polymods: (Default)
polymods ([personal profile] polymods) wrote in [community profile] polylogs2021-05-01 03:00 pm

Destination: Carcosa

POLYMYTHOS: CARCOSA

Carcosa


Ⅰ. THE TEMPLE
You can read all about your character's arrival in the game lore.
The island's harbour is full of other ships, although not a single one of them seems to actually have a human being aboard. (You could certainly try to steal one, but doing so is an exercise in futility - you will find that even if you set off into the ocean you will wind up right back in the harbour again after spending a few hours lost in the fog.) Beyond the harbour is a glittering city of glass and gold. Curving arches and sharp geometric lines are the hallmarks of the architecture - an art deco paradise that whispers of decadence and hope for the future.

The people who crowd the streets wear suits and hats, drop-waist dresses and furs. Their faces are all blank smiles. It's the roaring twenties, darling, why do you look so concerned?

If it is your first experience of the Endless Isles, you have access to the High Temple. Should you wish, you may also seek out the island's own temple as well, which is located inside the city, in a district mostly forgotten by the residents. Don’t worry - your feet will carry you there.

The building is not large, and it is old and neglected. It has a domed ceiling, with panels of glass crisscrossed with metal painted gold curving upward. Whatever fine pattern may have formed there is lost to time; the glass at the centerpoint of the dome is gone, letting in the smell of the sea.

There are rooms equipped with beds spreading out like a spiderweb from the middle of the building. The temple proper is of course in the exact center, below the broken dome. In the middle of this circular room you will find dead branches gathered together to make a vaguely humanoid shape. This crude figure has been haphazardly painted yellow. A slab of concrete sits in front of it. There is not much to explore here; it is very quiet.

Either temple is a good place to simply rest, or meet some of your fellow Travelers. The High Temple of course has the Temple Chef and its usual Guardians, Flock, and Lantern.

The Island Temple has its own Guardians, which are small, pale humanoids with perfectly blank faces and small antlers like young deer. They will leave you alone unless you try to meddle with the central room. Doing so will result in one of them approaching you, and you will find yourself falling unconscious on the floor.



Ⅱ. THE MASQUERADE
Through happenstance, you find yourself in an enormous ballroom. Low couches are dotted everywhere, and a live band plays somewhere at the end of the massive space. A long bar takes up one side of the room, bottles sparkling under the light cast from the many cut-glass chandeliers hanging overhead. Champagne flows freely, and the scent of gin pervades the air.

All of the attendees are wearing masks.

You're dressed for the occasion, of course - you will find yourself wearing something reminiscent of 1920s America, with a small yellow sigil of some sort pinned to your breast. Ask any of the guests about it and they will tell you, "ah, it's a secret." You too, of course, are wearing a mask. You did not pick this mask, but if you look in the mirror hung over the bar you will find that it nonetheless hints at some aspect of your personality.

Which would be all well and good, except that you can't take the bloody thing off.

Moving around the ballroom, you will discover that a few other people also have the yellow sigil pinned to their clothing. It probably shouldn't surprise you that these people are all other Travelers, equally unable to take their mask off.

No, you can't unmask until you share something with your new-found friend: a secret. A REAL one, the sort you'd never speak aloud.

Of course, you can choose not to share. If you choose that route, however, you'll find that the mask is fusing with your skin. Leave it on past midnight when the cries of "UNMASK! UNMASK!" begin, and it will simply become your new face for the duration of the month.



Ⅲ. THE PLAY
Maybe parties aren't your style. No fear, there's plenty more to do and see in such a wondrous city. There's a theatre - the Meliora Grand as a matter of fact - and perhaps you're just the sort of person who would like to take in the arts.

The theatre has plush seats, and fabulous electric sconces lining the wall. Once you take your seat you'll find yourself looking at the stage, where a blood-red velvet curtain hangs. The theatre doesn't seem to fill up - indeed, it really seems that there's only you and one or two other people there. Curious.


The lights go down and the curtain is drawn open, revealing... well. Not much.

There are two chairs on the stage, a table between them. On the table lays a pallid face: a mask. Just a mask. Why not go on up and take a closer look?

Should you choose to touch the mask, you will feel a deep urge to speak to whoever else is in the theatre. You will, in fact, feel the desire to act out some sort of emotional trauma with them. Perhaps they suddenly look like your mother, your father, a lover who left you. Why don't you tell them how you really feel?

Naturally, you can both just sit in awkward silence instead. You'll be waiting until the morning to be let out, if that's the case.



