westwhere | the sunken

the sunken | part i

THE SUNKEN

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Welcome to the first log of Arc VI: the Sunken, which covers 15 May – 2 June and doubles as a test drive meme.

Back/forward date as needed! The calendar date suggestions are indicative.

The TDM is open to everyone! If you decide to apply to the game, you can get an invite from current players or the upcoming enabling meme — or participate in the test drive meme and get in touch @

groundrules to chat things over. We currently have 13 slots available for new players.

Test drivers can use this post for logs and network posts — old timers, please make your network posts at

eastbound.

LOST AT SEA | TEST DRIVE TOURISTS

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You wake, gasping, in a stormy sea, your thoughts slowed to a confused trickle. Skill, floating wood or a kindly stranger — who you can’t understand — help you to reach shore.

Villagers discover you collapsed on sand and provide critical (if rickety) communication and translation devices. They say you are in Sunken Yancai, a fishing village progressively overtaken by waters and cursed by the secretive ‘ladies of the lake’ to transit through time.

■ Rescuers group newcomers and supply questionable village couture, warm meals and accommodations in abandoned, half-flooded homes or spare small boats anchored in Yancai’s waterways. Huddle up, recover your strength and don’t think too hard on why your memories are hazy over the next three days.

■ Come morning, you visit village leader Quanze Tsaymien, then the sorceress Karsa — who explains you are otherworlders summoned into Akhuras by undead lords who wish to weaponise you in their battle against humans and one another. Karsa is an associate of the Merchant, who leads otherworlders towards ancient transport beacons east.

■ One such beacon rests dormant in Yancai. The group must infiltrate the village and wait a few weeks until it shifts to a point back in time when the beacon was active.

■ Newcomers are handed passport papers with their new identities in Yancai, where they may be known as a bankrupt merchant, perpetually drunk sailor, whale hunter, raft surveyor, mermaid who has just gained their legs, crab collector... feel free to invent a dutifully ~~hilarious~~ apt role for their seaside sojourn.

OLD TIMERS | THE DRIFTING

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You dragged yourself here in a haze. You arrived long ago, as if in a dream. You were born and bred in this village. In truth, your memories of reaching lively Yancai feel nebulous and alarmingly inconsequential.

Characters are facilitated new identities and dwellings by the Merchant, or believe they have had them all along.

■ A weary Karsa warns to say nothing to party members with altered memories, until the sorcery that affects them runs its course.

■ Memory-altered characters progressively regain their memories within three to five days (by 20 May). They have their memories partially or fully back at night ( midnight to 5 a.m.). Throughout the day, memory regains can trigger migraines, eerie confusion and paranoia.

■ Hauntings begin once characters have fully regained their memories.

■ Once everyone is ‘back to normal,’ Karsa explains that Yancai periodically transits through time. The memory alterations are a magical solution endorsed by the village council, which ensures locals mentally weather these shifts. Villagers continue to blithely accept you as part of the community.

(DON'T) HOLD YOUR BREATH

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Karsa reunites the existing party and newcomers, issuing first assignments. The Merchants’s information suggests the beacon of Yancai will be online once the village travels in time within weeks. A dubious Karsa asks the party to check on the beacon, located in the former House of Commerce of the largely inundated merchants’ district. Reach it by rowing boat.

■ Villagers say the Master of Commerce, a famous musician, took precautions against intruders.

■ All ground and lower floor entryways of the palatial House were boarded to restrict flooding. To enter, pick locks or climb the putrid stairwell towards upper balconies.

■ Inside, the hissing of running water — and, in the lower levels, of thin, slippery leeches whose bite numbs your limbs, while they attempt to feed. You seem to experience pronounced vertigo when entering any decaying rooms covered in black mould.

■ The beacon is located on a dais in the basement vault room, where water rises near 1 meter. Only a few scattered scrolls and golden decorations remain among decorations, while a large ceiling carving writes, greed deafens man to the cries of his conscience; music sets him free.

■ Some tiles of the marbled floor stand out as you wade — step on one, and all doors abruptly slam shut, while dozens of obscured holes in the wall start to rapidly spill water, threatening to fill the room to the ceiling within the hour. You hear the tinny, waning sound of a village song played from a hidden source.

