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Entry tags:
tournament event | meanwhile, on the island...
CHARACTERS: Any and all characters who have opted-out or died in the tournament.
DATE: May 17th (day 45)
RATING: PG-13 forAnders emotional trauma, monsters, and possible injuries oh my!
SUMMARY: There's posters literally covering the inside of the shrine where characters wake up, as well as plastering both sides of the wall and many dorm doors and building windows. They're flying about the beach, littering the water and caught in outreaching branches of the Forest. There are that many. CUBE PLOT REVEALED!
The island is eerily deserted, the only sounds audible the waves crashing on the rocky beach, the rustling of paper-- posters snarled in Forest branches, twisting and turning in the winds catching them on the beaches and in the compound-- and the few monsters rummaging around in the abandoned buildings for food. There aren't many, and all the gates are open for all walks to come and go as they please. It's only been a few hours when the first people start arriving, and yet...
...The compound is a ghost town, as it was 45 Days ago. Things have changed, certainly. Buildings have been colored by its various inhabitants; fixed, destroyed, improved, blood spatters outlining previous deaths, scorch marks and other untoward changes. For now, anyway, is a quiet time to reflect on that as its been emptied of its current population.
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The general silence on the island is interrupted at infrequent intervals by a train whistle, low and long and coming from the Forest.
( ooc: As always, remember to tag the entry with your character name! If you have a bigbig open plot you'd like pimped out, just let me (Jamie) know via IM or private plurk and I'll get your thread linked from the top here. c:
Please try to keep all threading inside the organizational threads; but if you have an open/island-wide plot you'd like to run, feel free to run it by me and I'll give you the OK to post it as a new thread! )
DATE: May 17th (day 45)
RATING: PG-13 for
SUMMARY: There's posters literally covering the inside of the shrine where characters wake up, as well as plastering both sides of the wall and many dorm doors and building windows. They're flying about the beach, littering the water and caught in outreaching branches of the Forest. There are that many. CUBE PLOT REVEALED!
The island is eerily deserted, the only sounds audible the waves crashing on the rocky beach, the rustling of paper-- posters snarled in Forest branches, twisting and turning in the winds catching them on the beaches and in the compound-- and the few monsters rummaging around in the abandoned buildings for food. There aren't many, and all the gates are open for all walks to come and go as they please. It's only been a few hours when the first people start arriving, and yet...
...The compound is a ghost town, as it was 45 Days ago. Things have changed, certainly. Buildings have been colored by its various inhabitants; fixed, destroyed, improved, blood spatters outlining previous deaths, scorch marks and other untoward changes. For now, anyway, is a quiet time to reflect on that as its been emptied of its current population.
-----
The general silence on the island is interrupted at infrequent intervals by a train whistle, low and long and coming from the Forest.
( ooc: As always, remember to tag the entry with your character name! If you have a bigbig open plot you'd like pimped out, just let me (Jamie) know via IM or private plurk and I'll get your thread linked from the top here. c:
Please try to keep all threading inside the organizational threads; but if you have an open/island-wide plot you'd like to run, feel free to run it by me and I'll give you the OK to post it as a new thread! )
RE-ARRIVAL
Anyone who wakes, revived, back on the island will quickly be shooed out of the Shrine in their annoyance. You may be spared a few moments if you help them remove the posters, but why would you want to do that? Who knows what angry spirits will do to you for sticking around. ]
OPEN
But it happened. It happened to him and perhaps a number of others he's not sure of yet.
He only moves when someone tells him to leave and he does notice the posters out of the corner of his eye, but doesn't get the chance to read any. Not that his first reaction was to read them anyways.
At the very least, someone can see him and while he moves slowly, he notices he's still able to walk. Not floating or flying out of the room. Relief washes over him at that. He wasn't ready to die and being a ghost wasn't something he wanted to experience.
