Thisavrou Head Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thisavrou_ooc2017-05-18 09:12 pm
savmods) wrote in thisavrou_ooc2017-05-18 09:12 pm
Entry tags:
tdm 17
test drive meme
Ingress travel can be disorienting, but there’s no need to worry! All side effects are temporary and lessen with each trip. Your body may experience several sensations at once: being pushed forward as if a hand is resting on your back, momentary and startling blindness, a gentle ringing in your head. You may have difficulty discerning whether it is hot or cold, but where you have been prodded is noticeably warmer than the rest of you. Some may suffer from dizziness while others are perfectly fine. You notice that the area you are in is filled with a soft cerulean light and feels slightly humid and dark despite the glow around you. Regardless of your current state, however, the stress of initial Ingress travel forces your body into unconsciousness.
Waking up is another story. Or maybe it isn’t.
You find yourself in a nondescript room; sometimes with others who have found themselves in the same situation, sometimes alone. A medical tech is always present to explain what’s happened before giving you some clothes, a TAB, and a guide that discusses things in further detail. This entire process also consists of a complete work-up of medical history and current health in order to obtain your signature—a specific frequency that will allow them to hone in on exactly where it is you’re from in order to get you back there.You spend your first week on the Ingress Complex while other accommodations and arrangements are made for you.
Waking up is another story. Or maybe it isn’t.
You find yourself in a nondescript room; sometimes with others who have found themselves in the same situation, sometimes alone. A medical tech is always present to explain what’s happened before giving you some clothes, a TAB, and a guide that discusses things in further detail. This entire process also consists of a complete work-up of medical history and current health in order to obtain your signature—a specific frequency that will allow them to hone in on exactly where it is you’re from in order to get you back there.You spend your first week on the Ingress Complex while other accommodations and arrangements are made for you.
welcome to thisavrou
verrfit
⋆ Verrfit is classified as Exploration Class (EC) and is open to all travelers. Once they have set foot upon the planet, they'll find a sweet scent upon the air nearly overwhelming until their senses adjust. The planet appears to be unsettled, largely devoid of intelligent life, at least above the surface; much of Verrfit is covered in water, but the liquid is sticky, red and has a sugary smell (though anyone who tastes it will discover it has a terribly bitter aftertaste.) Small islets are covered with verdant plant life and gritty beaches; when the sun hits it just right, the sand seems to sparkle. Islets are connected by thin strips of land, but sand bars also make it easier to wade from one to another. Weather is fair, but those who look up into the sky will notice that the sun is distorted, as if a warped pane of glass high above is preventing clarity.
⋆ One particular islet is craggier than most others, full of rocks and much less plant life. Those who stumble upon a particularly foreboding cave will find that it is easy to explore, requiring only a little hunching from the tallest, and leads to a passage that leads down into the earth. Perhaps it's the breeze coming through that sounds like whispers and voices from afar? Or maybe it's a property of the stone around them that reaches into their very minds, calling forth images and eventually, if they linger, mild hallucinations of whatever it is they fear. Whatever it is, it's certainly spooky.
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For mature or graphic content, please label.For questions, please direct them to the FAQ or the Feedback page. Any scenarios listed (unless otherwise indicated) can be used as game canon. As always, be kind and have fun!
verrfit: the caves.
but he comes in anyway, because ghosts don't frighten him. it's quiet here, away from the clamor of too much noise and sound, and graves' curiosity is piqued. he's not usually a man prone to foolish explorations, but this time seems to be the exception. in credence, he discovers a surprising glimpse of home, new york, where he had an established role and sense of purpose, where being upturned like this is an unthinkable impossibility.
but there they are, and here he is, looking into the face of the young man tina had lost her job for. credence barebone, he'd read on the report, heard on tina's lips as she explain why she'd done what she'd done, exposing them before the virulent hatred of the second salemers, and to a barebone no less.
but credence seems more victim than perpetrator, if graves' investigations on the family is anything to go by, and he pauses in his steps when he catches sight of him, unable to quell a flicker of surprise. of all places --
he's hunched over, timid and huddled into himself, as if trying to rub out as much of his presence as he can; as if his very existence is one that warrants an apology by none but the subject himself.
what a small, small world, indeed. ]
It's not safe here.
[ consider this as graves fulfilling his civic duty. ]
no subject
he'd smile if he weren't so immediately filled with a deep and visceral unrest and fear. ]
Now it isn't. Why are you here? [ his voice is trying to be firm but it trembles nonetheless - this fear isn't borne by the fear of something new. this is the fear of recognition. he recognizes graves and that's what's frightening him.
credence shifts back against the cold stone, practically pressed flush against it. ] Go away. I don't want to see you ever again. [ there's something flighty and panicked there, something that's begging. ] I'm not going to listen to you any more, Mr. Graves. Go away.