Ⅳ. LOST CARCOSA
CW: the undead.
You find yourself walking along the beach at night. Along the shore the cloud-waves break, and black stars rise above you.

You can't quite pinpoint when you realise you are no longer alone. Maybe there is only one other person on the beach with you, or perhaps a few; you move as one down the expanse of sand until you realise there is something laying up ahead of you.

There is a heap of yellow cloth there, dry and tattered with age. It smells faintly of spices. Nestled among it is a jewel-encrusted human skull. Its empty sockets compel you to sit down in the cool, bone-white sand, to sit and speak to those around you about loss.

Everyone has lost something important to them. A person, a thing, a place, an aspect of the self. Something that's gone and you're never getting back. The skull grins endlessly, endlessly, encouraging you to speak about something you may not have laid to rest.

You can resist this compulsion. Maybe you were never good at sharing. Refuse the skull's silent request and you may continue down along the beach, or perhaps head back the way you came. As you walk, however, you will notice that there is a fog rolling in. It comes in off the sea/sky, obscuring the beach until you can barely see.

It's a terribly handy cover for the corpses that are shambling out of the surf. Wet, bloated, with eyes that glow a dim gold, they head for you silently. They wish to drag you back with them, into the depths. Better hope you can outrun or outfight them.

Bonus: What's that? You want a Carcosa playlist? You've got it, babes!


Network · Logs · OOC · Memes · Plurk

grayshulk: (pic#12883401)

[personal profile] grayshulk 2021-05-09 05:03 am (UTC)(link)
Can a person choke on air? Apparently, because the mask means Jennifer doesn't have an excuse for the amused sound she when he suggests the possibility of air. Sure, this is fun, but she's not quite looking for that option at the moment. Definitely not sober.

"No, that's exactly the right level of obvious." She looks around. "It probably can't just be a little one, right? Or, I guess we could try?"
lickstheevidence: (pic#13537015)

Connor | Detroit: Become Human | OTA

[personal profile] lickstheevidence 2021-05-09 05:08 am (UTC)(link)
THE TEMPLE

[It's easier not to think about his current situation (Having been abducted, waking up on a ship, arriving at an island) if he keeps his mind busy. He's made his way to the temple on this island mostly by chance, his afternoon spent absorbing as much information as he could scan of the city he's found himself in. It's very...bright, in a way that Detroit is not- for being a city full of androids, Detroit still looked old and tired, sagging around the edges. This city looks new and artistic and vibrant, so that when he finally arrives at the temple, he's struck by the contrast between the city surrounding it and the building itself. He can tell that the architecture is similar to that of rest of the city, but it looks older, worn and run-down. The most striking thing about it is the stick figure in the center, so after exploring for a bit and helping himself to a bottle of thirium, he sinks to a lotus position in front of it, contemplating whatever it might mean and speaking softly to no one in particular.]

Is this something we're meant to understand?

THE MASQUERADE

[Connor's been called a chameleon before; thanks to his social integration programming suite he can become anything to anyone, whatever they might need from him in that moment. Why should it surprise him to find that his oversized mask seems to be that of the lizard? He hasn't seen it for himself, but in feeling around it trying to figure out how to remove it, he's gotten a good enough idea for his reconstruction software to build up a decent enough representation in his HUD, suddenly confirmed when he spies himself in the mirror over the bar. Well that's just great. The ridiculousness of it all makes him that much more eager to get the damned thing off of him, but of course it's not that easy. Openly watching others trying to remove theirs brings him to the realization that he's not alone in this, at least, but it's cold comfort for his dismay. Maybe- could someone else get it off him? Could it hurt to ask? He approaches someone who, like him, also has a sigil on their outfit, reminding him very strongly of the figure he was trying to figure out in the temple. It's possible the mask and sigil are connected, so it stands to reason he'll have a better chance talking to someone with both.]

Excuse me, may I trouble you for a moment?

THE PLAY

[Connor's never been to a theatre before. It seems promising, and the building is grand enough to attract his attention and draw him in. He's made himself comfortable in the plush seats, settling back to wait for the performance to begin. There don't seem to be many others at the show, but he's fine with that; after the awkwardness of the party, some time to be alone and distracted from his thoughts is just what the technicians would probably order. He frowns when the curtains go up though- where are the actors? Why is there only a table and- is that another mask? What's going on? Rising, he warily approaches the stage, but he hears nothing backstage, no one bustling about, no one waiting in the wings to make their entrance. He climbs the short set of stairs, walking over to the table with his frown growing ever deeper. What is going on here? Reaching out, he cautiously pokes at the mask, unsure what to make of it all.]