■ To stop the pouring water and open the doors, sing the song you hear, or find the music box that produces it amid debris on the water-covered floors. Wind it, and it plays its song in reverse, revealing the voice of a laughing elderly man who says, Depressingly, Anurr was right to worry.

■ Don’t forget to check the beacon — and report back to Karsa that it looks structurally untarnished.

THEY SLEEP

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After surprising revelations at previous citadels, Karsa tasks you to investigate just how… permanent death is in Yancai. Villagers share that their dead are buried in a strange rite at sea — part of which will take place within days.

■ The dead are ‘entombed’ in one-man sarcophagi ships with carved and chained lids that depict their likeness. These burial boats are set at sea on the first day of each season and return three months later.

■ Join the harbours around 22 May, when mourners gather to receive the burial boats. Characters must pretend to be greatly anguished relatives, acquaintances or debt collectors to join the grieving.

■ The boats float towards you, seemingly of their own volition. Gaze afar and spot a boat carrying a man in black — the same who haunts some characters — who observes until the last burial ship has reached the piers, before he disappears.

■ Sailors draw up the boats and unpeel the untouched chains and lids, to reveal… no corpses. Peer closer and find neither biological signs (stench, liquids) of discomposure, nor the magical chillness of spaces where cadavers have lingered long. Scratch marks litter the inside of some boat lids.

■ Mourners seem grateful that the waters have ‘accepted’ the bodies. Some say that their relatives whose boats have yet to return must have been stolen by the ‘ladies of the lake,’ a villainous witch coven. Speak to mourners or sailors for clues.

■ Linger long near opened burial boats, and you feel tempted to throw yourself into the sea, slowly losing consciousness — until someone rescues you.

AMONG US

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On 25 May, village leader Quanze Tsaymien drags the chained and half feral mistress Miang-si to households and Yancai’s largest market square.

The young woman, he says, was seduced by the ladies of the lake — the furtive witch coven that condemned Yancai to time travel. Luckily, the village elders have… coaxed Miang-si back onto the righteous path.

■ Miang-si is brought door-to-door to point out her 'accomplices.' Ill at ease, villagers whisper of similar witch hunts leading to false accusations and blood-curdling repercussions.

■ Both men and women are suspected and brought before Miang-si. Perhaps she takes an eerie interest in you, getting especially close to catch your scent, touch or remark on (in)visible hurts, or even dotingly kiss you. If you whisper quickly while she’s near, you might be able to ask one question.

■ If you are patient and kind to Miang-si, she briefly squeezes your hand as she withdraws. Within the hour, you find blood writ on your palm that warns, Our fat moon rises red.

■ If you are agitated, or if Quanze rushes her during your visit, Miang-si erupts into sudden, side-splitting cackling — while you find yourself croaking like a toad, or transforming into one and retaining human speech. The spell dissolves after eight hours.

■ Quanze’s long-suffering men say this sorcery breaks faster if you kiss one of the curmudgeonly emerald toads that hide in some of Yancai’s lakes. Catch one such delightful, slime-spitting creature or barter it from merchants at a costly premium.

ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT

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A full moon is set to rise within days of Miang-si’s visit, on 27 May — just as Yancai shows signs of time shifting. Villagers are prone to stilling and staring askance, seeming lost or adrift.

The village itself evolves: one moment, the same house appears freshly new, then drowned, while waterways overfill with water, then seem barren. Overall, the village deteriorates.

■ That day, the sun suffers a midday eclipse, while droves of black birds circle the woods and village outskirts, attacking those who come close.

■ The waters increasingly thicken and darken, preventing boats from entering certain waterways.

■ An exceedingly bright moon and a diffuse lunar replica rise with nightfall. Come midnight, the village is alive with the sounds of ripping, structural collapse and shrieks. Tar-covered corpses emerge from the waters, clawing on and climbing up piers. They swarm, drawing passers-by into waters to drown them. Help them — and foremost, yourself.

■ Light and fire keep the dead at bay. On some waterways, wildfire now spells, WHAT IS WET WAS WRONGED

■ Weaker alone, fresh corpses climb into your rowing boat, pretending they are innocents who seek shelter. They betray themselves by speaking very slowly, struggling to keep track of the conversation or obliviously peppering it with details of their death. They stubbornly ask questions about you, repeating your answers, and become violent if you say they are dead. Push them into the water at first opportunity.

