THE ADVOCATE ORACLE - A RIP VAN WINKLE IN TIME

[beleos]

Sweet dreams are made of Bliss

As the twilight falls, and bearers begin to tuck in for their evenings on the night of the 15th of March (OOC time) and whether they tuck themselves into bed fully, or simply drift away in the middle of their dinner, work, indulgences, or what have you; bearers will fall into a deep, deep sleep. Perhaps you slump in your chair, or you wrap your arms around a teddy bear, or partner, or cup a precious shard in your sleep, it doesn’t matter, because as you drift away, into a sleep that seems to tug you under like the undertow itself, a question will echo in bearer’s minds: “If given the choice, would you show compassion in the face of adversity?”

It sticks with you, even as you fall into a dreamless sleep. As if it rotates in your mind, over and over, letting you worm over that. You know for certain what it is, that it is the calming, soothing voice of the Oracle, reaching out to you across the ether, telling you – promise you – that if you accept its promise, you will find that the Oracle could be in your hands. That thought leads you to dream of something else – of home, or your loved ones – of what you are fighting this war for. Even as you dream, you feel a presence next to you, and unlike the Harbinger’s winding, rough digging, this is more akin to a friend, who is asking you soft, coaxing questions. Things like: what was your childhood like? What were your friends like? What did you do? You cannot help but think of them, think of your home and your loved ones. Of where you came from, and how it made you what you are.

The advocate seeks to understand you, and where you come from. You can feel it, that overwhelming Acceptance and love from it, even as you reminisce, compelled to answer the multitude of questions, you can feel something building behind you, around you. “Don’t you want them all to understand this?” the impression is given through communion, and you cannot help but answer: yes.

Click your Heels together, Dorothy!

As you awake for the first time, it’s alien, the world that meets you. New smells fill your nostrils, new sights, the gravity is perhaps different than you’ve gotten used to on Kenos, even those slight shifts enough to make the world feel wholly different. You remember the advocate’s words, and it wants you to feel what it feels. Understanding. Compassion, and perhaps there is a sense that doing so would hurt yourself in turn, if you understood too much. That is the advocate’s way, after all, isn’t it?

You feel an inexorable, slight tug in your chest. Something subtle and gentle, the slightest of sensations, that gives you a direction. You know it, your mind only just now comprehending the advocate’s confusing impressions via communion, that there is something of this world’s… Soul/center/heart or whatever word you want to use for it. Something about this world that will help you along your path, and help you with the results you so desire. You know it will not guarantee a victory, but surely it will help. Especially as your numbers dwindle from world to world. You are left with an impression from the Advocate -- if you die, they cannot bring you back. There is apology in this, but alone, one oracle is limited. Only united, can they truly change your fate.

The lingering presence of the advocate starts to fade. You know this is a bearer’s world, if not your own. You look around, to see perhaps a familiar face nearby? Or perhaps you are alone. Does it matter? You know that this place belongs to a bearer, but whether they are a friend or an enemy, one has to begin to determine that. You’ll need your wits, you’ll need your strength and resolve to make it to the end of this, won’t you?

After all, as bearers were recently reminded: this is War. This is not simply the fate of this world, but perhaps all, as it will require you to find the answer to this question. So you start to move, you start to look around, explore, and search. For the soul of each world, for the bearers that lie dreaming within, and your foes that will seek you out. Stay steadfast, for the way out will come, if you make it to the end. The longer you spend in each world, however, the more the shadows look darker, and deeper. Hungrier. The more the spaces seem smaller or compressed. As if there is something gnawing away at the sides, making their way to the heart.

Around the world in 60 seconds 12 hours

When you find yourself at the end, when you close your eyes – only a blink, but it hangs, as if the momentary motion is enough to suspend you into a suspended space before. You can see the two options stretched out before you – metaphysically – the impression of it. A long, long shadow cast over one. As if there is a presence hovering over and above, like waiting jaws, ready to strike. In the other, there remains…nothing. It is not pleasant, it is not comforting, it simply… is. A sense that there is now a lack of anything, almost like it had never existed before.

Does this world have value? You can feel the Advocate ask. Do you want to give them a chance to live? Or does should this world cease, is there nothing here to save?

And though you are compelled, required to answer, you know this question for what it is. Short-sighted. Both, in the end, will lead to its destruction, but which will you choose? Will you allow the world to continue, even with that long shadow cast, like a hungry beast with snapping jaws; or will you erase it from existence and spare it that oncoming apocalypse?

Catch [???] Winks

The last world’s fate decided, bearers float in an endless sea of stars. You can see them all, spread before you. Intermittently, they wink out, swallowed into the darkness, consumed as the shadows, that inky-black nothingness grows ever-larger. It looks upon you, bearers. It is nothing, but you have its attention, and your blood runs cold, your limbs frozen. You cannot move, you cannot speak, you cannot breathe. You feel it, the power of being drawn into it, like it wants to consume you. Like it knows you.