LOST CARCOSA

[Away from the party, away from the theatre, away from the city, there is the beach. Deviancy so far isn't going the way Connor had hoped, but maybe he'll be able to clear his head and quiet the warnings appearing on his HUD with a walk? His plan might even have worked if not for the human skull his scanners pick up on several meters ahead, strangely yet beautifully decorated with gems and jewels in intricate patterns. His detective software suite immediately spools up, but something more than that seems to be compelling him forward. But no. No. Not again. He's already admitted far too much for one day, and he's too wrung out emotionally to go through this again. Clenching his jaw and balling up his fists at his sides, he walks determinedly around the skull, manually deactivating his investigative software and striding on down the beach, turning his head to the sky to gaze at the unfamiliar stars overhead. He's never spent time looking at stars before, never thought about how they glittered coldly and dispassionately down at the beings who stared up at them. They were pretty in a distant way, and he thought that he might be lulled into stasis by them when they started fading and growing hazy. With a start, his brows furrowed as he realized the haze wasn't in his mind. There was a fog rolling in, making everything murky and bringing with it a chill that seemed to seep into his core. It was time to head back to the bed he'd claimed in the temple, before- wait, were those corpses?!?]

WILDCARD

[Want to do something else? Talk to me on plurk here: [plurk.com profile] CyberLife]
kyley_b: (RL_KB_1)

[personal profile] kyley_b 2021-05-09 05:47 am (UTC)(link)
"Really? You don't look it." This isn't even an attempt at flattery, just the truth as he sees it.

"I have a feeling I won't meet many," he confesses. "Uhm, Broflovski. Wow, King is a MUCH easier surname.

"So, that thing about the cult... you weren't gonna say anything about it, right? Like you didn't plan to. Something made you do it?"
dothelokimotion: (Science was meant to be hard)

[personal profile] dothelokimotion 2021-05-09 07:07 am (UTC)(link)
[ hm. loki glances at whoever just arrived. the man in the library. he only knew him in passing, entranced by loki's knowledge and magic. part of him wants to show off a bit more, preen a little but there is an odd joy in the battlelust, a desire to rip something to pieces like he was, like his future was —

ah, but whose fault is that?

he throttles the thought. ]


I don't particularly care at the moment.
nightschool: (🖋️ 05)

[personal profile] nightschool 2021-05-09 07:25 am (UTC)(link)
I. HIGH TEMPLE

    How entirely ironic that he should wake up to an epic adventure the likes of which he's spent his life pulling apart at the fictional seams and be solely occupied with thoughts of home, just like every voyager doomed to look behind them, no matter what the inhuman ferryman has to say about looking forward. Stumbling from the vessel as if from a womb into a new world, he can only greet the fantastic with a fluttering feeling of lighthearted nausea that sinks into heavy-hearted dread.

    Wariness, too. Wary not just that this unearthliness might be real, but that it might not be real... and that he might have left the parts of his mind that could tell the difference behind in that dank cell stained with his and Louisa's blood. At worst, he wonders if he ever left at all, and this is the trick of a broken mind while his body remains. There are worse ends to being lost between the lines of a story--far brutal, far bloodier ends.

    Fitfully, the daemon spends the disembarkment toying with the band on his wrist, tracing and rubbing the edges, the smooth disc, orange flashing insidiously between his fingers. The city overlooking the harbor is a striking jewel, glinting in the distance like one of the Seven Cities of Gold, but it's the High Temple that whispers something beneath his skin, strumming a chord that rings in tune with the metal secured to his wrist.

    The wordless tugging puts him on the path to the latter, and after a long and breathless time gazing up at the exterior--evocative of some beautifully wrought monument to the old faiths but of no clear composition he can put a finger on--he finally shifts. To the person nearest, he says, "Well, shall head in?"

    As if they were invited and this is not every bit a step into the absurd.

II. CITY

    [He resists the first few days, skittishly keeping close to the High Temple and its sanctuary, losing hours to running fingers through his hair in solitary thought and only his most basic needs. But inevitably, Carcosa calls to him and anyone with an ounce of curiosity--a siren's song to explore the unknown and the strange and the marvellous.

    For one thing, he can't wear a single robe forever. And for another... Kit can't deny, underneath weariness and a desire to put his head down and not lift it again, there's a spark of excitement blooming in the dark. A new world. He can languish any day, anywhere on Earth, but who can say they've passed through a door to somewhere entirely else?