■ Quanze Tsaymien and other men of the village take arms, urging villagers to barricade in the nearest home, harbour or warehouse and weather the night. They advise to be silent and beware the dead who imitate living voices, warning not to touch any black mould or water that suddenly appear in your home — which alert the dead of your presence within.

■ Some dead try to tear you apart, while others seek to feed you a disgusting, tar-like black mould. A small taste of it makes you sluggish and feeble for two-three hours, while an entire fistful can kill.

■ If the undead infiltrate your house, hold your breath, do not move and keep from screaming. The dead have weak sight and olfactory senses and might pass you by, as long as you stay silent. It can be more efficient to fool than kill the dead.

■ By 5 a.m., houses start to replenish themselves, gaining a new appearance, while water and mould retreat. The dead withdraw into waterways. Outside doors have been marked with blood: vertical lines tell how many living people remain inside; horizontal ones count how many within died overnight.

■ You step to seize a brave new day — while Yancai enters a new time period (further details due in the next plot update).

NOTES

■ The game enabling meme goes up on 25 May.

■ Hit up available NPCs here or in their new inbox!

■ QUESTIONS.

Threaded | Flat

( starters below, feel free to hit me up with wildcard options as well or send me a pm if you have any thoughts. :) also i'm good with brackets or prose. )

Edited 2023-05-20 17:14 (UTC)

[[ooc: more prompts may be added below once I've tagged out. If there's anything you'd like to do in particular with Kahl, hmu at CellarSpider#9984, in a DM, or @ me on plurk at

PaleAntiquarian!

For those who don't know Kahl or Warframe, I highly recommend taking a gander at his canon introduction to get a sense of what this guy looks and sounds like!]]

The Drifting
1. Amnesia, Buoyancy, Carpentry

Kahl has always had to be careful.

He likes home, and he cares about everyone a lot. He likes building things for them. Making homes.

But Kahl's friends are all smaller than he is, and lighter. He has to be careful, any time he's near the water. He's part-metal. If he falls in, he sinks--

"Rrgh, Bek."

--Just like the hammer that he's dropped from the scaffolding. Kahl could use a break. Or maybe some help fishing the hammer out.

2. Dreams, Erasure, Fear

Kahl wakes up in a panic, the feeling of a shout still buzzing in his throat. His gun. He needs his gun, he needs--

Why does he have a gun?

He had a nightmare. A bad one. He was probably yelling loud enough to be heard throughout the house, maybe outside it too. It was all fire and shrieking leathery floating things and dying and a light that made him do...

Kahl gets up, heads for the door out. He needs to breathe better air, to tell himself he's not in that dream.

3. Gaining, Instability, Headache

Kahl's left eye hurts. It hasn't hurt this bad since he lost it, and now it feels like he's losing it again. He knows pain, though, so he's still moving. Slow, unsteady, but moving.

The nightmares feel too real today. Every time a cloud passes in front of the sun or a bird flies by, he's glancing up, making sure the nightmares are staying not real. People walking by startle him too.

Kahl's going to go get a drink. His brother Horrek always gave strong drinks when supplies were good, when someone came back to camp with wounds, or when Jarka had bad moments like Kahl's having today.

There's no Horrek or Jarka in town, and no camp in the forest. Kahl knows that. Maybe a few drinks here at the tavern will make sure he knows that, and help his headache.

They don't taste good, but Horrek said that wasn't the point. Kahl carefully takes a seat on a too-small stool, rubbing his forehead near his eyepatch. Maybe he should name this headache Horrek.

( top levels will be below, i’ll be spacing them out a bit over the next few days as it’s been busy here! plotting comment is here and new identity is here in case you’re interested, feel free to hit me on

iothe if you have questions! o/ )

( i'll be dropping some top levels in here but feel free to find me at jortles for any questions/plotting. )

( a fight is definitely something he knows. and, he hates to admit it, but fighting against things that are supposed to be dead is becoming more and more common.

he hates that.

but, this is what he is, isn't he? a weapon made to fight, made to kill. and even if these things are already dead, he's going to kill them again, fit himself into the mold that his memories say he belongs in.

he doesn't have a gun but he has a knife and he uses it effectively, driving it into the soft, squishy belly of a corpse. the corpse screams in his face, black liquid pouring onto his shirt. bucky shoves the corpse away and steps back, making a face.

