deercountry | june catch-all

Entry tags:

june catch-all

Who: viktor and others, open to all with some closed prompts in comments
What: june catch-all, some tdm prompts
When: june
Where: various

content warning; terminal illness, arcane season 1 spoilers

misc lab stuff and various fruits.

[viktor's lab in the willful machine is usually left unlocked when he's working inside. friends or acquaintances have likely been told they're welcome to stop by if they like, either to say hello or to get help with whatever a vaguely sketchy lab could handle. of course someone he doesn't know can just walk in too or knock. maybe there's a sudden downpour and that ajar door is tempting? go for it.

the lab has been slowly filling with all sorts of nonsense on the various tables- lasers! tasers! some weird machine hooked up to a blood gem? it is not unlikely to be walking by and hear some minor booming noise and either a curse in czech or a satisfied 'a-ha!' feel free to investigate.

this month there's something else too, a bowl full of fruit. all the fruits mentioned in the tdm in fact, there to be tested on though it looks more like they're just for guests if people are unaware there's some weird shit going on.]

Just a moment, make yourself at home. [he might say to guest. that would include eating some fruit, right? enjoy. probably not the raw lemon though, that's weird.]

[ooc; if you want to memshare i am game, my only hard limit on memories is no suicide stuff please. self sacrifice is fine! feel free to ask to make sure one is okay. if you'd like a viktor memory let me know any hard limits and what sort of memory you might prefer!]

gaze and time loops.

[having lungs mostly working for the moment is pretty great, in viktor's humble opinion. it means walking around the trench doesn't come with the risk of coughing up blood and attracting beasts and generally having a bad time, along with added perks like not getting so easily winded and going for longer. it also means he finds himself out longer than he usually would, which maybe isn't the best, as it turns out.

for example, making his way home through gaze and hearing the chilling cry of a beast, sighing and trying to make his way around what turns out to be the wrong corner. maybe that's where he sees your character before the snarling of a too close beast starts in earnest.

and then snap! they're both back about an hour, where they passed on the street. the look viktor gives is somewhere between resigned and 'fuck this, actually.'] There is a term for this. 'One of those days,' I think.

[ooc; if you'd like to wildcard or do something else you can pm me here or find me at

dichotomy]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I'm glad you've caught on the 'virgin blood' bit. I have a theory there.

[ He turns away, to the desk, and goes rifling through a stack of books for a battered leather journal. When he turns back, it's without any attention to the berries among the tea; someone brought them in this morning, and he's been too busy flipping through old Pthumerian books to pay them any mind. ]

But we may want to start from solid foundations. If you'd like to catch me up on what Palamedes has already shared...

[for a moment viktor thinks this will be easy enough even with pal's warnings on the matter- he doubts he has anything particularly intriguing to share being so new, and the rationality of research is a haven. he can just put a bookmark in speaking of virgin blood, and delve into a brief summary of his understanding of necromancy which-

ah, the first odd hiccup. hearing palamedes' name from the man gives him a sudden, odd rush of irritation despite how simple and harmless the question.

(palamedes and others sent to become lyctors without understanding, palamedes' eight months in that tiny room and he-)

viktor is not new to bitterness, to anger, to neatly compartmentalizing a lifetime of witnessing circumstances and imbalances so staggeringly heinous it would crush many. he is very used to knowing those spike of sinking rage would only destroy him if he gave them room to root and grow, so they go deep, in the dark, destined to cannibalize itself.

so yes, this sudden, clear spike is alarming in that he finds it difficult to shove back into its box where it belongs. it's an actual strain to do so and he tries to cover it by taking the time to sit. by taking another raspberry unthinkingly.]

Mostly we've discussed thanergy and thalergy, the basic principles. [another rapid spike of anger as he thinks of the seventh house, breeding in sickness like- no. swallowed down again.]

Good start.

[ He catches the flash of— something. The jolting heart rate, the twist of emotion across the face. But they're chatting necromancy, and there's a lot there. Hard to say just how much Palamedes has shared. ]

There's a third force worth considering: thanergy, thalergy, and soul. The self, the spirit. A truly specialist necromancer can touch the soul as readily as they can the body.

