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Entry tags:
- ! event log,
- a discovery of witches: kit marlowe,
- dc: harley quinn,
- detroit: become human: chloe,
- detroit: become human: connor,
- dragon age: anders,
- final fantasy: sephiroth,
- locked tomb: harrowhark nonagesimus,
- marvel: carter ghazikhanian,
- marvel: jennifer walters,
- marvel: loki odinson,
- marvel: wade wilson,
- my hero academia: takami keigo,
- oc: elenore evans,
- oc: saxsice king,
- penny dreadful: victor frankenstein,
- south park: kyle broflovski,
- uncharted: elena fisher,
- uncharted: nathan drake,
- uncharted: rafe adler,
- uncharted: samuel drake
Destination: 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!
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.
ii. masquerade. u knew this was comin
Does she want to be here? No. Absolutely not. But does it mean she's far away from him? Yes. Probably. Her jaw tightens as she remembers the motel, and the drink is raised, tossed back on a heavy swallow. ]
Blessed, my ass, [ is muttered under her breath then, the mask partially hiding the twist in her brow as she scowls. Screw that whole talk that happened when arriving; or should she be thanking them? Rising up from the couch, the off-white gown settles around her legs, the pearls hanging to rest between her breasts to somewhat cover skin that would be otherwise left bared in the low cut.
Is it really a damn blessing that she's here and not there? God, she needs another drink. However, something urges her to look across. To let her gaze linger for a few spare seconds, the light from the chandeliers catching on the hair comb sweeping the loose blonde curls off one shoulder. Everyone looks the same—masked, dressed in formal suits or dresses. He was no different from the rest.
And then she's turning away, moving to head for the bar. ]
hold me i'm scared
But Nate feels like he could pick Elena out of a crowd any time; she really was just that special, he really was just that much of an idiot, and he'd memorized everything about her for years. When he catches sight of that familiar figure dressed to the nines, it's 'familiar' that feels like a gut-punch, makes him think he must be hallucinating things, because what the hell are the odds?
He can feel the sudden weight of his wedding band around his finger manifesting his guilt and shame, and he resists the urge to reach for it, to twist it like it could ease the way his stomach churns. (Idiot, idiot.) And the world around him feels like it's slowed down to a heavy blur of music and glittering lights and it's just him and Elena and a wide distance between them. He isn't sure if she'd seen him; he isn't sure she would have stopped even if she had. And he could let her go — hell, it'd probably be the smart thing to do when he'd already dug himself so deep into a situation he's sure he can't come back from. But —
(God. Why did he lie in the first place? Why didn't he go after her? Why couldn't he have come clean about Sam earlier?
No, no, no — he had reasons. He did. And Sam — he needs him. Nate has to save his brother's life, because there's no one else, because he owes him that much at least.)
Still. He's gotta try, right? If this whole journey is about being a better person, making amends and saving lives, isn't it worth something to try? He moves to follow her, parting from the crowd, one hand reaching up to pull at his mask because it feels ridiculous to greet your estranged wife when you're concealed, and yet — even now, it still won't budge. ]
— Elena? Hey! Hey, Elena!
holds g e n t l y
This puzzle?
Something was telling her to look back. To look for where the voice was coming from.
Elena shakes her head, fights down the urge. To look back now, it would feel like she was back in that motel after pouring over his notes and the maps, not here in the middle of a glamorous event. If she looked back, she would see him. Him and the stunned look, his brows raised high enough that they might reach his hairline. That's what she would see. There was no way she was ready to face him, and on the off-chance that it really wasn't her husband and in fact Sullivan, well...
A trembling breath is pushed down — she needs another drink — and Elena continues on for the bar. Except not. On yet another unexpected turn of events, her mind distracted and her feet moving again on autopilot, her journey for that drink is halted as she collides forcefully with someone unknown; another partygoer? It's so sudden that neither of them realize the glass that the stranger had been carrying had caught between them, breaking. Drink spills between them, bits of glass fall to the ground at their feet, some catching in her strings of pearls — ]
—sorry. I'm so sorry, that was — I wasn't...