[ the barest flutter of black smoke from beneath his fingernails, easy to miss when his eyes are wide and glassy and he's shaking so badly— ]
no subject
[ that seems the best first question to ask -- and coming right up on its heels is the following: ] When have we spoken?
[ graves hates feeling confused, and he doesn't come nearer when it's obvious that the young man before him is experiencing some sort of nervous breakdown. which, of course, inspires an entirely new world of questions: how in the world does credence actually know him? how is it even possible?
graves doesn't move, brows knitting. listen? listen to what? what had he possibly told him that would make him react like this? what could he have done to him? graves doesn't remember -- he can't fathom any circumstance that would demand such an outcome, especially for someone who is clearly already as vulnerable and downtrodden as he is. ]
When have we met?
no subject
[ his voice is incredulous, breaking, a little too high. he's shaking even harder as he uses one hand (black, black, why does it blend in with the stone) to shove himself up to his feet, not caring that the rough surface is probably cutting his palm. maybe he doesn't even feel it. he cants his head, trying to take stock of him, eyes briefly flickering white. (oh.) ] You don't remember begging me to help you? Telling me you'd help me if I did? [ his voice is getting sharper as he speaks, more panicked. ]
You told me if I helped you that you'd take me away from the people that didn't understand me, that hurt me. You told me you'd save me and you only hurt me instead.
[ white eyes again, then black, then white again, then he dips his head forward. ] You hurt me, and Miss Tina, and Mr. Newt. [ it takes him a second to remember newt's name.
then: ] You did all that and you don't even remember?
[ there's a lot more black smoke, but it's only around credence. ]
no subject
[ graves is half-tempted to dismiss it as some sort of talk inspired by acute delirium, but there's too much detail, and the young man seems far too lucid to simply be spewing nonsense. he knows tina, for one; but the rest of it completely baffles him.
graves looks more lost and confused than he'd like, but he's not immune to the dangerous spike in power, the way the danger makes his skin prickle, like an oncoming thunderstorm that is too close to avoid. the entire cavern crackles with it, and so much of it around credence, black smoke coiling like ichor, and graves' eyes widen.
is it -- ?
no. no, that's impossible. not in america, and definitely not in someone who's clearly an adult. graves' mind whirls through a world of possibilities, and he reiterates, calm and even despite himself. Graves is wary, on guard and alert -- not euphoric at the display of power even if a secret part of him can appreciate the surge of it. no, this is first and foremost a threat; this threatens the safety of people that are around.
there is set to his mouth that even grindelwald cannot replicate, a steel in his eyes the man can never emulate. graves' life's work is protecting his people, using whatever means necessary to keep them safe; not one of a despot seeking to subjugate no-majs to his will. ]
Mr. Barebone. We have never met. [ except a curl of unnamed dread curls in his stomach, and he wonders. he wonders. ] What kind of help was asked of you?
no subject
[ he doesn't even know if it worked. he'd been pulled through during the conversation.
the confusion in graves looks genuine though, which is startling but also ramps up his anxiety further. so too, is the reaction to him - there had been a small surprise but then he'd smiled but this is different and he doesn't know what to do with it.
a broken, keening sound escapes his throat but he's still pressed back against the wall, tendrils of smoke licking at the sides of his face like they want to consume him. he's trying to keep them at bay though, at least for now, visibly strained with effort. ] Yes we have. Yes we have, I saw you almost daily for months— [ a startle. the look in grave's eyes, the set of his jaw, is wholly unfamiliar. what...? there's something wrong here.
something terribly wrong. when he speaks it's less furious and imperious, more timid and small. ] You wanted me to help find an obscurial. I couldn't find one, but then that man and then ma died and you thought it was my sister, but—
[ he chokes on a sob and it's clear: but it was really me. ] Why don't you remember? [ he moves, grasping for the necklace he still wears and yanking it off, tossing it at graves' feet. ] Why don't you remember?
no subject
it may seem, however, that he's somehow changed his mind -- it could happen, considering that he's learned . but none of it makes sense -- there are too many glaring holes in what he's saying that he's tempted to believe they're lies if not for the fact that he's flinging a necklace at his feet. aside from the fact that obscurials haven't been seen in nearly four centuries, the gleam of a silver necklace and a fairytale symbol makes him pick it up.
the necklace in his hand is warm, a treasured possession, but something in his voice is broken, small and tremulous and discomfiting, especially when it looks like he's in the presence of an entity that has not been seen in four hundred years. he knows exactly how they're made -- from violence and terror and fear -- this young man who had been right under his nose is an impossibility, a miracle of existence that renders him stunned.
