+- Court of the Fallen (https://cotf-rpg.com)
+-- Forum: Out of Character (https://cotf-rpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=26)
+--- Forum: Important (https://cotf-rpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=27)
+---- Forum: Archives (https://cotf-rpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=38)
+---- Thread: Hey mom, the world's kinda fucked up (/showthread.php?tid=10975)
Pages:
1
2
Hey mom, the world's kinda fucked up - Iskra - 03-24-2025
Skylark
Someone put cotton behind his eyes. That's how it felt — fuzzy. It was strange, at first. Uncomfortable, because it was new. We find comfort only in the repeated and the predictable. Even horrible things can become bearable when they come around often enough. So once it became known, the cotton, he found he rather liked it. It filtered things. It softened them. The world needed softening.
He blinked.
The cotton fuzzed.
Iskra's palm spread against a nearby tree trunk. The entirety of his body weight sagged into those 5 fingers and that bark as his other hand fumbled with his zipper. A mumble sputtered past his lips, some sort of attempt at guidance for the problem at hand. All it caused was a spit bubble to pop in the corner of his mouth. A belt buckle jerked abruptly and then his pants free fell, the suspenders never having made their way back to his shoulders from the last time he'd done this. He gripped his dick in his hand and steadily pissed his life away.
RE: Hey mom, the world's kinda fucked up - Sunjata - 03-25-2025
In the Greatwood, before the trek to Torchline and the unique advancements made, the Flood wanders through the trees and pathways in search of roses — just on the off chance something came up, though the more he searched the less his hopes grew. So he is aimless, wandering, while the sentient trees of the Greatwood play with his attempts to get back toward the Village.
Not that he was complaining too much, all it took was a change of shape for him to rise high above the treetops to find some sort of civilization.
At the present moment, though, gaze stuck along the underbrush and the base of the trees, he hears a twig snap — looking up in the direction of it against his better judgement (given his penchant for seeing the true void, that is), but is relieved to find that the figure doesn’t harbor tentacles or melting skin or too many eyes in places that eyes should definitely not be.
And while that was great news, he hadn’t meant to interrupt. “[say]Shit, sorry.[/say]” Comes the chuckle, Frey’s demigod twisting so that he isn’t facing Iskra so he can finish his business. But he hasn’t wanted to startle him, so he’d announced his presence. One tattooed arm crosses over his lightning scarred one, steps careful as he peruses for a rose, trying to pass through without causing too much of a surprise for the stranger.
RE: Hey mom, the world's kinda fucked up - Iskra - 03-26-2025
He turned his head, and it felt like 5 seconds later it turned again. The tequila that bathed his brain held it aloft and that floating sensation was just the grey matter swimming inside his skull. Unbidden, his penis turned too and the last bit of his urine stream speckled the tree. If any of it splashed back onto him he did not notice, too busy sliding an easy smile on his face. [say]"Oh heeeeeey. S'no problem my man."[/say] Iskra wiggled it once, twice, then reached down to grab his pants. [say]"Whoops,"[/say] he said under his breath as he fell forward, his shoulder checking into the tree. It worked, so he kept leaning on it, even as the bark bit into his skin. He hoisted his pants back up with lucky ease.
[say]"Want some?"[/say] he offered the stranger as he lumbered back towards his sitting log and the half-empty bottle of liquor next to it. [say]"It helps,"[/say] he suggested, though he didn't say for what. Read: everything. At least, he certainly thought it did, because it was the one thing that quieted the roar in his heart that echoed in his head. It was the only thing that kept him from seeing and chasing ghosts every night. Each sip and they faded little by little until they were just a hum of ectoplasm in the background. [say]"We all need help,"[/say] he proffered.
The world was dark. Just as day always broke, so too could you rely on the night falling.
RE: Hey mom, the world's kinda fucked up - Sunjata - 03-27-2025
Eyes still averted for roses of a particular nature, the Flood glances back right about the time that the woodcutter falls forward into the tree. Focusing back on him with a raise of his brow for a hint of concern, checking him over just to ensure that he’s fine before the offer is made while the man lumbers back toward the log he’d claimed – while Sunjata wonders how he’d failed to see that in his search (likely so busy focusing on trying to find those stupid elusive flowers).