T̸̢̼̯͓̬̘́̀̋̆͊h̷͔̣̱̝͍̬̣͕̄̂͗̆͒͌͜ͅẹ̶̱̩̅͒̿̇͠ ̵̭̹͇͖̔̀ṃ̸̢̧͙̟̼̜͌͆̍͝͝ͅo̴̟̞̓̆̇̐̆͊̽͆̂̀r̶͈̺̮̠͙̗͌ę̸̤̻̈́͐͂̓̊͐̂͆ ̵̡̛͎̩̳̤͔͚̱̼̆̒̓y̴̺̞̹̺̝̤͂ǫ̷̡̣̱̥͊̈́̓͑̕͘ű̵̼͜͜ ̶̨̨̝̟̘̱͇̲̻̪̊͂̽̈̒͊f̴̱̐͌̌̓̋̔́̀͝i̶͖̤͎̬̝̦͒̂g̸̳̰̟̀̓̽̈́̐h̸̼͍̮͎̊̅͗͊̈͋̽̀͘t̴͔͚́̓,̷̨̧̱̠̙̠̙̱̒̍̽̾ ̷̖̰̼̬̟͐̊̂t̶̖̄͂̅̃̍͐̊̑̅͜͝h̴̢̛͙̪̞̫̝̺̋̅̿͛̇̚͝͝ͅͅȩ̶͉̤͍̠́̈͑̏͋̚͘͝ ̸̢̨̧͚̖̤̪̬̪̀̉̐͗̂͆͑̚̕̚c̴̠̩̳͎̲̪͔̟̈́͂̉͑́l̶̡̲̻̣̘̏́ͅo̶̢̧͔͈̬̳̰͈̝̻͌̋̆̃͒͗̏͘ş̴̪̺̣̥̎̽̿͗̒́͛̕̚̚e̴̺͍̤͖͂̇͑͂̋͂̆̾r̴̨̩̈́͋͠ ̷̧͚̲̩̖̋͒̉́͗y̶̘̖̝̑̈͊ǒ̵͚̽u̵͎͍̇̀̏̊̕͝ŕ̷͎̜̘͙̀̋ ̶͇̲̝̞̖̝̣̘̝̬͋d̷͔͈͔̀̿õ̴̝̯͇̹̘̏͗͜ö̵͚͓͆m̵͉̦̫̥̦̞̫͐̆͐̿͊͒͌͋͜.̷̼͈̻̥̜̾̏͐̾̐͆͘͜

You gasp, as you startle awake, and open your eyes for the first time in a long time.

CODING

Comments

[warmare]

Wh-

[What just happened? The metal things she had seen flying through the air here and there, one of them appeared seemingly out of nowhere, the demon went rigid, and he- ?!

The spell she had been reaching for dissipates before it can take form as Hayame suddenly rears up in attempt to intercept the demon in a way that would not give him an advantage, forelegs lashing out like a charger and human hands reaching to grab him by the front of his clothing, ready to take advantage of whatever this was and slam him to the ground until-

A zap, and then the same paralysis that had affected him affects her, in turn, from a drone that has zipped up from her blindspot, ready with whatever sort of sci-fi strength stun gun that can take out demons and one-ton-jinba. Her body jerks, she rips the man's clothes half-open as she spasms with electric pulses, and even though there should be other concerns, like the pain of her body crashing down to the ground, the confusion over what had happened to arrest her movement...

The only thing she is concerned about... is that the shard she catches a glimpse of on the demon's chest is faintly glowing with Meridian.]

[cutlery]

[ He can’t exactly move in the moment, but he still braces himself, if only mentally. This is a bad situation, and for a moment he considers unfurling himself. If his body doesn’t work, then he’ll simply abandon it entirely just to survive, but… It doesn’t end up being necessary.

It all happens in moments where Hayame half-catches him, but she tumbles as well. His shirt rips as he falls back, exposing his Shard and the thin, black line like a ribbon around his neck, but he doesn’t even think of either. He hits the ground hard, and he feels the white-hot pain of his shoulder dislocating from the rough landing. It could have been worse, but it still winds him, though it only turns into a snarl.

His handsome features twist up into something more animalistic as he looks from Hayame and then to the drone still hovering close by. His eyes are shining with murderous intent, and his teeth are bared like he might rip out someone’s throat if it was too close. He starts to push himself up on the good arm, though his muscles scream for it. The body he wore was no more than a mask or a costume, so he could push it past natural limits, but it still hurt to do so.

The drones have started to speak at this point. One starts to explain the rules of the station, that violence is not permitted, but the other is focused on Sebastian. It warns him to stay down and stop resisting, but he ignores it. He’ll rip it into pieces, he thinks, but. He doesn’t get a chance to do that either.