[ He carries on in the same unbothered tone, and leans in to take up Viktor's offered notebook from beside the bowl of fruit. ]

[the notebook has a great deal oh the magic system of his world, which seems to rely an arcane source that existed in a plane beyond the physical and using conduits to channel it. mages, specifically, born into that power. that same magic translated further into intent with runes.

there's a lot on the topic of runes, and wards, and the general language of the arcane and how the magic source of the trench seems to be quite multilingual. notes on the varies magic systems he's learned of from other worlds, several pages musing on a long line of thought that broke down to likening hextech's ability to make magic move through circuitry wasn't the same as the trench using their own bodies and veins in a similar manner, a closed system of magic constantly running through them.

another raspberry and viktor finds his fingers curling in tightly, jaw tight.] Yes, that is the horrible engine that fuels a lyctor, is it not?

[he snaps his mouth shut, a touch surprised by the venom in his tone but- why should he apologize? it is true, and he does not find it difficult to meet his host's eyes despite knowing he needs to stop now. despite being well aware this is exactly what pal would consider not being careful.]

[ He had been reaching out his own journal to set it down in trade, but his hand stills. Viktor says lyctor, and the King Undying stops what he is doing. He looks back, with his glossy black-hole eyes, and for the first time there is open surprise on his face. ]

That, [ says God, slowly, as he finishes setting down his notebook, ] is a bit beyond the basic principles.

[ The silence hangs between them, for a beat. Palamedes's name is very loudly unspoken within it. ]

[the fact pal is there in this conversation, in the corners of it, pressed up in every word viktor says should make him bite his tongue. what it does instead is fuel some of that budding rage, one starting to tunnel his vision as he finds himself saying coldly,]

Yes, so I understand. I was not a matter those pairs sent to try and achieve it knew, yes? Certainly not the cavaliers. [he can't tear his eyes away, voice a hiss as he continues,] Did your own cavalier know?

[because surely the man is a lyctor and that soul fuels him. surely.]

[ He watches, with a faint crease of almost paternal concern, this growing anger. Palamedes cannot have knowingly endorsed this conversation, this confrontation; he doesn't seem the sort to throw his whatever-the-kids-are-calling-it into the deep end for a shouting match with God. Not two minutes into tea, at least.

Ah. And there's the line. ]

I think there has been a misunderstanding. [ This he says very calmly. Very reasonably! But there is a shift in the Emperor, at the words your cavalier, as though some picture has just crystallized for him and he does not like it very much. He taps a finger on his leatherbound journal. ] To discuss what went on at Canaan House, it'll help to have context. Can I walk us back to the science, for a minute?

[ Either Viktor has gone off hopelessly half-cocked, here, or Palamedes knows more than anyone should. Gideon's been talkative; it was a matter of time. ]

Is the science part of this grand misunderstanding or a deflection?

[when his grip loosens his palm stings, nails almost dug in enough to draw blood and- yes, despite a muted part of him assessing this entire situation as wrong it is not enough to be more than a passing, ignored thought.] Why were they not told? How many died for this misunderstanding? And how many would have died if it went exactly as it was supposed to?

[ Very patiently, God says: ]

This is not going to be a productive conversation. Sainthood... the process of ascension... has been hush-hush these past ten thousand years for good reason. It's a complicated topic.

[ And not one you are entitled to, his tone implies. But he'll cut to the obvious emotional point, and lean on the name unsaid between them. ]

Palamedes does not have the full picture, here, and I invite him to take it up with me personally.

Does he not? Because we witnessed a world where when I looked in his eyes and saw Camilla's.

[the sudden burst of restless energy has him standing, brought on by the dual spike of heated and genuine anger at palamedes' name finally being brought into it, at being dismissed like he so often was by the elite, once upon a time. hilarious in the most humorless way to think this level of excitement would have had him coughing up blood between them, if not for the man before him.]

You know when he told me of 'god' I assumed it must be different from the emperor he mentioned. This... nonsense, gods and saints, hidden 'ascension,' I assumed it must have been done by a force, not simply a man with too much power. A man brought here like the rest of us, claiming playing with lives a 'complicated' matter.

Did you.

[ He looks tired, more than anything, at this. So it's Trench playing tricks again, working everybody up: inventing what-ifs, inventing bad ends. They've dangled the dead in front of him often enough. He knows there's no getting used to it.

Viktor is up from the table, now, with God still standing beside it holding an ignored notebook. Bit of blasphemy to his face, that's fun and new. ]

Is God different from the Emperor? [ He echoes it like a thought experiment, like he's parroting liturgical theorists long dead. Tips the notebook in half a shrug. ] Do I, being a man, make myself God? [ It has the cadence of a quote, the wry turn of a private joke. ] I've collected a lot of titles, over the years. 'The man who became God, and the God who became man...' That's one of my oldest.