“[say]Ahhh,[/say]” Sunjata starts to say, changing his course toward Iskra to offer a small lopsided smile from a face that harbors half of a Glasgow smile. “[say]I’m afraid it’ll take a lot to get me anywhere close to ya.[/say]” His accented tone hums out a touch sadly – almost missing it, the ability to lose himself in alcohol. It had been nearly impossible with Nate’s death, but he’d managed it, after drinking the equivalent of kegs upon kegs of hard liquor.
Nodding to the next statement, Sunjata puffs out a little sigh before he nods. “[say]Yeah, we do. You wanna talk about it?[/say]” He never wanted to unleash on strangers, himself, but he recognized it was possible for someone else to. Especially given his status as a demigod. Sometimes people were just… drawn to releasing their problems to help them feel a little better, and if he could do that for this stranger, then so be it. “[say]I’m Sunjata, by the way.[/say]”
RE: Hey mom, the world's kinda fucked up - Iskra - 03-27-2025
[say]"Oh?"[/say] he laughs softly. [say]"S'don't worry, I's got more."[/say] He wouldn't push the issue, but he hadn't traveled all the way here with only one bottle of tequila. That was just dinner.
It was a surprising question that Sunjata asked. No one had ever asked Iskra that. It was as if the shroud he'd wrapped himself in for so long had replaced who he once was, so that anyone who looked at him did not see someone haunted by grief, but only saw what they thought was normal. He didn't blame them; they did not know the laughing boy who had raced down warm sands with nothing but joy in his heart and wildness in his veins. How could they see he was just a shell of his former self when that's all he'd ever been to them, shuffling through existence because if he gave up, who would feed his dog?
It wasn't normal, though, was it? For someone, anyone, to lay in bed for days curled up in the bottom of a bottle. If they had wondered though, he had smiled, and laughed, and done some work. Someone who's lost surely doesn't laugh and they definitely don't make you laugh. Someone who is surrounded by darkness cannot shine.
You pretend. You fake it, because you don’t want to be a burden to anyone else. You’re already enough of one to yourself. Besides, everyone has troubles, yours are not special. You've lost people? Wake up, everyone has. You're just weak and seeking attention to make your miserable self feel a little bit better. Pathetic.
If someone does ask, you reassure. It's easy, because no one really wants to ask, because then they would know, and that knowledge is a discomfort. No one likes a buzzkill.
So smile.
Iskra smiles, but doesn't answer. He takes another draught. [say]"Iskra."[/say]
Reassure.
[say]"Flower hunting too? I wasss tryin', 'afore I go back to Alo."[/say] See, he's fine. He's up and working, he's helping.
RE: Hey mom, the world's kinda fucked up - Sunjata - 03-30-2025
Snorting a little at the offer before he sighs, Sunjata glances to the stranger as if trying to determine how much the man’s brought with him. “[say]Think it might be more than you’ve got with ya.[/say]” These days it took either the strongest shit that Remi and Ronin had, or what felt like the entire bar to get him to feel anything. So he focuses on asking, whether or not Iskra wanted to talk about what was going on.
And honestly? He doesn’t blame him for not answering. How many times had he been in a boat similar, refusing to acknowledge it, hiding it away as a form of weakness. For now, though, he sees the smile aimed his way, sees that it very likely hides everything that could be said because one, he was a stranger, and two? Sometimes it felt like it was a journey that needed to be done by oneself.
“[say]Iskra. Nice to meet you.[/say]” Sunjata hums, his accent folding over the man's name the best he can. “[say]Yeah, seems like everyone’s trying and they get tougher to find.[/say]” He murmurs softly, tilting his head as he mentions Halo. “[say]You from Halo? Or just live there now?[/say]” A softer probing question, careful to not ask too much or too deep too quickly.
And all the while, Sunjata aims himself to be the most placating, calm version of himself. It isn’t like he’s got anything else to do – the flowers were still just as elusive as they had been for him in the days past.
RE: Hey mom, the world's kinda fucked up - Iskra - 03-30-2025
[say]"Likewise, Suuntata."[/say] Iskra should have recognized the legendary man, or at least his name, but it's amazing what drifts by you when you keep your head down. The only time Iskra lifted his head was to kiss a bottle. In response to the Flood's flower troubles, Iskra sighed deeply, agreement in that exhale. [say]"Always surns up when aren't lookin'"[/say] Iskra said a touch too sagely for his condition. [say]"S'why I sat down."[/say] It made sense, kinda. Something about taking the time to stop and smell the flowers properly, or that you'd be too busy looking you'd forget to actually find. Either way, it was still him hard at work sitting on his log and sipping reposado.