To be sure, outside the shrine he stares at his hands. Not see through or anything. After a couple seconds, Seto hovers one hand over the other and hesitantly pinches himself. It hurts. To be 100% sure, Seto smacks one with the other. Still hurts and his body is warm. ]
...I'm alive?
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[that was the first thought through his mind; the second followed the lines of ow, neck and she has to make it. he sat up as soon as he was able, waited a moment for his hearts to catch up. when the third thought turned out to be not cool at all, there was almost a laugh, hands ruffling through his hair, patting his chest, knees, elbows, hands-- all the same. good. that was good. that was very good.]
[feeling death actually reach him without any chance at regeneration had struck something deep and awful, something he'd admittedly thought he might have lost, but it was a disquieting, tense feeling, one that wouldn't be helping him here. not that he was ... sure what to help yet- oh. oh, look, a flyer.]
[relatively speaking, he was up and out of the Shrine in no time, but he was also wobbly, groggy, sore, clutching the flyer with maybe a little too much force and squinting at it as if staring into a light. not that his thoughts were actually on the idea of a train, as much as he tried - they kept going back to the arena, trying to find something else they could have done, what she was going to be set to do (not an entire procession of battles, certainly? he didn't know, he had to accept that), why his vision kept swimming, why he was still him, that was another good one-- well, virtual reality, that could be marked as confirmed, mayb-]
[oof.]
... Ergh-- er, whoa, ah, sorry! Sorry! Are you alright? Everything in order?
[he'd stumbled back three paces, nearly fell flat - it hadn't been that big of a bump, but he hadn't been expecting any lower-than-elbow level persons in the least. as it stood, he could barely get his mind to focus fully on the boy, never mind pull up recognition or go beyond swaying himself back upright, stepping forward in a fluster to possibly help.]
[seemed as if he'd dropped his flyer, too; oh well. not as if there were a shortage of those.]
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-- though the fact that she's still capable of physical reactions would be indicative of how Kei is also as apparently alive as he is. Cautiously, she bends to be closer to his eye level]
I am too. [a pause, and she considers the other people being turned out of the shrine] I think we all are.
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OPEN
For a moment his breath comes in startled gasps, still, and it's weird, because he doesn't think that there's supposed to be breath after he's dead. There isn't supposed to be anything, and Alec's frozen with fear at the thought that he's been wrong, that he's now going to have to Answer or plead and either way that there is no end.
As his eyes start to focus again and the shrine maidens push him up it occurs to Alec that this isn't any sort of afterlife. It's an enormous relief, and he lets himself be shooed out, only to stare at the ground outside the building where he is.
He's still alive.
Richard will be happy.
Except that he doesn't seem to be here.
Alec doesn't know what to do, so he stays standing there, looking down. ]
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OPEN
It's easier to focus on her surroundings than what may or may not have just occurred, so she stands with a poster in her hands, staring at it intently.]
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Re: OPEN
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Closed
[The shrine is almost unrecognizable, because of all the posters, and it takes Misa a few minutes to even comprehend where she is. She winds up slapping a Shrine Maiden intent on pushing her out, and it is only when killing the woman passes her mind that Misa slips a hand beneath her corset— yes, to her relief, the Death Note is still there.]
[The events leading up to her arrival here start to fall into place, but there are holes missing. Did she actually die? How? The plan was to play dead and then sneak around the tournament, Misa has no idea how she could have been unconscious long enough to be transported here. Unease settles over her as she pulls out her device and begins tapping around the new display options. This isn't according to Light's plan.]
[It doesn't take long to find Light's fight, though she has no idea whether it is a live stream or not. She can see Light's name, so at the very least he isn't dead yet. But... she can't see his opponent's name. Misa finds a secluded corner of the shrine (glaring back at one of the caretakers still glaring at her) and looks again, squinting above the scantily clad contestant's head. No name or lifespan. Which could mean any number of things on this island, scariest of all that she is not human— in which case Light is even more likely to need Misa's help.]
[It's hard to suppress the rising panic that she will not be able to help Light when he needs her the most. However it is that she got here and regardless of whether or not she really died, Misa resolves to get back to the tournament.]