[ She wasn't watching where she'd been going; this was on her. Bits of red stand out against the white of her dress at her left breast — had she been cut? Could be worse, she supposed, it could've been standing too close to a grenade, shrapnel piercing her skin. Again.
Jesus, was this seriously her life right now? Elena waves the guy off; they both seem okay. Both had stumbled on their apologies. The night would carry on. ]
jitters around
That said, he can only hope that — all things said and done — the woman with speckles of blood across the front of her once-pristine white dress actually is Elena Fisher, his Elena Fisher — otherwise this is going to be a little bit awkward.
You know, other than literally everything else potentially awkward about their currently shaky shambling marriage. ]
You're okay. [ He says, his voice unmistakable beneath his mask. And even so, his hair and the line of his jaw, his mouth, are very much Nathan Drake — which might not be a good thing right now. ]
jitters with
Keep your cool, keep your cool.
Hopefully the music is loud enough to mask the shuddering intake of breath she needs to draw, needing it to so she can steady herself for what likely seems the inevitable. One look at him, mask or not, and it's real. He's real. So is the pain that follows. ]
I've been through worse. [ A beat. ] What are you doing here?
no subject
He thinks about keeping her hands in his and never letting them go, just holding onto them like maybe if he did, everything else wouldn't matter; everything he did wouldn't matter. But that's ... a coward's way of thinking and even though that is exactly what he is, he eventually relents his grasp, his own hands dropping back to his sides. ]
Could ask you the same thing.
[ He knows why he was drawn here. Why Sam was drawn here. But Elena? What could she possibly have to redeem herself for? ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
Great. So you found Avery's treasure. [ Glancing back over her shoulder to him. ] That still doesn't answer me about the Malaysia job, Nate.
no subject
He's trying to remember the last time he'd seen Elena, how much she'd seen in that motel room, how much he'd confessed when she caught them out. ] So. Hold on, hold on — what's the last thing you remember before you got here?
no subject
You. Sullivan. Some guy with a receding hairline. The three of you coming into the motel room. You were talking about treasure which, with you, is clearly nothing out of the ordinary these days.
no subject
'Some guy with a receding hairline' — okay, so, maybe they're not exactly in sympatico as far as their timelines are concerned. It's already so goddamned complicated as it is, being plucked out of their own worlds and brought to this place, but to come in at different points of their lives ...
For what is hardly to be the last time, Nate reaches out and then lets his hand drop back to his side. He frowns too, considering. ]
I explained everything. [ Okay, maybe not everything, but. ] That's — Sam. I didn't — you didn't get the introduction? We had this conversation, before you —
[ Before she left the motel room in tears, and Nate ... lashed out at Sully, at Sam, and still thought that maybe their marriage was strong enough to buy him just a little more time to save Sam. Looking at Elena now, he isn't sure that's true anymore. Maybe he never really did, but he hasn't taken his wedding ring off once anyway. ]
Elena, that guy was Sam. My brother. And I had to — have to save him.
no subject
[ Her hands sweep out at her sides. If she almost hits someone, she doesn't notice. ]
Since when have you had a brother? I was under the assumption that you were an only child this entire time.
no subject
[ Nate flinches, the beats of this conversation feeling like deja vu, only with a few nightmarish adjustments — the fancy dresses, the masks that won't come off, the crowd of party guests occupying the hall around them, many curious onlookers now beginning to notice the commotion.
And Nate knows he's explaining it badly, worse even than when he'd tried to do it the first time back at the motel. He thinks to scrub his face, but his fingers catch on the mask covering half of his face still. ]
I promise I can explain everything. Can we just — not do it here?
no subject
Fine. [ Elena steps back and motions for him to lead the way. ] But I’m still getting my drink on the way.
no subject
[ Nate's pretty sure he couldn't keep a sip of water down, let alone a proper drink. Facing down a militia of ruthless mercenaries, sure; a hoard of juiced up Shambhala guardians? No problem. But explaining the truth (again) to his wife? Christ, his stomach feels like it's trying to crawl up his throat.