Iskra went quiet and still for a moment after Sunjata asked about his home. Somewhere behind the cotton at the back of his eyes, memories of a tide lapping against a shore hummed peacefully in his mind. She was there, alive still, delightfully squealing as they played tag with seaweed. It'd been a rare day for her, a sober day for once. She had been more brilliant than the sun that day, and they had spent the golden hours with laughter and love. Like all good things, it hadn't lasted.
Iskra blinked, returning to the present as he cleared his throat. [say]"Born in Torchline,"[/say] he said warily, that word foreign on his lips after so many years of disuse. He thought about not saying it, just admitting that Halo wasn't where he was born, but something inside of him beckoned the recognition, a silent plea to verbalize it for once. [say]"Halo's 'ome now."[/say] He hadn't realized how nice it had felt to escape the cold by coming here. Iskra had set himself in that frozen region so that the chill would forever keep the warmth at bay. Although these woods were nothing like the warm and salty breezes of the seascape, they still thawed something. [say]"You?"[/say] he asked curiously, hoping that the man also didn't share the beach as his childhood place, lest he be asked to reminisce further.
RE: Hey mom, the world's kinda fucked up - Sunjata - 03-30-2025
An accented chuckle escapes him, one broad tattooed shoulder rising and falling in a shrug of agreement. “[say]Yeah, seems that way.[/say]” Luckily for the both of them, the Flood has also decided to sit down. And with no flowers still in sight, he starts to relax a fraction as he asks his question, letting Iskra take all the time he needs to answer.
Torchline, though, has him nodding. Having been the leader there for some time what felt like ages ago. But to go from such a vastly warm and beautiful place to a space that even looking outside seemed to hurt sometimes was… A thing. Something Sunjata couldn’t relate to – but he despised the snow with a passion, having always been a fan of the warmer climates and water in general. He was known as the Flood, after all.
“[say]Oh, uh.[/say]” He starts to say, realizing for a time that this man didn’t recognize him, and honestly? It was a bit relieving – able to tell the story rather than have it told for him. “[say]I’ve kinda been everywhere. I’m not from Caido, so.. Grew up in a place called Korofi. Ended up here when the Voice was dragging all those Outlanders here.[/say]” He didn’t hate the Voice, even still, though that was probably due to the fact his husband was her demigod.
Before the war. Before he’d died.
“[say]So I started off in the Grounds and then moved to Torchline for a bit. Was the Governor there for a bit before I moved around again. Lead the Grounds for a couple of seasons before the war. Then the war happened... And now I’m the Archon of King’s End. Carved out a space for people to live there and have just been growing it since then.[/say]” Minus the infection, of course, the time for action had finally started.
RE: Hey mom, the world's kinda fucked up - Iskra - 03-30-2025
Iskra's 'brow sketched up as Sunjata listed off several worldwide events and positions of power in numerous lands. He regarded the Flood in a new light. Not the discernment of one warrior to another, though Iskra had not missed the well-sculpted muscle that adorned him, the kind that tended to come from battle and training. Nor did he forget the man's refusal of drink, not because he wouldn't take it, but because it was too little to affect him. No, what Iskra saw in Sunjata now was the shadow that those titles and heroic deeds left, and he supposed he might be in the company of a fellow wraith.
[say]"Sounds like you're still figuring out where home is."[/say] Not said in any cruel manner, just the recognition of the cruelty that such a feeling bore. Iskra smiled, and though it was frail, it remained. [say]"Whassa story behind your ink?"[/say] Because no one put a needle to their skin without purpose. Even the 'for fun' markings had a reason to them; fun was reason enough, but often there was something more to it, hidden even from the owner.
RE: Hey mom, the world's kinda fucked up - Sunjata - 03-30-2025
He was a wraith. He always had been – a shadow trying to make a name for himself that was entirely him. Not what he shitty father wanted him to be, not what everyone else tried to make him into. And even as he tried to do everything on his own, it would backfire. He’d get too close to someone, he’d love someone, and they’d die anyway. So he’d spent time boarding himself up, keeping the jagged edges of his soul from stabbing everyone else because they couldn’t get close enough for it to pierce.