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OPEN
Jack is still shaken, terrified, and a bit panicked, but he's alive, and that part is wonderful, even if he's waiting for the clown-guy to appear from nowhere again. But he's not there; only some angry Shrine Maidens are, and he finds himself getting thrown out before he can really get his bearings.
And now, out on the beach, he sinks back down on a rock, keeping an eye out for those horrible worms but mostly staring out at the water, rubbing a hand through his hair.]
I'm alive. Heh. I'm alive.
[Maybe he would get to see everyone again. Well, unless they got to go home. But he should be happy they got to go home... right?
Right. Eh-heh... sure.]
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AFTER FEFERI
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OPEN
[The next thing she knew, she was here. (She's alive?]
[Disoriented, she pulled herself up to a sitting position. There was a vaguely supernatural feel about this place - and for a split second, Maya wonders if she really had died after all. But there's ground underneath her, she can see the shrine - vaguely hear other people, and just as she's about to stand up and gather her bearings again, a poster comes unattached from something nearby and thwips against her face as she's pulling herself up]
Ah!
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oh hi
HELLO....
I'm not late to this log at all nope
I'm not late to replying to log at all nope
we're great at being not late together
AW YEA
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OTA
He was still overwhelmed, but managed to wander out of the shrine at least. That was...as far as Chimera made it through before he just. Sat down. He had really feared he was going to die, and death was something that really terrified him. And being alive now...well, those are tears of relief welling in his eyes. He'll deny their existence, but they're there.]
Re: RE-ARRIVAL
[truthfully (though she was trying to do her best to hide it) she was pretty shaken up-- her wounds had been bad and she had certainly felt like she was dying, and yet here she was, alive and healed]
[she had heard about how death and regeneration here worked, but even after all the other impossible things she had encountered, that one had been a little hard to swallow-- until now]
[for the first time in a very, very long time, Clove felt as though she might be in over her head]
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No. He was alive again.
He had to get up.
There was nothing in his mind, simply nothing, as he slowly got to his feet, face equally blank, and started to look around.]
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timeskip?
after this if you want!
okay!
Open.
[finding himself awake after that whole ordeal was some sort of relief, if only to prove that he had been right. finding himself able to breathe was even better. he sat up quickly to survey the poster-laden walls
and kept right on going, flopping sideways and driving his forehead into the floor. he winced, flung out an arm a few seconds too late to catch himself... so the neurotoxins had not completely vacated his system. or at least the echos of its effects. he tried again, rolling onto his front--there was a poster not far off. he grabbed it, stuffed it into his pocket, and got back to the business of tentatively staggering to his feet. there were figures, pressing in, shooing him out. he huffed at them. they insisted.]
[scuffing his way to the door found him that generally scuffing and thresholds did not mix, especially under such distracting influences. it hooked him by the toe, sending him tripping--sprawling out the door. he'd managed to better catch himself this round, but it still left him lying still.]
[god, this was all so distastefully familiar.]
Re: Open.
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late like a late thing but open, yep.
[And despite the warnings they'd received, he woke to the fussing of the Maidens at the shrine as they ushered him out their way. Stumbled outside, drew breath again. And if he was supposed to be...wherever spirits went when they were gone, he had to wonder how he was supposed to tell. Because it felt a whole lot like being alive, really, right down to the island beneath his feet and the pounding in his head and the confused people wandering around. But the echoing of a train in the depths of the forest didn't do much to shake him of the sneaking, sinking feeling that something still wasn't right around here.]
ohi there
welp.
/insert Price-Is-Right wah-wah sound also 1/2
2/2
1/2 two can play at this combo game
2/2
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THE COMPOUND
It may be a while before the others find you.