    He can't be the only Traveller with the idea to trek into the city limits, and he can't be the only one stop and gawk at the sights and sounds of the future distilled into glass-fronted buildings and motor cars gliding along paved streets. He might not even be the only one to think to seize upon an abandoned newspaper on an outdoor cafe table and blanch at the date at the top.]

III. MASQUERADE

    [He little likes the enchanted mask that affixes to his face with the suddenness of a dream, but he finds he likes the yellow pin even less. To his distaste, it brings to mind the Jews' yellow badges, worn in plain view--though in this case what the marker adorning his perfectly fitted black evening wear is exposing and to what extent, he's not yet sure.

    (He's not sure of much. People can lose their hold on what's real and true in a dream half as substantial as this, a chill warning to keep in mind.)

    Satisfied neither are coming off without the key to this magic, he tries to keep abreast of the rising tide of unease in him by playing the role, taking a seat at the bar with the other men and women in their suits and indecorously-draped dresses. To try and learn, to trace the mask's shape with his fingers until he understands it. To listen. To take whatever drink is on hand--a white lady, he's told--and swallow it down, welcoming its scald, and remind himself he can't afford to lose what wits he has left to blind panic.

    Over the course of taking the room's measure, his attention falls on someone looking as though they're experiencing same struggles he had upon feeling the mask on his face. Another who's wandered into this honey trap, it seems, perhaps freshly arrived. Or else fed up with feeling at the mercy of magical mischief.]


    You might find more use in a drink than in trying to pry that from your skin.

    [He speaks lowly on approach. Call it pity; call it shared interest; either way, he pauses in his circling of the party to offer a light remark.]
nightschool: (🖋️ 41)

[personal profile] nightschool 2021-05-09 09:22 am (UTC)(link)
[He assumes, of course, that he's marked and catalogued just the same at the same time, as effortlessly as he's been marking everyone else with a glimmer of the otherworldly to them. Witches have their ways of knowing, even if he doesn't know what about his kind stands out to theirs, merely that it does.

And he expects that to be the end of it--marking, mutual acknowledgement, and carrying on. He would much rather let the witch go about his business; watching, perhaps, where his efforts take him. Magic is their forte. If any creature should make inroads here, it would likely be a witch.

But he couldn't fail to notice when the witch in the feathered mask goes from circulating around the crowd to rounding on him.

Briefly, Kit considers abandoning his nearly-finished glass of some sweet-tasting liquor on the side table and retreating with the hope the witch will leave him be, but some vestige of sullen pride keeps him seated, pressing his back farther into the cushion. Inwardly bracing for whatever's to come, for much the same reason he'd resisted Hubbard's offer to install a witch in his household--ostensibly to care for the chores, in actuality to keep an eye on him. He'd believed so many stories about them were just inflated myths, but after her, and the firedrake--

Too late to change course now. A loudly chatting couple moves out of the way, accompanied by the clacking of the woman's pearl necklace, and the other creature steps out from behind them. The thinness in the smile might be the most familiar thing from home he's encountered thus far.

Adjusting for height, he lifts his chin, gaze landing first on the matching yellow sigil, then climbing; at this distance their eyes have no trouble locking on, reinforcing what he can already tell.]


I thought I was.

[Being friendly. At a distance. Politely ignoring one another, as incidents of shared spaces oft goes.]
Edited 2021-05-09 09:24 (UTC)
catlady: (Default)

[personal profile] catlady 2021-05-09 10:09 am (UTC)(link)
[ gathering intel and not taking advantage of the opportunity to get a little shopping in while she's at it? that's definitely thinking small. she might as well take advantage of every opportunity presented to her here on carcosa. ]

My marks will eat up whatever I put in front of them. [ she looks a little like a display rack at the moment, sure. she can tone it down easily enough. ] You should try it, too, you know. Having a little fun? It's not like we're going anywhere anytime soon.
aviate: (( gl ) what can you do)

[personal profile] aviate 2021-05-09 10:11 am (UTC)(link)
[He hadn't planned for any of this, but it all seemed to have worked out in the end.]

Aw, you don't want to hit a few more of these guys?
dothelokimotion: (One arc to a finish)

[personal profile] dothelokimotion 2021-05-09 10:27 am (UTC)(link)
Don't tempt me.

[ he still thinks a small dose of violence could be fun but he rather not take hugely unnecessary risks. not with mortals around. ]
aviate: (( hj ) all thanks to me)

[personal profile] aviate 2021-05-09 11:44 am (UTC)(link)
[Hal's seen far too many aliens and worked with too many grumpy people to be phased by any unusual appearances nor by an unhappy attitude.]