Until that got too lonely, and after his betrayal of Safrin and his love of Frey, they helped to guide him into a new path – one where he could focus on helping everyone else however he could. And apart from the infection, he’d certainly done his best to give people a refuge. So, to hear as Iskra mentions that it seems like he’s still trying to figure out where home is? He isn’t wrong, and it’s with a lopsided smile thanks to the scar that bisects his mouth that the Flood nods. “[say]I’m hoping I found it.[/say]” And he doesn’t have a goddess forcing him to leave, like Safrin had, because she wasn’t okay with his choices.
Frey let him do whatever it was he wanted or needed. He was thriving as much as he could.
His ink, though? The smile remains as he glances down to his arm and of course in the back of his mind, thinks about the compasses on his neck and the wings that make up the majority of his shoulders. “[say]Mm, some of them I got in my old world. I got the wings as my first one because I was finally free. The compasses came later. I got them for my girl at the time so that when I’d always look at her it was like she was my true north.[/say]” In hindsight, not a great thing, but with how he’s currently sitting, it angles those compasses right at Iskra. “[say]I got my arm done when I was here, though. Waves. I loved the ocean and I’m known as the Flood, so, I guess it kinda fit. Used to have my other arm the same and stars would move in them, but that was when I was still good with Safrin.[/say]” Before Frey had to tear her from his soul and scrub her name from his bones. “[say]Now it’s just covered in lightning scars.[/say]” From grabbing that stupid lightning rod Deimos had handed to him from miscommunication.
But he’d lived through it.
“[say]What about yours?[/say]” He asks, appraising Iskra anew.
RE: Hey mom, the world's kinda fucked up - Iskra - 03-30-2025
There was a certain peace that came with finding where you belong. Iskra wasn't sure he had found that yet. Torchline no longer felt like home, and he wouldn't return there. Halo, it had started as a self-imposed punishment, but now it was familiar, and the people there were kind and hard-working. Plus, they could always use wood to fight off the cold, so at the very least, he found a repeatable purpose. He supposed that was the best he could hope for, and took the comfort he could in that.
Sunjata moved from image to image like a book, and Iskra, the eager reader, followed along. He nodded throughout, understanding and appreciation evident on his face. Sunjata had made each choice carefully and carried a piece of his heart in each of them. Iskra wished he could say the same. Earlier, when he said every tattoo had a reason, well, sometimes the reason was being blackout drunk because you couldn't face your grief.
Iskra's fingers worked to undo the buttons on his shirt, peeling back the fabric to expose the myriad of artwork he'd drilled across his chest and arms. Some of it had been exposed past the cloth, but to truly understand it, he had to bare himself in a way that had always been much easier to do than to look within. [say]"This main one on my chest, is the ocean with a lighthouse beating back the darkness and the sea beast. It's to remind me to shine bright, even when times seem dire, because that's how you'll find your way through it."[/say] He probably ought to listen to his past self more. [say]"I got that one before I left Torchline. After... after my mother died. When everything went to shit."[/say] he admitted it softly, as if the volume might affect the terribleness of it washing over him. This was the second time he'd said his mother died out loud. The first time had been to Mel. Then his anxiety had crept up his throat so tightly he'd excused himself and slipped out the bathroom window just to escape her. Damn fool. Well, there were no windows here.
He continued on with a slight stammer, focusing on the ink, using it as a tool to keep the memory focused on earning the tattoo and less on the why. It was easier to explain it that way. A memory of a memory. [say]"T-t-then the oceans, a-a-and the beasts extended to each arm, for the world is vast and full of monstrosities, we must try to sail past. It's also why the words, hold fast, are on me twice. A reminder of strength when your sails threaten to buckle."[/say] The words were split along his breast, then layered along his left bicep. [say]"Some candles,"[/say] he pointed along his left arm, [say]"More brightness to carry in the dark."[/say] He grinned a bit broadly now, as his fingers swept to some roses, some berries, an owl, a hammer, and various symbols and names. [say]"These... I was too drunk to remember. Some, I think, I've seen in my dreams. I have the same one sometimes. It's like another world. There's a great sundering of a place full of pegasus and unicorns and magic. It's chaotic and terrible, but it feels like I know them."[/say] He laughs with a shake of his head. [say]"Might make sense if I was Attuned, but the only thing I can shift is..."[/say] he looked pointedly towards his pants as he shrugged his shirt back on fully.