there's no way obscurials make it to adulthood; no, the parasite would consume them far before that, which points to an exceptionally powerful latent ability to endure it for this long, a tremendous talent that had been twisted and forced back inside of him by a the descendant of a scourer who loathes the sight of her own adoptive son.
how could he not have seen this? how could they not have picked up on one of their own trapped in there -- no, he knows just how; a tragic turn of circumstances and a painful twist of fate. but more importantly, why would he come into the possession of a trinket like this? it's a symbol of a childhood fairytale, and for someone like credence to have this is extraordinary. ]
This is not mine. Where did you get this? [ he takes a step closer, careful and wary but also -- a touch sympathetic. how can he not be, when credence looks like he's falling to pieces before him? ] What was done to you, can you tell me?
no subject
[ he doesn't want to die per se but if that's the only way to fix it, so be it. as miraculous as a twenty-two year old obscurial is, he only feels pained by it.
credence's fingers twitch slightly when graves picks up the necklace, like a part of him is still trying to cling to some kind of hope. a couple tendrils of black smoke reach toward graves, sentient and knowing. the obscurus wants power, doesn't care for its host's health. hungering, it hadn't minded the cruelty of the fake graves near the end. smart as it is though, it can't tell the difference.
credence can and although he's still terrified and furious, graves' mannerisms are different enough (just enough) from the graves he knew that he can catch on to it easily even in his current state. he breathes hard, gets his balance on his feet, and takes a step forward. it's not aggressive - curiously, it's more like he's begging. ] Y-you gave it to me. The necklace. You said that if I held onto it you'd know where I was and you could find me and help me. [ but that's not what he's asking, is it? credence takes a step closer, then another, still drawn toward him despite everything. he grasps at the hem of graves' sleeve and the black smoke flickers up his arm, coiling curiously around grave's sleeve and exploring. it's gentle, not devouring, but that's credence's fault. ]
You healed my hands after ma punished me for being out with you too late. You told me I deserve better, that I could have my place with wizards where I belong. Then after I--after ma died, you called me a squib. But before that, you... [ he trails off, but the curious way he's leaning toward graves with his head down explains it well enough. ] You were always kind of intimidating but you were nice to me. You told me I wasn't a freak. You painted such nice pictures of a world I can never be part of.
[ it's so strange, the shift in his behavior as soon as he realized this isn't the man that actually hurt him. the tendrils of ravenous magic are still there, coiling around both credence and graves, but when he looks at him next his eyes are properly colored even if he's still shaking like a leaf. ] I'm supposed to be dead, aren't I?
no subject
the pain is unfathomable, and graves does not have the cure -- not when the wounds run too deep, like thirsting roots to a poisonous well buried far under, and graves is silent for a moment, working out just how to untangle him, to pluck truth from all that's been told him. graves is presented with a tangle of assertions he can neither confirm or deny, but the most powerful thing that draws his attention is how cold the shadows are, when the parasite seeks power and presses itself against him like a lover's caress, inverted and twisted to a mockery of itself.
he doesn't recoil, doesn't pull away from him because credence is barely holding himself together -- whoever it is, whatever it is that had drawn him in and abandoned him having worn his face to do it. that is what he learns, when he touches the necklace, presses his fingers to the warm metal and recognises nothing that's imbued within it.
the magic is not his own, a strange, unknowable thing, and graves discovers a thread of truth for himself. this is not his necklace, this is not his magic. it's not beyond the realm of possibility for him to be impersonated -- there are exceptional witches and wizards to be found, and a portion of them to be found with dark magic. the question is, who is it, and what do they have to do with a fairytale trinket?
how did they know to find credence, to ask him about the obscurial? credence's questions have no answers, but he does paint him a picture all on his own on what may have happened -- subtle manipulation; whoever it is has an intimate understanding of it, of the boy's background, and graves wonders if he's been watching the boy, or perhaps there's been a leak in macusa itself. the idea of it makes his stomach clench, but he cannot dismiss the possibility.
credence is distraught, shaking, and graves realizes that he had been seduced and then thrown away -- that will explain so much, won't it? that will explain this, his sister, the obscurial, but it doesn't explain his mother and whoever else who died. whoever it is that had told him he could never be a part of the wizarding world had not been wrong -- at least up until now.
up until this. graves knows he has to settle the matter; an obscurus is a ticking time bomb, volatile and dangerous, and from the power it exudes, raw and crackling, he has an idea of just what damage it can cause if unleashed -- and graves would rather that not happen here. which means it must be contained.
credence must be contained, and perhaps he has already given graves the key. ]
But you are, now. [ he says quietly. he can tease out more details from him later. ] And no, you're not. The person who gave you this is not me, but perhaps you can help me understand. [ a beat. ] So many bad things has happened to you, hasn't it? You just want someone to help you. [ he doesn't move away. ] Let me help you.