gross.

he can't stop to change so he just let's it go, ignores it and moves onto another throng of dead people, now running at him when they spot him, intent on tearing him to pieces. )

The Drifting + Haunting

( The hows and whys of her arrival in Yancai are still hazy, but River's reasonably sure they haven't been here long. And unlike some of her companions, she's quite clear on the details of her life. For instance, she's most certainly not, nor has she ever been, a cordwainer. If she wants a new pair of shoes, she'll buy one. But no reason not to make the best of it. It's the perfect excuse to get the lay of the land, talk to the locals. It isn't the most thrilling bit of investigative work those first few days given she hasn't much to investigate, but selling ugly shoes is easier than she thought.

If that had been the worst of it, she might not have minded this stopover. Of course, there's always more, always something else at work.

A few days into their stay, she starts to see a man, usually in the house she shares, often in the quiet moments after dark. He follows her, slow and ominous, his steps seeming to echo, only to pass her a note. She doesn't understand at first, the point of it. Until it happens again and again, and finally she realizes he's taunting her with all the choices she never made, anything she might have done differently.

Her frustration gets the better of her as another slip of paper dissolves in her hand. )

What is this? What do you want?

( He only looks up at her as he has every other time, Lost someone? )

They Sleep

( More often than not, they're fighting the undead of this world, but her own existence here compels River to learn more about the nature of undeath. She's always enjoyed playing a good role, and it's easy enough to fit in among the mourners. She doesn't even need to get overly dramatic, though she'd been prepared for it.

As the boats draw near, she's momentarily distracted by the man in black, off in the distance, and misses the opening of the first few burial boats. The idle chatter drags her attention back to the event at hand, and she moves in for a closer look. )

A little hasty in some of their send offs?

( And yet it looked like no one had been sent off at all, not in these boats anyway. )

Wildcard

( ooc: you're welcome to toss up a starter of your own or hit me up via dm or formallyintroduced. the haunting prompt is open to anyone, not strictly housemates; absolutely feel free to wing it a little!) )

Edited 2023-05-22 03:41 (UTC)

Lost At Sea

( Okay. Waking up in a strange place, she can handle. Even almost drowning. But what the hell did they mean summoned by undead lords to be a weapon in their battle against humans? That's where they lost her. Then they handed her passport papers. )

I'm sorry, does this say 'scribe?' In a city that's half under water?

Not to mention, I'm a doctor. Do you know what my penmanship is like?

(Don't) Hold Your Breath

( Leanne doesn't know why she's agreeing to this. It's insane. All of this is insane. Maybe she took a knock on the head, this is some bizarre near-death experience, and she's really in a hospital bed back at Angels. But if this beacon, whatever it is, is the key to getting them out of here sooner and eventually back where she belongs...

She stares dubiously at the small rowboat, absently chewing on her lower lip. Finally, she shakes her head and asks, ) Are we doing this?

Wildcard

( ooc: feel free to drop your own starter for any of the prompts or reach out via dm or formallyintroduced. )

Edited 2023-05-22 05:23 (UTC)

The Drifting Days 1-5 | Blessed Child | OTA
cw: amnesia
She's not even sure how it works. People just seem to want her in their home. America grins during her stay there and has fun conversation. The household gives her payment as she leaves, possibly even a free meal before then, and everyone seems happier?

It works for her, and gives her plenty of food and other things to take home to her adoptive family at The Dancing Seagull.

She's more than eager to be present for anyone who requests her services, and prefers getting paid, but there are times at the Dancing Seagull she finds an ill customer (who knows what they ate) and offers, "If it helps, I'll give you a free visit if you still pay us for the bad food. I'm really sorry about that."

America might be setting herself up for a fight on that one.

Days 1-5 | Closed to the Dancing Seagull (including patrons)
cw: amnesia
America can't even remember how they all came together, or why, but she knows they're the closest thing to family she's ever had, and she's not going anywhere.

Even if the food doesn't always come out right. Honestly, her and Nacho might need to take over the kitchen one of these days, but everyone there means well. They're good people, and no one can convince her of anything else.

When she enters after a particularly profitable visit, the first thing she does is make sure everyone is aware of her presence, never mind how loud she is, or if she's interrupting meals.