The network is still functioning on the island, but any attempts to contact those on the tanker on the horizon-- still battling it out-- will bounce right back. You can, however, watch the remaining (and past) matches on the live streams from the KERNOS home menu. ]
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Eventually she stopped in the cafeteria and ducked beneath one of the tables to cry. She didn't want to be alone. ]
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It's an unpleasant surprise to find monsters scattered around the compound. At least she still has her knives, and she makes sure they're bared in her hands as she makes her way to get in the building. As she goes her breathing quickens as everything that just happened and everything that the living now might have to face starts to register. The future looks stressful.]
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[Ivan's death had been as quick and painless as Minene had promised. He doesn't have time to reflect on what had happened as he's pushed out of the shrine by the Shrine Madiens. His fingers grasp around one of the many flyers without thinking. Giving it a short glance (another odd poster from Kernos), he then shoves it into his pocket and heads back to the gate, hoping he isn't too late to get inside.]
[Of course, he finds them wide open, plastered with more posters, and one of the beasts sniffing around in the distance. Ivan readies his shuriken. He may not turn a blade toward Minene, but he doesn't have the same reservation toward the monsters. And if he's not the only one to revive, there will be a problem with the monsters inside.]
[As the train whistle fills the air, Ivan runs to a wall and shapeshifts into a poster. The beast walks by unaware. Ivan changes back and strikes while its back is turned. One down. How many more are inside?]
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sakura kinomoto. (rescue) - closed to orsino
Alone and frightened, she had called out into deserted hallways of the compound, combed through empty rooms, and even calmed herself down enough to focus on sensing out presences. But all her attempts proved what she had feared: They were gone.
And yet, Sakura had refused to give up and took to the air to observe the island from the sky. It looked as deserted as it felt, a realization that had sent a nervous chill humming through her nerves. What could she do? How could she bring people back? Or were they all gone, had they all returned home, while she...
Unwilling to give up, the young girl had returned to the ground, deciding that a closer examination of the compound by foot would yield better results. But as she comes around the outside of the east building, Sakura stops only a few feet from a pack of spider monsters that are milling around the side of the building. Guess she isn't alone! Sakura lets out a shriek, immediately reaching for the key on her neck as she casts panicked glances to the right and left of her. Using magic in an open place like this, even if there was no one in sight? And even if people knew about magic here, she couldn't possibly...
She grips the key tighter and her hesitance gives the monsters the delay they need to charge forth on their spindly legs. The grotesque look of these creatures, their unnatural movements, and the basic fact that they're spiders, forces Sakura into a state of frozen panic. The summoning spell sits on her tongue, her left hand on the pouch that holds her cards, but her words and fingers refuse to budge.
What is she going to do?
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A thief in the night.
It makes sense to her.
She's ducked in and out of a few rooms, to scout things out, when she finds the jackpot. Taking only what she needs: 2 c-4 discs, a knife, and a really well kitted out tool kit, Parker slips in and out of room S4-129, knowing, she might make another visit, on another day.
It's always good to know where the best things are.
She's a half hour unpacking her goods, and organizing them perfectly, on the small shelf in her room. She thinks it was once part of a desk, but not that is matters.
Next, an important mission. It's ridiculous that she even takes a knapsack, but Parker's always prepared. Right now, the only thing in her bag is a needle, thread, and the knife she took from the previous room. After well over 1000 stitches (yes, 1000, perfectly tiny stitches) Parker's sewn the armholes of a waistcoat, in room S2-111, shut. She literally skips when she leaves the room.
Her final mission's a bit more tricky. With a light foot, and luck that only Parker seems to have, she manages past whatever protective devices are in place. The shed itself holds little interest to her. Originally, her only intention was to save all the cereal. She does, by taking each one of the plastic sacks out of the boxes, and loading said sacks into her backpack. The boxes, on the other hand, get put back in exactly the same place. One would have to look in them to know.
That's not all she takes. There are some things that it's not wise for Parker to stumble across, like, say, bomb-making supplies. Unfortunately, Minene, that's exactly what she takes: a few wires here, a fuse there, a timer as well, and feels she's had the most successful of days.
So, anyone at any time, want to come across a thief after her raids?