So, he's just going to wait while Elena fetches her drink, the playful jazz in the background gone woefully ignored (and, actually, kind of insulting to his current mood) before he guides them away from the dancing and partying to an alcove just outside the ballroom doors. It's quieter here and a lot more private, better for conversation — or the inevitable stashing of his body when Elena kills him. ]
no subject
You were saying?
[ About his so-called brother. The nonexistent Malaysia job. Libertalia. Avery’s treasure. ]
no subject
[ In the absence of a face-scrubbing, Nate opts to rub the back of his neck instead, reminding himself what he'd said to her once — not even all that long ago, really, but with everything that had happened then and all of the wild and crazy things happening now ... it kinda feels like another lifetime ago. But he can start again, he can explain it better, he can —
He can try not to panic. This is Elena. One of less than a handful of people who had been there with and for him through the best and worst points of his adult life.
Christ, he really screwed it up, didn't he? ]
Where do I even start? [ Back at the motel, right? It feels like the most logical place to start from, when the alternative is to start from the very beginning — and he isn't even sure how to broach that yet. Him and Sam and their lives together, when it'd really been the two of them against the rest of the world. ] That guy you didn't ... actually get to meet? His name's Sam. Sam Drake. [ He exhales. ] And for fifteen years, I thought he was dead. I thought he'd died in a Panamanian prison.
no subject
Right. A brother. [ A scoff. ] Who just so happened to be conveniently out of the picture the entire time we’ve known each other. Who just so happens to conveniently show up now. A brother you thought was dead.
Well, Nate, that’s great for you, I suppose. Two brothers reunited. Congratulations. You two clearly have so much to catch up on.
[ Does she sound sarcastic, bitter? Yeah, she still has good reason. And right now Elena chugs back two long sips of her drink while hating on the tightness that squeezes at her chest and makes it hard to swallow down her drink. Hates that her eyes are beginning to sting, yet she’s grateful for the mask, for the partial darkness they’ve moved themselves to.
Hates him for how she’s feeling right in this moment. ]
I don’t— Nathan, I don’t get you. You lied about him. You lied about where you were going, why you were doing what you were doing. To me.
I thought we were done with that.
no subject
[ Nate had always been an expert at running, and running away. This was just one more thing he'd decided to run from. It was a secret he'd carried with him, along with some of the reasons he'd been so desperate to uncover Drake's legacy. It was a part of everything that made him him for more than a decade, and it was a secret he'd kept, even from Elena. Especially from Elena. ]
And it's not about the two of us catching up. He's in trouble, big trouble, and I've gotta — I have to save him. I wanted to tell you, I did. But — how could I?
no subject
Otherwise, what’s the point in taking vows if you’re just going to go and break them? Again. At this point— at this point I might as well give you back your ring, clearly you’re a one-man show.
[ Elena sets her drink down on the flat railing and goes to begin pulling at her gloves, intent on taking the damn band off. ]
No, actually, you know what? You can give it to Victor. I’m sure he’d love that.
no subject
[ Nate's voice is quiet, pleading. He steps forward, intent on reaching out to put his hands over hers, to keep her from doing the thing that could make his own heart stop. It's true that this isn't ... the first time he'd done something so profoundly idiotic before, had left their first attempt at marriage an unhappy and estranged one — but it's different this time. It really, really is. (Isn't it?) And watching her tug at the glove of her left hand makes his blood suddenly run cold, icy shards like barbs in his chest.