"I'm back! I got more food for us!"

Days 6-8 | Closed to the Dancing Seagull only
cw: distress and possible parent-loss related trauma
"Mom!" America shouts it as she wakes, eyes wide and confused.

She doesn't dream, so she knows that couldn't have been some sort of subconscious wish. Whatever just happened was real. Or real enough.

In her shaken state, she doesn't consider hallucinations, or other ways in which the mind could trick her, or other things that could pretend to be one of her mothers. No, the only thing she "knows" is one of them was here, in this room, and now she isn't.

"Where did you go?! Speaking in Spanish still translates with the pendant around her neck (she never takes it off), but she still falls back to her native tongue in her distress. She starts to look around the dwelling, desperate for a sign her mom was there, or her mom herself. She starts turning over and anything and everything, even if it's in use, possibly getting in the way of the others who also sleep there. Hopefully she didn't wake anyone up.

Days 6-8 | So About Her Powers | OTA
She doesn't know everything that's to come, but now that America is both off the train, and fully herself again, it's time to see about getting out of there.

Only problem is, when she finally punches a star shaped hole into the world around her...it doesn't take her to another universe, far as she can tell. What shows through the attention-getting, brilliantly white star looks like the train yard. With a yelp, she dissipates the star-shaped hole and blinks.

"¡My god! That wasn't supposed to happen."

Maybe she just did it wrong, somehow? Again.

The next star just takes her even further back, to the place they arrived and got into the carriages. NOPE. She closes that hole as well.

Hopefully no one is watching this epic failure?

Not that being able to instantaneously travel, or teleport, from one spot to another is terrible, that might come in handy, but it's not what she wants.

More punched holes just prove more of the same and leave America knowing one thing - she can't punch her way out of this universe, and something happened to her powers.

(Don't) Hold Your Breath | OTA
Deep in the House of Commerce at this point, it seems a bad idea to turn back, not when they've come this close, but the room America finds herself in is frustratingly full of water. She's nearly swimming in the room. It's hard to tell where the tiles are beneath them and make them out.

Needless to say, when she steps on one and the room shuts close and water starts to steam from everywhere around them she wants to just give up.

"That was a bad tile to step on." She actually looks sheepish about it. "Anyone got any ideas of how to get out of this one?"

Because she only has one, and they won't be proceeding forward if she opens a portal.

Ill Met by Moonlight | OTA
cw: zombies, tar, violence
When the walking animated corpses attempt to get into the place she's run to for shelter, America doesn't waste time and punches them. If she sees anyone in any danger, America doesn't waste time on words, but pulls, shoves, or punches the corpses.

She's all for being kind, but she's already had a couple of the corpses try to feed her this ugly looking tar? And she is NOT doing that, or letting that happen to anyone else!

Wildcard; More zombie shenans, more sunken adventures, some pretend mourning? Inspired for something else? Everything else goes here.

[OOC: Will do [, (, past, present, prose, whichever is most comfortable - I will follow. Feel free to contact me on plurk

metaljean, on this journal, or discord #midnightcat8900. Even if we don't have plans, feel free to hit me up or request something more personalized.]

— THEY SLEEP.

[ a sailor knows intimately the dangers of the sea, and yet the draw of the inky waters, the weight of his body that he knows only the depths will relieve, the treacherous quiet that lives beneath the lapping waves — none of it worries nikolai. it feels exceptionally normal to imagine drifting in the darkness below. his mind has shifted, imperceptibly, from the empty sarcophogi to a familiar black space, a cage within himself that he tries valiantly to keep locked, buried, and isolated, lest he find himself peering out from between those bars once more.

but he’s already there. perhaps he never left, and he’s just a remarkable actor.

the water is cold, blessedly so. it means numbness comes swiftly once he’s submerged, the boats fading from view. the missing dead have to be somewhere. he’s meant to find the bodies or at least find answers to the curious circumstances, but his mind is a haze, cloaked in the glimmering dark.

his hand brushes against something — fabric, or the weightless glide of hair beneath the water. as if by instinct, his fingers latch, his mind sharpening as he pulls a body against his own. a mass of bubbles stream from the last bit of air expelled from his lungs, his arm tightening around a torso as he kicks upwards and breaks the surface with a sputtering gasp, dragging the person with him. ]

— ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT.