He’s not stunned again as he expects, but a different sort of gun fires. It’s like bolas made of some sort of material that Sebastian won’t be able to identify, and it wraps tightly around his chest and then constricts to pin his arms firmly in place at his sides. He hisses sharply for how it jostles his arm, but not so much as the second stunning shot that has him fall back down. His expression is furious as his face is pressed into the smooth ground… But he stays there this time. It might at least save Hayame from learning the same lesson. ]

[warmare]

[If she breaks, sprains, twists, or bruises something... Hayame does not even notice. She does not even feel it, and she won't until later, because now... No. She must have hit her head. She must have been knocked silly, she must be hallucinating... because in what reality is this demon a member of the Meridian faction? He was a Zenite, and he had always been a Zenite, and why would he be anything else? What could convince a thing like that to suddenly care about its world and want to preserve it? Hadn't... Hadn't he accused Meridian of corrupting his shard? Was there not more cause than ever for them to be enemies?

Her mind is moving what feels like a mile a minute... but outside of her stunned body, things are not moving nearly as fast as she thinks they are. She struggles to get up herself, legs twitching and arms too stiff to be much use, but what she really needs to move is her jaw. Lips curl back, her own fangs are raised, but they are not bared at the drones.]

Why-

[Why are you Meridian? won't come out, her throat is too tight and her teeth too clenched, the pulses from the drone's stunning abilities coursing through her body. She tries, and guttural, useless noises are all that comes out until she manages another brief, snarled,]

How- ?

[How could what she dedicated her life and efforts to accept the thing that had had--]

[cutlery]

[ It takes him a bit longer the second time around to move, since it hurts in a way that Sebastian really isn’t accustomed to. He’s experienced a lot of creative ways to hurt and “die” in his long life, but high voltage of this sort is solidly something well past the realm of 19th century England. With a partial groan, he pushes himself up a little, though it’s awkward because of the restraints. ]

Why would I have any—

[ Sebastian starts to retort sharply, since from her words and surprise alone, he assumes she’s questioning whatever the drones have done. It’s not until he’s able to sit up further and look at her again that he sees where her eyes have fallen, and…

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, but it’s followed with a heavy sigh. He knew it would be found out eventually, but what an irritating way for it to come about. He would have much preferred it to be a revelation much more under his control rather than left up to chance. So, in his annoyance and his lingering pain, he defaults to a sharp bitterness to match it. After all, just that question, ”how”, that comes with its own problems. ]

A question I cannot answer, as it turns out.

[ As Sebastian and Hayame both deal with their separate problems, the two drones seem to make their own decision, and they hover nearby each of them. There’s a definite sense that they’re continuing to observe the pair like chaperones. Chaperdrones, one could say… ]

[warmare]

[No. Hayame is not asking about the drones. She barely cares about them, isn't even letting them affect her like they normally would, their flight and metal-bodies so far beyond the technology she is used to that it should shock and terrify the mind of a woman from times medieval. The only thing she cares about is that they are stopping her from attacking the demon not feet away from her.

The one who, as she should have expected... provides an unsatisfactory response to her demands. A near bestial snarl of anger is all she can manage until the electricity? finishes coursing through her system and her muscles finally begin to unclench, her limbs to respond and her jaw to open properly.]

You-

[The thing she had hated for taking her eye and gloating with it like some freakish monster... that had cemented that hatred into a seemingly permeated rot at each encounter. Whether it had been his smug voice in her head after the nymph's false "test", on the Scorching Isles when he had smirked over how disliked she was in comparison him, the demon wearing a handsome face and using pretty words, or the far more damning humiliation he had visited upon her without warning in that stink-filled, too-bright "operating room" in Kowloon...

The betrayal in her eye(s) is furious and brilliant as she tries to lunge forward and lay hands upon him again.]

You will answer it, you demon piece of-

[- It might have been a dramatic moment, emotional and fraught, if one of the chaperone drones had not chosen that moment to decide that the centaur's movements did not constitute another attack, and her fingers close not upon the demon's throat but on themselves in a seize of quaking paralysis as she is hit with another round of stunning force.]

[cutlery]

[ Sebastian has learned the lesson at this point, at least as long as those little machines continue to hover around the area. He watches her face and body contort with rage, but since he has a good feeling for how these “work” now, he doesn’t bother moving himself. As soon as she lunges towards him, the predictable happens, and he just watches with a withering stare. ]

I cannot.

[ He says it more emphatically this time, and with a glance to the drone, he starts to carefully, slowly move to at least sit himself up. That’s better than being bound on the floor rather humiliatingly. Since his movements are slow and peaceful, it allows it, at least. ]

You should be pleased that Zenith was successful in driving me away.

[warmare]

[Instead of closing around his throat, her fingers spasm and scramble on the smooth metal ship flooring, saved from breaking nails only by the fact that she kept them trimmed to the wick for her archery. Instead of sinking her teeth into his flesh and ripping, she nearly accidentally shreds her own bottom lip accidentally biting down when the taser courses more powerfully through her body. But the second she is able to force words out of her throat again, even if she still can't force her head up or her body right-]

You have a tongue don't you? So use it and answer--

[Him saying he "cannot", to a woman who from a world without magic and spells, to one who does not know enough about such things still to have her mind automatically go to some sort of geas or binding... it makes no sense. All she has instead is rage, and the snarl.

Though it hasn't truly sunk in yet, and will not for one world, two, three-

Pleased?

In what universe would someone be pleased to see their torturer any closer than the opposing side?]