She can't—
But just before he could reach out, he stops himself and remains rooted to the spot instead. It's like he'd told Sam on that boat: maybe he really had done this to her one too many times, and after all was said and done the guilt remained, heavy and sour in his gut. He didn't really have a right to tell her to stop. ]
I was just — I didn't tell you because I was trying to protect you. [ And ... maybe himself. ] The guy who broke Sam out of prison is dangerous, and he wants a lot of money. The only way we could pay off that debt is with Henry Avery's treasure. I couldn't get you involved in all that.
no subject
No. [ The glove is then tossed down at his feet before she furiously points a finger at him. ] No, that’s bullshit and you know it. It’s nothing but an excuse. Oh, this guy is “dangerous”? What, did you just end up completely forgetting about Lazarevic? He was fucking dangerous.
I highly doubt anyone can compare to Zoran Lazarevic. No– [ breaking off to bark out a disbelieving laugh, and that’s when the other glove is tugged off and dropped between them, ] —you’re being a coward. You know that, right?
There are plenty of other ways you could’ve helped this brother of yours. We both have connections. Contacts. But you just... went and did what you know how to do best. I guess.
no subject
[ She has a point. Well, no. She has several points, of course she does, she's Elena Freakin' Fisher.
He exhales.
That day on the dock when Sam came to him with his ask, with his crappy little black and white print-out of a second St Dismas' cross, it hadn't been 'Nathan Drake — Salvager and Regular Guy' who had come to call when Sam asked for his help (I don't trust anybody else you got on that phone with my life, okay?), it'd been Nathan Drake, one half of a delinquent duo who couldn't believe his older brother, a guy he looked up to, a guy who raised him and taught him pretty much everything he knew now, had been alive and stuck in prison for the fifteen years it took for him to forget he existed.
With Lazarevic it'd been different. Even when things were out of control, Nate felt (mostly) in control of his own life. Chloe and Elena were as safe as they could be, making their way out of Shambhala, and it was his prerogative to stop Lazarevic at whatever cost; it hadn't been so ... personal. That final confrontation could have happened between Lazarevic and somebody else — any other treasure hunter. Hell, if Nate and Harry hadn't been at odds with each other, it could have been him.
Nate felt the personal responsibility for Sam's fate all those years ago, had desperately clung to his older brother's hand and let him slip at the last second. He had a literal hand in him being stuck in that place, all of his leads and inquiries shortly after he and Rafe escaped falling to deaf ears and dead ends. Every conclusion was finished with the final blow of 'Samuel Drake died of a gunshot wound in a Panamanian jail' — and that was on him. It was his fault.
So much of their youth was spent looking for Henry Avery's treasure, of bribing their way into the penitentiary and hunting for clues ... and maybe the call of getting that one thing back for them, for what he'd done to Sam, was too tempting. Maybe the treasure itself was like closure, and he needed it at all costs. Maybe he just wanted to make it up to his brother for letting him down — but in doing so, he'd let Elena down. And Christ, she didn't deserve that. Of course not. Not after everything they'd been through together.
He lifts a hand to absent-mindedly rub at his face, letting out another breath, and accidentally swipes a hand at the mask over his eyes. It slips off with ease, clattering to the ground to join Elena's gloves. He isn't sure at what point it had come loose. ]
a wise lesson
She works her jaw, quiet, looking up at him again. What else could he possibly have to say? More excuses? More lies?
Without the glove covering her hand she can turn her ring around her finger with her thumb, an unconscious gesture. Almost as though she's weighing unspoken options in her mind while the silence drags on between them, the laughter and cheer and music from inside drifting out every so often. ]
If you were going to say something, let's have it.
sometimes my excitement is too extra
sometimes being too extra can be a good thing though
glad u think so c': anywaaaay steals some game dialogue bc that's how i roll
IT'S WHAT WE DO
(no subject)
went back to their Couch Scene ;_; north & rose are so good as VAs
yeAH i love them so much ;; they really bring nate and elena to life; anyway sorry for this
no you're not
(... guilty as charged) — fin ;