[ the boat has room for two. three would be more crowded than he prefers. four would be asking to capsize. ]

I’m afraid we can’t take on any other passengers. [ he’s repeated it a dozen times already, because the corpses attempting to board his commandeered rowboat don’t take kindly to being called corpses. ] I already have one very attractive, very alive guest. Not as attractive as me, but few are.

[ it’s becoming increasingly hard to row while shouldering bodies off his ship, meaning they’re getting precisely nowhere. nikolai unholsters the revolvers at his hips and points one at the fresh corpse babbling about shelter. a crack splits the night, a bullet blowing through the corpse’s forehead and knocking them back into the water with an undignified splash.

he tosses both guns at his (alive) companion and flicks his wet hair from his eyes. ] Do you know how to shoot? It’s easy. Unless you’re shooting at bees. Then it’s hard. I’ll row if you kill anything that looks like it’s already dead.

— WILDCARD.

[ ooc: will default to brackets. also nikolai is host to a demon, it be like that sometimes. ]

➤ Lost At Sea

[ That morning, Owen looked down at his newly signed passport. He didn’t like what he saw:

Amphibian Whisperer

Any onlooker can spot the annoyance on his face. Who can blame the young medical officer? One moment you’re working for a secret operative group in Wales, the next you have been plucked out from out an otherworldly sea. Now given questionable clothing and a bogus identity. All Owen can think about at that moment is to chuck the passport into the water.

But no — Best play nice when you’ve found yourself in a whole new alien world.

If you’re close by, the young medic will (rather boldly) approach and hand you his passport. ]

I’ll trade you. You’ve any shark related occupation on yours?

➤ (Don’t) Hold Your Breath

[ It was a mistake to tackle the lower levels of the former House of Commerce. The pungent smell of black mould hits him first, then vertigo. A double-whammy of a shitshow in the works.

All Owen can see is the entire room going all topsy-turvy. He can’t plant himself in one place without the rickety flooring and slippery mould moving him backwards. ]

—Shit!

[ Owen anchors his hand against the nearest wall and stops himself before he lands headfirst into the leech-filled water. He grabs a handkerchief out of his pocket, covering it over his nose. ]

Is this what it’s like to crawl up Leviathan’s taint?! [ Owen is then caught in a coughing fit. ] It’s absolutely rancid in here!

➤ Wildcard
[ Just testing the waters here (no pun intended huehehe)! Feel free to throw on a whole new starter! I'm down for all types of nonsense. If you've any questions then feel free to hit me up via PM or plurk

robutting ]

( top levels below!

general content warnings for moon knight (violence, (internal) religious conflict, mental illness) apply — tbh there are some that are unlikely to be touched on at all, and others that are simply unlikely in an introduction thread, but in order to avoid any unpleasantries or discomfort, i have an opt-out post located here! )

i: The Drifting

[Working with wood comes naturally to him. He has vague memories of being taught how to work with wood by a father while growing up in this place, though in the evenings he knows these to be false. He's hardly a social butterfly but those speaking to him during this time will find him more sociable, less prickly, more easy to smile.

During the day he works on various projects, often times refusing payment when offered. Or, if one insists, he takes less than what his work is worth.

At times, he can be found carving the body of a guqin even though, once he finishes he pauses and doesn't seem to know what to do with it.]

ii: Haunting

[He's returned to his usual self and even acts extra aloof in an attempt to feel less embarrassed about how he'd acted before this.

Then there's a tap at his shoulder. He turns to the woman with a glare except then she shouts at him--her voice it wasn't her face but Chu Wanning would know that voice from anywhere. It accuses him of cowardice, of being a failure.

His eyes widen: in shock, in horror...before it settles on anger.]

How dare you--! [But before he could summon Tianwen, the Red Lady disappears.

His eyes are icy as he stares at where she stood, angry not because of the accusations but because someone had dared use her voice, to make a mockery of her memory. How dare they!]

1. Arrival

Cold and soaking wet, his thoughts confused and memory hazy, on some level Shen Yuan can nevertheless appreciate the irony of washing up on a strange shore with no clear idea as to how he got there. This is what, the second time? Or possible the third. The gods of the multiverse must all be writing from the same playbook.