FOREST EXPLORATION
That's where the train whistle is originating from. Upon arrival, the area in a good hundred feet diameter has mostly been cleared of trees and flattened with the exception of some pie-slice areas between, as though great walls fell down in the four cardinal directions.
In the middle is two lone train cars-- a locomotive, and the entrance/dining car behind it. They're both overgrown as though they've been there for years, but the doors are open and the inside is pristine. There's hundreds of pamphlets just inside the door welcoming you to the KERNOS Zephyr, the most talked about train in the country. Inside are a few panoramic pictures and the typical "what to do when attacked by monsters" guide, "the seat in front of you is to be used as a flotation device in times of emergencies", "please keep all hands and feet inside the windows during interdimensional travel"-- the usual. It goes on with mentions of its state of the art sleeper cars with deluxe bedding and monster-impervious tempered glass and ▒▒▒▒▒ metal frame.
As the Days go on, a new train section will appear in lessening degrees of overgrowth until, by end game, there will be the locomotive, diner car, storage car, and four sleeper cars. The pamphlets will be available for everyone and will be on every pillow in the sleeper cars, which have a separate room for every character with their name on the door. ]
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On a whim, she makes her way back into the forest, where she had explored with Miss Peggy and Miss Morgana. Maybe she would climb the tree this time, see how far she could see, if there was anything else to investigate.
Imagine her surprise when she comes upon a train in the middle of the forest...]
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but yes. Alucard had been surprised enough by all this melee-fight-to-death nonsense, and weary enough of that sort of thing at his age, to take the first chance he could to wander away into the forest again. the battle of London is still fresh enough in his mind, crackling buildings and shattering men, that he remains on something of a hair trigger, and the last thing he needs is to expose himself as a threat when the very ground they stood on was shifting.
normally he'd pace through the underbrush as a many-eyed beast, but today it seems
less insanemore sensible to tromp through in the shape of a man. it would be too easy, right now, to be attacked by a fellow resident of the island. he's arrested in his exploration by the sight of the train, and if anybody is to come across him, they'll find Alucard sneering half-heartedly at a flyer in his hand.]Not a safe sort of name to give.
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Y HALO THAR 8>
HELLO THERE... FRIEND OwO
/TOUCHES..... YOUR FACE.......
I'm excited to bounce these two off each other ngl
Me too omg :DD are we plurk friends already?
I don't... think so... I'm still learning who everyone is on plurk! my username is Sushiflop :D
Ehehehe I always lose track when everybody changes their name. I'll add you! :3
Superb *^*
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sglkjnsdfkj I totally missed this?!
IT IS OKAY
/TOUCHES YOU ALL OVER HUHUHUH
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network video post (nightfall)
But uniforms can be mended, hair trimmed. The body and flesh recalls its shape with ease, when the needs of food and water have been met. What is truly different crouches there in this old soldier's winter-blue eyes, an awareness that to some might seem depthless in its regard, witness to far more than the eye can see -- but there is warmth there, too, a silent invitation to brotherhood.
Night is falling, and Fiddler has found himself a quiet place -- truly quiet, now that the song in his head has ceased. There's a little light, just enough to see him by, and to see, too, that his attention is on an oilcloth-wrapped bundle on the table in front of him, his thin fingers suspended over the material, almost as if he is afraid to touch it. He looks up then, into the eye of the camera, and in his mind he is reaching out to each person that might be listening, a whole host of faces he now recognizes, at least by sight.
Hedge had always called him the soft-hearted one. And maybe that was true, but Fiddler hadn't elected to come back here, had he?]
I had a friend -- have a friend, back home. Hatched a cusser under his butt in a faraway city ... little pieces of Hedge and murderous undead lizard raining down everywhere. He … well, some of you might have guessed by now, but us Bridgeburners are a little different. Old ghost-Hedge saved my tail a few times over a few years, and then got himself brought back to life again. The real thing -- like this. Us. Came back and tried to play things the way they were, but it wasn't that, couldn't be that. I'd gotten used to my best friend being dead, and him coming back couldn't erase that. Aye, I chased him off -- the Bridgeburners were gone and dead and holding a different post, after all, and he -- we -- couldn't act like that hadn't happened.
