.
Except.
The whole reason he was doing this. The reason he fought so desperately wasn't selfish at all — well. Maybe psychotic, and selfish in its own way, but... ]
I know precisely what will happen at the end of this. I'm not in a rush to meet my end, but when it happens...
I will take the rest of you with me.
[ He doesn't care about Yima's new world, but perhaps... a small part of him wishes to inject this with chaos of its own. It is not Silco who wants to make a perfect world, but he hopes to perfect it, if it is to exist. Give it the one thing he can guarantee will last.
Barring that, he will not allow an existence to continue without his daughter. In exchange for taking her away, he will take everything. ]
no subject
Helping a child onto the right path is a much different endeavor than helping an adult stuck in the trenches.]
What do you think is going to happen?
[He's just curious. Irritated by the ideas Silco is spouting, but curious. Not that he has become swayed by Meridian either. He wants their outcome; something just doesn't sit quite right.]
no subject
As it is, there's a scoff from the air, a breath of laughter. ]
One of two things, child.
[ He says it mockingly, of course. ]
Either we're all taken by Oblivion, and I have helped it along, or...
[ A snort. ] Somehow Yima is right, and some new world comes out of this. Oh, some in Zenith think that we will make a perfect world, but I am not interested in perfection. If this world comes about, I will ensure that there is a dark underside, a monster lurking among them. A predator.
[ Ideally, of course, it would be Jinx, obviously. ]
no subject
All of them here being consumed by Oblivion is actually something he's kept in the back of his mind. Maybe that's real third option--the only option. No worlds reconstruction exists, no new world order exists. What waits for them is their own end, the one they somehow missed before.]
Why?
[He does not believe for a second any world the Zenith side makes won't be this way already. It will be a world exactly like Silco wants because many cannot create a stable world, and who can trust a single person to do so?]
What makes you want to disturb whatever world is made so badly?
no subject
A perfect world meant weak people.
It meant no monsters, no fighting for every scrap of food, every coin. It meant living in the world that the Pilties liked to say they lived in, while never looking under any dark undersides, ignoring what was beneath their feet. Truly, Silco would be a touch more palatable as a person, if it weren't for the fact that he made it everyone's problem, the crime of his birth and survival. ]
Why?
Because I can, boy. Because nothing should exist like that, because it isn't perfect.
[ Then again, Silco's ideas of what was perfect were...A little warped. ]
Don't worry, I'll make sure you get a glimpse of it when all of these oracles are done.
But do try not to trip on your coat, hm?
no subject
You'll be stopped before any of that happens.
[He does not say "we'll stop you" because who knows how many of them will be left when people often arrive and disappear in the blink of an eye. He does not want to say "I will stop you" even if that's feels true; he could very well disappear like all the others, too.
He uses one of his little arms to push the long cape out of the way, giving him room to turn around to leave without tripping over it and ending up face down in the dirt. He keeps the photograph protectively held near his chest this time, not sure if he's turning his back to Silco or not, but not particularly worried either way.]