He cooperates gratefully with the villager who escorts him to a small, half-ruined shack, offers him towels and dry clothes, and leaves him there with a bowl of some kind of fish soup to sip from. About halfway through that he's come back to himself well enough to start really paying attention to his surroundings -- and to be a little shit about it, too. So when he registers the presence of someone sitting nearby and staring at him, he smiles and says, "If you take a picture, I expect it will last longer."

lost at sea

[He...shouldn't be here. Cal can't quite recall just where he should be, but there is an absence of weight at his back and when he looks up at the sky, he feels a longing, like the place he needs to be isn't on this planet at all.

But it's not like he can just fly out there, not on his own. So this soggy village it is, at least for a time. He walks the streets to get a feel for his current residence and to gather as much information as he can. While out, a gaggle of children follow him, whispering loudly amongst themselves. The clothing that has been given to him must denote a certain role in this society, as well, because some of the braver children finally approach him, asking him to do a trick.

At first, Cal is confused, but then he remembers the passport papers he was given. His cover is a traveling magician, apparently, and while he doesn't have a large repertoire up his sleeves, his powers can do what others might perceive as magic tricks.]

All right. You see that basket over there, across the street? Keep your eyes on it.

[Cal stands so that the children are gathered at his left side and his right hand is blocked from sight. He upturns that hand and the lid of the basket begins to float above it. The children all gasp and start to jump up and down, shrieking in delight while demanding more, more! So Cal indulges them, wiggling his fingers so that the lid appears to dance along the rim of the basket.

It feels a little wrong to use his powers like this, but it's also harmless fun.]

they sleep

[Cal hates mourning.

Of course, he suspects no one in their right mind actually likes it, but to then be told to pretend to be a grief-stricken relative of the people in these burial boats? That's even more disrespectful, he thinks. There should be integrity when dealing with the dead, not a farce for...for who? Who do the villagers want them to impress by faking it?

The past ten years, Cal has lost more people than anyone should, and especially in the last few weeks. The flames of funeral pyres are still burned into the backs of his eyes, a sight he can't push away when he doesn't keep his head in the present. At least these boats haven't been set on fire, but he still doesn't want to interact.

And yet, at the same time, what if there are no loved ones of the dead? Shouldn't someone still spare a thought for them?

Shouldn't he, as a Jedi, be the type of person to lead by such an example?

So he does, though he stands off by himself while the boats return to shore. He does not weep and he does not initiate any conversation. Just...offers himself for this vigil. Being the one left behind is a rising talent of his.

As the ritual continues and the boats are opened, Cal does grow concerned when there are no bodies inside, not even any evidence that there had once been any corpses. It doesn't make sense, but then this planet seems to run on different logic or even magic than any he's known. The galaxy is vast. No one person can ever know every single mystery kept within.

Still, he can't help but stare at the empty boats, his feet slowly dragging him closer to the water. Slow step...by slow step... His eyes start to fall closed, but he still edges closer, his steps taking him into the shallows, but he doesn't notice.

And then, a moment later, Cal sways and falls toward the water.]

wildcard!

[eyyyy hit me up if you want a different flavor or a different topic entirely!]

Jimmy does one thing right: he takes a look at bad-omens bingo going on outside and decides to light every light, every leftover sensuously atmospheric candle in the Peeling Petals. There's no reasoning to it, except maybe as a “screw you!” to impinging darkness and suspiciously timed eclipses. He's already nursing grudges against tea and ghosts. Maybe there's room in his heart to hate the moon too.

Anyway. Word reaches the house when a body thuds into the front door, followed by more pounding and—a strangled quiet. He can almost feel it building, like a distress signal at one of those pitches only dogs and teenagers can hear. Someone—not Jimmy, who's maintaining a prudent distance—opens the door, and the villager staggers in, nearly faceplanting onto the floor. A stick clatters to the ground beside him. Craning his neck, Jimmy spots the splinters bristling from one end, realizes it must have begun the day as a weapon.

Then the guy does something weird. Why not? Even the sky can't behave itself today. He plucks at the person nearest to him, grabs both sides of their face, and starts whispering in their ear. For a good minute—a half-minute at least—Jimmy looks on, too confused to be afraid. Watching the guy's lips and his twitching, frail fingers.

Finally, he can't take it anymore. He blurts: “What? What's he saying?”

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