[His hands finally touch the bundle in front of him, unwrapping the cloth with obvious reverence.]
But he followed. And at the end, he had the chance. To go back to the squad -- to join the Bridgeburners again, there at the Gate. And he stayed. For me.
[The cloth falls away to remove a fiddle -- intricately carved, flawless in its craftsmanship. All the more amazing that it was born and blessed in the hands of soldiers, none of whom, individually, could have crafted such a thing. Another moment of silence as he reaches for the rosin, and starts working the bow over it.]
And I am here, again -- this Kernos has a shit sense of humor. I'm glad, aye, that at least we managed to clear the water. I wish it'd been sooner.
Death takes … too much. I understand now, more than I ever did. [A wry smile.] Maybe more than I ever wanted, alas. I'd always wondered what it was that people saw, there in that final moment. [Fiddler closes his eyes, shakes his head, though it's no gesture of denial.] Seems retirement's off the table; well, I know at least one person here will be pleased to hear that. One last post, aye, now and forever.
Listen … give me your names. Those you've loved. Hood's breath, those you've hated, if you've a mind to. Those whose loss is a thing that wounds, even if they come back.
Here's mine. Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas, the luckiest son of a bitch I ever met. Cuttle, ornery enough to keep fighting long after his spirit had shrivelled up. Gesler and Stormy, mean as wardogs, two of the stubbornest old bastards you never had the displeasure of meeting. [But no, that harsh-sounding eulogy is tempered by the flash of grief in Fiddler's eyes, one that does not abate with the last of his own names.] Kaminsod. Chained and broken … aye, worshippers define their gods, and there no truer lesson than that.
I'll take them now, if you've a mind to share.
[And he falls into silence, slowly preparing the bow in his hands, waiting for the answers he knows will come. Fiddler does not expect everyone to answer, but it is an offer he makes nonetheless, even if no one on this island will comprehend the true significance of this act. He thinks that, if he tried, he could draw each one from beyond the gates -- but he is a guardian, and Kernos' power is nothing he understands, and he will not endanger those spent and waiting spirits, even to ease the spirits of the living, here on this island.]
[ooc: CHRIST IT DID NOT LOOK THIS LONG IN GDOCS uh. Go ahead and give him your names, or engage in a few minutes' of pre-concert chatter. >D Or just hop down to the second part and do it all at once; it's all good to me!]
fid plays (part 2, ota ofc)
He runs a finger along the swirl of Barghast patterning, recalling Trotts' huge, bestial smile, pride in this work that never leaked past his inhuman eyes. Shy, sweet Mallet, the heartbroken healer who survived the destruction of the Bridgeburners only to die to an assassin near the beginning of what should have been a peaceful retirement. Hedge, who'd grinned like an absolute asshole the entire time, and then gone and stayed in answer to every one of Fiddler's unspoken prayers.
The fiddle fits beneath his chin perfectly -- it was made for him, after all. The first pull of the bow across strings is soft as a sigh; the next carrying all the expectation of an indrawn breath.
And he begins to play.
There had been a core of something within him that had always believed his comrades would always be at his side, at his back. Oh, his mind knew it couldn't be so -- war, above all things, conspired to crush such dreams, never mind how badly the soul might crack in the aftermath. But still. But still. To the heart, the shock of loss, like a knife in the gut or a broken arm, is ever unexpected. To know loss is to be wounded beyond the skills of any healer; no matter how many feel the same wound, grief builds walls that no one on the outside can scale. No words can offer comfort. No gesture can reassure survivors that what has been severed is not as much as they think.