I didn't invent it for my ego. [ (Debatable.) ] And I didn't send children to those trials for amusement.

[ Palamedes is counted among children, here, readily. ]

No, it looks very much like you sent them for fodder.

[that gets snapped out turning to regard him, all the contempt he's ever felt watching zaun chew up and spit out the young from factories or chem runners or whatever other problems they could be thrown at. angers getting mixed between implying palamedes was a child and knowing still he was indeed young and on the orders of people who held too much power.]

I am not here to philosophize with you. God has connotations that imply and often demand faith, trust without question. Reward blind willingness to believe the scripture and the font of power. Those children you are so ready to call them, I assume many had faith to be blindsided by the reality that you could not- you would not even allow them the knowledge of the price.

[his fist is clenching again. surely not in preparation of anything.]

[ For fodder: there's a measure of truth to that. He exhales a sigh and leans forward to set down the notebook, back on the table with its twin. ]

The price was set to those who would seek it out. That great sacrifice... it came at the end of a long and willing road. That is how sainthood was first done, and it is the only way I'll ever see it done.

[ That was, at least, the idea; things went a bit sideways. Notebooks now abandoned, he turns back to the bristling Viktor. ]

You forget that we are an empire at war.

[ That is what Palamedes does not know, cannot know, for all that Gideon may be clumsily filling in pieces. None of the children truly comprehend the enemy, or the threat at their backs. Fodder has a measure of truth, not because a cavalier's role is to die— but because a saint is always a soldier. ]

Willing being the key problem here. [he snaps.] You have made cavaliers a commodity, in this 'war' against what? Heretics, was it?

What was their heresy? Questioning a tyrant who labels this- this horror story sainthood?

Well, yes. And constantly trying to blow us up with nukes.

[ There is no more humor left in him, his black-hole eyes gone tired and cold. He tips a hand to the chairs, the ignored tray of tea. ]

We can go in circles about me all afternoon, but I won't hear any further disrespect of that sacrifice. Sit down, Viktor. Have some tea.

[the look on viktor's face says he very much doubts that is the whole story, and in truth he knows so very little about this there is nothing but open space. pal never spoke of it, and ortus' memory showed him a comic that seemed like propaganda to him.

if he has more to say, or if he had any chance to trying to bite back the rage of the cursed fruit, it boils over when he's told to sit. ah what a button to push without meaning to, the countless times he's been silenced, even by jayce and all his good intentions, waving him down in the council room. bitten lips at parties, meaningful looks from heimendinger when his tone gets sharp, choosing to back down again and again for the bigger picture. the greater good that never came.

he barely realizes when he lashes out, swinging right for his host's jaw with a punch jason has helped him master.]

[ For a split second he sees the windup, the tensing of muscles, but: John doesn't think he'll go through with it. He wouldn't—

Palamedes's whatever-he-is clocks him in the jaw.

God recoils with a hand to his mouth, his eyes wide and bright with incredulity. He bangs a knee against the coffee table. The teacups rattle. It is deeply inelegant.

There is a beat of shocked silence. Then God rolls his jaw experimentally, drops his hand, and considers Viktor across the space between them. ]

So no tea, then.

[on viktor's end it's deeply satisfying, even if he's still drawn tight in fury. even through the fog of his anger he feels an odd sort of shock too, which is why he doesn't give in to the nearly overwhelming urge to do that again and maybe not stop.

in the space of a blink all the anger is gone from him, not drained but vanished as though it was never there. the tingling of his knuckles gone, the tension in his jaw, and more damningly he's back in his seat as if he had never left it.

(the raspberries are untouched, which is a matter he'll piece together eventually.)

he blinks once, and where all his anger and wrath once stood fills with confused alarm. what the absolute hell was he thinking? the one thing he told palamedes was he would be careful around this man, insofar as even this visit was something he planned to keep short and respectful. apparently remina had similar feelings about his behavior, because he's been through this twice now and knows the loops when he sees them.

he wipes his face as neutral as he can, eyes going to his now unpunched host warily.] It seems Remina has decided to loop us.

[well, this would be awkward if he wasn't preoccupied with rolling unease.

(and he notably does not start with baffled apologies, because as unnatural as the spontaneous anger and violence were he meant every word. he should probably lie and apologize anyway but... well. one thing he and pal share in spades is a particular stubbornness.)]