More socks are always nice. Don't underestimate the value of warm feet.
mrfuckwit: (( 95. ))

do we cw for toxic masc

[personal profile] mrfuckwit 2021-05-09 01:11 pm (UTC)(link)
Ryo, that's stupid. We're both boys.

[ The response is immediate. Yeah, no, he's shutting that down quick but it's dumb that he says that instead of "we're both complicated." As Akira notices that Ryo is pushing away from the bar, he follows suite. ]

That's fine. You lead the way where ever you want to go, but I'm warning you.. I might get angry again.

[ who says this ]
directrix: (neutral:  please)

[personal profile] directrix 2021-05-09 01:54 pm (UTC)(link)
On that, I believe we're in agreement.

[ Her past, her secrets, are not for anyone's personal entertainment. Zelda's is a long life, not always as easy as she'd allow others to think, full of dark days that are hers alone to remember.

No more of her truths need revealed today. ]


I suppose so. I haven't found it to be particularly useful so far.

[ Which in itself was an annoyance. She's always been able to rely on her magic, her one ever-loyal companion. ]

They must be countering it in some way.
suckonthis: (how much hair do you need)

yes, we cw for toxic masc and just... toxic. pls.

[personal profile] suckonthis 2021-05-09 01:59 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He actually rolls his eyes at that. This is what happens when you're into dudes in 80s Japan. Tongue and cheek and a lot of frustration. ]

Just admit that you don't know how to dance.

[ And quips. Quips for days. Akira warning him that he might get angry sobers him up and he brushes himself off, looking around for a sign of an empty corridor or something. ]

Over that way.

[ He has no problem cutting through the Travelers and the civilians alike that are just standing and mingling. He's good at dipping around, weaving a path to the corridor. It's clear that whomever is throwing the party wants the ballroom to be the main event, but the passage is still lit. Or is that sus, Akira? Too complicated? Yeah. Too complicated. ]

I didn't think I'd be talking to you so soon. What's going on?

[ Just going to lean against this wall... to avoid appearing anything other than coolly collected. That's a lie. ]
neverwither: (Srs Chloe)

The Masquerade

[personal profile] neverwither 2021-05-09 02:47 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Even through the distortion of the mask, Chloe knows that voice. As with many other things about That Day, it’s burned into her memory. There are words she’s replayed over and over again.

Of course, she could be wrong. Her experience of the island so far doesn’t exactly point to everything being as it should be. A trick, maybe? Another layer to whatever purpose the masks serve? Or is it really just as simple as it appears – another android from Detroit being swept up and taken away.

There’s a sort of comfort in that. The identity of her fellow aside, just having someone else like herself eases some of Chloe’s tensions (even if it may create new ones in their place). And it can be looked at as an opportunity to perhaps one day say some of the things that may need to be said.

Hopefully he’s put it behind him. A single blip in a single day and nothing more. A machine doing that which he was created to do during a task he had been set. Perhaps the whole event is of little significance.

That would be nice. That would be good for him. Yes. Very good indeed.

With identities unconfirmed, she decides to play it safe. Just in case. Turning to him, blue eyes peer through the mask and into his. ]


Of course. How may I assist you?

[ Is she spouting a line that sounds more android? Maybe. ]
neverwither: (Oh sh!t)

[personal profile] neverwither 2021-05-09 03:27 pm (UTC)(link)
Why does she have to be so useless? Why did she have to go wandering in the first place? Why did she have to go anywhere near the skull? If she’d just gone to the temple and stayed put, none of this would be happening.

But no. Chloe always has to poke and prod and ask. And never seems to learn well enough from it.

If it was only herself, that would be one thing, but now her carelessness is putting someone else in danger.

She tries to scan more than an inch around her to see if there might be some dry driftwood, something that could be set alight to make a torch that could whack any creatures that get too close. Nothing immediately leaps out at her. She doesn’t even have the luck to stumble over something that could be of use.

Desperate times may call for desperate measures. Or maybe she’s lost all sense of reasonable thought but really, who’s keeping score at this point?

“What if we had something flammable? Like a liquid? Would you be able to do something with that?”
tearsinajar: backchat (pic#10002210)

[personal profile] tearsinajar 2021-05-09 03:58 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Then what was he so concerned about, she had to wonder, when it was simply a bit of broken glass. It was nothing compared to whatever shrapnel was still gradually pushing its way out of her body. Years later.