He'd sobered up a fair bit. The numbness had faded to leave the bite of his past, and while he shifted uncomfortably on the log, he did not reach for the Tequila again, not yet.
[say]"Have you lost anyone like that?"[/say] he asked quietly again. It was a plea not to be alone in this. [say]"I know most of us have... lost someone."[/say] he admitted with his gaze downcast, suddenly unable to stop staring at his hands. [say]"But my mother... she died when I was younger. My father was dead before I was born, so it felt like she was all I had. Some siblings, too, but they were older, scattered already. It had been me and her against the world, but the world won."[/say] Iskra went silent, but it didn't stop him from wondering how you were supposed to move on from that kind of loss. Changing a home is one thing. Changing your whole world? He felt like he didn't belong anywhere, like he was an alien here, pretending to be happy and to relax, but all the while knowing he never fully would again because it was gone. He'd had his turn already, and now it was spent, and he was here, pretending.
RE: Hey mom, the world's kinda fucked up - Sunjata - 03-31-2025
Sunjata hadn’t even delved into the ones on his chest, the scars carved there, too. But he doesn’t mind – listening intently as Iskra begins to explain his thoughts, his ink, his journey. And he nods, because it certainly makes sense. He had his north star for a similar reason, to find your path through the darkness.
And then he says it was after his mother died, and fuck if Sunjata can’t relate.
He nods, understandingly and encouragingly, staying silent to let him work through his emotions and feelings – likely feeling even more of it because of the drinking. But it’s when he pauses to mention his dream of Pegasus and unicorns, Sunjata perks up a little. “[say]I have a pegasus shift.[/say]” He says softly – though he doesn’t know why. He hasn’t seen them here. He’s the only one.
But he draws silent again, even if there’s the huff of air that leaves his nose to glance to just where Iskra looks pointedly at his crotch, before his gaze flits up at his face to hear the blunt question. “[say]I’m sorry.[/say]” He says softly – and he was, because nobody should have to deal with that. And yet, so many of them have. “[say]I uh, I lost my mom when I was nineteen.[/say]” He puffs out his cheeks in a little bit of a sigh. “[say]And.. the girl I got the compasses for? She’s gone too.. Frost Giant in Halo.[/say]” Jaw working, he doesn’t want it to be like a game of pain Olympics… But Iskra had asked, and Sunjata can offer his own understandings. “[say]And later I got married to a guy named Nate. But he was Ascended and I lost him in the war, too.[/say]” The memories, despite his attempts to try and talk about it because somehow he thinks it’d be easier, are still difficult. Enough so that the Flood’s shoulders, where the wing tattoos are on display, slowly fill with dark navy plumage of his macaw shift.
“[say]I used to think that death followed me? That if I got attached to anyone that they’d succumb to this horrible, shitty death.[/say]” Having realized he’d been staring at the grass between their feet, the Flood lifts his steel gaze up toward him, offering a small lopsided smile from the scar on his face. “[say]But I don’t think it’s just me. I think we’re all cursed to an extent. And it’s so fucking shitty.[/say]” Pausing here to let Iskra offer his input should he want to comment on it.
RE: Hey mom, the world's kinda fucked up - Iskra - 03-31-2025
Iskra was not normally so vulnerable. He spent most of his life actively avoiding the raw feeling of exposing himself, even to himself. Life hurt enough, no need to show your soft spots and let it dig in deep. Walls, denial, and space - those were the defenses that kept you safe. He supposed that was why he'd never said most of this out loud, had never analyzed it beyond recognizing it and immediately shoving it away from his conscious thought. It was why he'd never heard anyone else talk about it either. He'd never bothered to ask, or listen.
He'd always known he was not the only one with grief perched on his shoulder, feeding it morsels of despair as it croaked in your ear. It was one thing to know it and something else entirely to witness the scattered feathers and shit-stained shoulders of another with the wretched companion. Hell, he even saw those dark wings of despair rise above this hollowed man. Iskra blinked, rubbing at his eyes.