[ God, for his part, has no idea what just happened.

He is standing at the desk with a leatherbound journal in his hand; Viktor is sitting; this throws him as badly as the punch. For the barest moment he thinks this is some power of Viktor's, some capacity to puppet him, and the anger crystallizes in his face— ]

Looping.

[ Of course it's the Pthumerians. The anger is pressed down deep, and smolders in his eyes like a banked fire as he turns back to his guest. ]

You've played this one before?

[ They can definitely have a conversation about this, and not the genuinely impressive decision to punch God. This is fine. ]

Twice. [well he'll give 'teacher' this, he would have expected some sort of retribution or at least a demand for an explanation, but the man stays on task. not that it eases him in any real capacity, but reciting the simple facts does.]

By the next loop she will likely appear, or she will leave a message on the wall telling us to 'get it right this time.' What she deems as right is not always immediately apparent.

[a touch bitter there, though otherwise keeping carefully calm in this very normal conversation.] So there is a condition we must meet or we will endlessly play these last few minutes out until she is satisfied. If I had to hazard a guess I would say it was probably the violence.

[yeah maybe, just maybe, punching god is a mistake. he's still trying to wrap his head around why he even did that, thanks remina.]

The violence.

[ He echoes this under his breath, as though admiring the absurdity of it. Slowly, he steps back to their table, and drops his notebook back down beside the tea set with a heavy leather thwap. If a man of average height in a shabby black shirt can loom, he looms. That banked anger is still present in every line of his stillness, more eerie for how quiet it's gone. ]

Take two, then. Think you can resist the temptation?

[ This is where one would traditionally receive an apology. ]

[despite the overwhelming evidence from their recent, baffling interaction viktor is not hotheaded. he has also lived long enough with both chembarons and councilors to know when it's best to duck his head and lie through his teeth, if need be. for all he said before about the man before him being just that, a man and not an untouchable god, he easily remembers what he was capable of with just a touch of his hand. he knows there's a very good reason pal speaks so carefully around him when he is so upfront about everything else.

so yes, an apology would be a good start. he can feel it on the tip of his tongue, bitter and sharp, a pill he knows he needs to swallow but finds it incredibly difficult to do so. of course the trench keeps poking at lancing all the bitterness he learned to bury deep, then puts him in a position to bury it yet again.]

It will not be difficult to refrain, I... do not know what came over me. [he finally admits, because for as much as a ridiculous lie it sounds it is true.

he promised pal though, and that thought at least has him finally burying it all again to glance to his host.] I apologize for my behavior, regardless of what brought it on-

[and before he can finish remina must decide to call him out on that blatant lie by looping them again, back to the start. this time one of the walls has GET IT RIGHT THIS TIME seeping from it and viktor sucks in a breath, followed by an irate sigh.]

[ John stands at the desk, holding a journal. He sucks in a breath, and lets it out slowly. The wall is seeping blood and distortion and it is, frankly, deeply rude. ]

Looks like someone has a script in mind for us.

[ He turns back to Viktor. The look on his face is, briefly, dangerous: there is real hate there, something vulnerable and raw. A flash of cornered-animal fury. He steps forward, and it has cooled away again by the time he reaches the table. This time, he doesn't drop the journal. ]

Let's backtrack. Where were we?

[ Blasphemy and heresy and some just astonishingly poor decisions, apparently. ]

Apparently. [is viktor's answer, just barely resisting the urge to run his hands over his face. the loathing he feels for remina right now is immense, and he hasn't the slightest idea who here exactly is supposed to be learning some valuable lesson.

frankly if he's being used as a prop for the pthumerians to teach something to a necromatic god he is going to be livid, to put it lightly. the brief look he catches on his host's face doesn't help twisting unease in his stomach in the slightest.]

A somewhat normal conversation turned quickly hostile for reasons I still do not- [viktor starts then stops, stares for a moment at the tea cart before swearing in some fantasy slavic language. this time he does run a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as he says,] I do not suppose you've tried those raspberries yourself, have you?

[he's only seen the other fruit in action so this settles too neatly and obnoxiously into place. of course..]

[ Viktor zeroes in on the raspberries, and his host blows out a long, slow breath. His expression cycles through faint incredulity, exasperation, resignation. ]

I think it might be best that I don't.

[ Punching God is, you know, a bold move. Getting punched by God would be even more awkward, and possibly messier. ]

Is even the fruit against us, now?

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