And so he discards words. Music rises, a variation of the song that had lived in his head since Raraku, and though Fiddler has surrendered his voice, he is more eloquent than he's ever been. Those names find shape in the melody, ghostly faces rising in the minds of those who hear with a survivor's ears, that carry those unhealed wounds within the heart. We are still here, still waiting. Not lost. Never lost. Waiting.
He had watched what he could handle of those matches -- not moved by morbid curiosity, but out of a desire to understand what Kernos wanted -- siblings against siblings, lovers against lovers, children against adults that railed at the horror that such a thing would be asked from them. Proud killers and the desperate alike unleashed power, savage against those that stood before them, and Fiddler found that he understood that too, that even death did not cut free that desperation to survive.
A litany of sacrifices, some willing, others not, enough to bring tears to the eyes. For what?
That the dead came back here seemed unimportant. Rhulad, the emperor of a thousand deaths, had been bound in such a vicious cycle, dying only to rise, power blossoming like a night orchid in exchange for his last fragments of sanity. Oh, that young soul had been so broken, so haunted --
In a place like this, people seemed to die as often as they caught cold. But frequency did not diminish the pain or the horror of murder. Returning from that brink did not negate the outrage of a life cut short. And, in a place where resurrection was almost a promise, to wait for a soul that would not return was even more cruel.
No, Fiddler cannot speak these things, but his music can, and when his anger breathes through the instrument he is forced to pause, glancing away as he seeks to reel it in. That is not what the island needs. No, even if he wanted to give his fury to them, his role is something … else. He reaches out in his mind, seeking faces that have slowly become familiar in his time here. Not all heroic, not all brave or kind, but still … worthy. Of life -- of consideration, of a moment when another might think of them, and feel a moment's grief that someone who once was here is no longer.
It's easy, then. Fiddler blinks away sudden tears, turning his head to press his face into the dirty grey fabric at his shoulder to dry his cheeks.
The bow slides across the strings once more, and the difference is marked -- sweet notes, gentle as a long-missed touch, the sudden warmth of a familiar embrace. Does love have a sound? Not of the passion of a lover, but instead the primal memory of a mother's closeness, the lullaby of steady heartbeats and comfort -- the kind of love that is unmindful of its own mortality, and yes, some might call it naive, but they are not this man, who knows now what it is now to hold the sum of countless lives in his hands. (Hood, the old god of death, had been a frigid, faceless presence, and how could he not be? Death turns no one away, no matter how pure or how evil -- and when one's sole function is to embrace the dead, well, there's only so long one can stand until grief itself loses all meaning. Give Fiddler a few hundred years, or even a few thousand, aye, see if his compassion can survive that long. But, for now, just listen.)
His music soars then, spiraling into an exultation of savage, animal joy, delight that they live at all. Kernos or not, breath fills their lungs, blood flows hot through the limbs of bodies that move and feel, and there is no greater gift in this or any other world. There are no promises for a peaceful or pleasant future in that lively refrain, no pleas to use the time so granted for any purpose -- only that a road exists ahead, and that friendly faces will await each soul, hands outstretched, poised for that moment when it's time to step off that dusty track.
Fiddler's breath is slightly ragged in the silence that follows the song's end, bony shoulders sagging a little as he lowers the instrument, as if something vital has been torn from him and sent out across the network. He gently sets the fiddle on the table, then lifts a shaky arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and half-collapses into a nearby chair.
He opens his mouth, ready to say something … but it never comes. Abandoning the effort, he instead uses the time to arrange his limbs into a posture somewhat more comfortable There'll be questions, he's sure, and for the moment he's too tired to do much of anything else. Even his crossbow, only half a pace from his left boot, seems impossibly far away.]
Anyone else go back home for a bit?
[ooc: all yours! and again, apologies for making it so stupidly long. Fid has waaaay too many feels, which he is clearly trying to share with the audience, haha. As a reminder -- some people might hear just music, telepathy-types might as well be reading his thoughts verbatim, but generally it's just a case of warm fuzzies that your life ~means things and is precious~ and dying is not a lonely thing.]
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