Elena glances past him, sees masked strangers. No Sullivan. No ... strange guy trying to blend in with the wall of the motel room back home. It was just them, face to face. Or ... mask to mask.

A shoulder lifts in a half-shrug, and she crosses her arms under her chest. There's no bra underneath the thin dress, it's strings of pearls and thin silk.
]

The world needs saving, apparently. As for you, aren't you a little far off from that Malaysia job? [ She looks him over from behind her mask before taking a step away from him, going to turn as she's more than ready to keep heading for the bar for that drink. ]
sketchbookings: (Default)

[personal profile] sketchbookings 2021-05-09 05:02 pm (UTC)(link)
Benedict, admittedly, hadn't thought much about what he might need. Having never wanted for anything, he realizes that he doesn't know what's more important to get and what isn't, or how to budget to make his money stretch. He doesn't let his hesitance show on his face. Instead, he smiles in agreeance.

"I think you're quite right. We'll see what shops are available to us along the way." Mostly, Benedict will try to watch what other travelers are buying, and mimic their spending. "My name is Benedict, by the way."
sketchbookings: (018)

[personal profile] sketchbookings 2021-05-09 05:05 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Benedict watches, curiously and hopefully. But the secret seems - Lackluster? He can't help but let out a bit of a laugh, trying to stay polite. ]

I'm sorry. That was terribly rude of me.

[ But this seems like a good way to try it. They can build up, small secrets first, until something works. No point in saying something bold when they don't have to.

Benedict hums for a moment.
]

I don't enjoy being a part of London society.

[ It seems as though his own mask is staying put, too. ]
sketchbookings: (Default)

[personal profile] sketchbookings 2021-05-09 05:14 pm (UTC)(link)
"I'm from London. The Mayfair district." Though, that might be apparent to anyone who knows London. Benedict certainly doesn't seem like the city-proper sort. "Have you ever been?"

He thinks that London is rather a central sort of place, especially for Europeans. Even if someone hasn't been, it's likely they've heard of it.
sketchbookings: (Default)

[personal profile] sketchbookings 2021-05-09 05:16 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Hmm. Benedict doesn't like that idea, that this singles him out for being a scapegoat. He sips at his champagne and tries not to let it unsettle him too much, which is easy, because the man's language is so sudden and unexpected that Benedict nearly chokes on his drink. ]

I've never been terribly good with mysteries.
sketchbookings: (Default)

[personal profile] sketchbookings 2021-05-09 05:19 pm (UTC)(link)
Nothing terribly interesting, I'm sure.

[ The things he does keep to himself might rock the boat and bring some light of shame to his family in the London he's used to, but he's quickly learned that people have much more scandalous skeletons in their closets. ]

My life's been rather dull.
sketchbookings: (Default)

[personal profile] sketchbookings 2021-05-09 05:20 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Oh.

Benedict hadn't thought of that. Why should be? It's a dark way to see things and it sends an unpleasant chill down his spine. He takes a moment to clear his throat.
]

Let us hope that's not the case.
sketchbookings: (Default)

[personal profile] sketchbookings 2021-05-09 05:26 pm (UTC)(link)
Yes. It does, doesn't it?

[ He'd never thought to see it that way, but now that the man's voiced it, Benedict finds he can't help but agree. Perhaps that's what's bothered him all these years. Edmund Bridgerton had been a good man, a strong man, and brought down by something so mundane as a tiny bee. ]

He deserved a better death than that.
pilferings: (so it's a little what it looks like)

[personal profile] pilferings 2021-05-09 05:44 pm (UTC)(link)
[ With Elena? What isn't he concerned about? But — no. ]

I — [ He'd already had his guesses, based solely on the way she was reacting to him, the walls she was building up around herself, the distance, but this more or less confirms it. He opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it. Nods. ] — we found Libertalia. [ It's said slowly, quietly. ] And then I woke up here.

[ Nate starts the moment Elena begins to turn back to the bar, caught between wanting to follow her and wanting to give her her distance; on the one hand, he never wants to leave her sight, but on the other ... she deserves the space if she wanted it. It's the least he could do. ]

Well, not here here, but on a boat with the same guy I assume spoke to you too.
directrix: (distance:  waiting)

[personal profile] directrix 2021-05-09 05:45 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Zelda isn't sure quite what to make of that answer, but in some ways...

They have been taken from their lives, their homes, different times and places. And then to be dropped into whatever this is meant to be. An exercise in personal improvement? ]


Unfortunately, our opinion wasn't asked.