Sunjata listed them off, one horrible loss in his life after the next. It could easily feel like the ugliest race in the world, each of them competing for the shittiest trophy imaginable, but it did not strike the woodcutter as such. Instead, he found a growing light blossoming inside him, a warmth that reached a tentative hand from the cold that he'd gathered around his shoulders in mistake of a comfortable shawl. Sharing in this tragedy of existence, it was a comfort. The world often felt so depthless and terrible, as if no thought or deed could alter the oppressive weight of it as it pushed in day after day. Yet, they were not alone in this tremendous dark. They need not be strong enough to beat it, just to be strong enough to grasp onto one another and endure it. Together, they could do more than weather it. They could create something lovely, happy memories and bright laughter. It wouldn't erase the grief, nothing would, but it would settle beside it, and you would grow instead of shrink. That's what love was.
Iskra had frowned deeper with each terrible tale, goosebumps racing along his skin by the time the Flood concluded. [say]"Cursed to live,"[/say] Iskra sighed, agreeing. [say]"I used to think it shouldn't be like this - hard. I thought it was owed to us that it be wonderful and gentle. That we should be comfortable and warm and content."[/say] He laughed far too hard for a moment at that. [say]"I think mothers just have a habit of making it that way for their children. The truth is there's barely a soft thing to living. Everything is tooth and claw to survive another day."[/say] It almost doesn't feel worth it, some days. Yet somehow he kept waking up and dealing with it. [say]"Death seems easier,"[/say] he admitted softly. [say]"Softer. Quieter. Kinder."[/say]
He looked up, for those piercing blue eyes that Sunjata had, wondering briefly if this man of loss had ever felt that way, too. [say]"But then, so much would be missed."[/say] Life was terrible, but it was all you got, and there was so much to be made of it.
[say]"Can I see it?"[/say] he said after a beat, his voice lighter than it had been so far. [say]"Your pegasus shift."[/say] Another thoughtful pause before a boyish wonder filled him. [say]"Does it hurt? All your bones rearranging?"[/say] It had always freaked him out a little bit to be honest.
RE: Hey mom, the world's kinda fucked up - Sunjata - 04-01-2025
Sunjata had a natural tendency of self destruction. Given even the slightest opportunity to and the Flood would careen and change pathways only to indulge in those sides of himself. He always had. He picked at a wound until it was too raw, clinging to the pain because he felt as if he deserved it, that it was there because he wasn’t better to prevent it, so he should endure the worst of it because it’s all he knew.
He didn’t have a loving family. His mother had been the best part of it, before his father took her away. Before his father kidnapped Nate and threatened Hotaru. Before he had to challenge his father to a trial where he’d only won because he’d pretended to give into all the horrible things he said about how weak he was.
And then he’d flung them both off of a cliff, with his father’s knife still in his mouth, slicing clean through his cheek.
But he’d survived. And he survives still, even with each scar of each painful wound. It had healed, eventually, and in part thanks to Frey and their understanding. He’d been able to want to live again, rather than be a shadow, watching everyone else live their lives.
So, he nods to hear the agreement, hearing him out and even going so far as to let the nod occur when Iskra mentions that death sounded easier. It’s a thought Sunjata had numerous times. It’s a thought that he still has on the rare occasions that things go wrong. It’s the thought he’d had when Nate had died and he’d told Hotaru while he stood in the very ocean that could kill him from his immortality clause.
But he hadn’t. And he sits here before Iskra, nodding and letting the soft smile crookedly form on his face as he takes a slow inhale. “[say]A lot would be missed. And I guess, for as hard as it is, we get to learn a lot.[/say]” A lot of stuff they didn’t want to learn but were subjected to regardless.. But maybe that was life?
Perking up at the request, Sunjata stands almost immediately, drawing up to his full height and letting a huff of a laugh leave him. “[say]It doesn’t hurt. Just feels weird for a moment until everything’s back in place.[/say]” He offers easily, stepping off to the side to give enough space for the shift to take form. It only takes a few seconds before the tall, broad shouldered man becomes a Pegasus – body starting out as white, fading into a royal blue, shifting toward navy and wings that tuck in tight against his sides, tipped in an electric blue that’s brighter than his gaze when he turns back toward Iskra, ears perking forward curiously, an easy body language to suggest that he could come and poke and prod if he wanted to.