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

My money's on the latter.

[ He can't even be that surprised, and it shows in another flicker of distant anger, there and then gone. ]

Maybe we'll skip the spiked snacks, this time.

[congratulations john, because the moment viktor nods and begins to say 'that is a good idea' the world shifts again.

back to the start once more, though this time remina looms on the corner, staring hard at both of them. the words drip on the walls and viktor doesn't bother resisting the overwhelming urge to rub his temples.

so, remina decided raspberries are part of it. great. viktor plucks two up without a words, irritation etched into the hard lines of his shoulders.]

[ John looks back at her, and he has gone still the way wounded animals go still: there is a horrible tension wound through his body, even as he looks back to Viktor. ]

Apparently we're putting on a show.

[ His smile is more a baring of teeth. ]

So it would seem. [viktor offers back before popping the raspberries like a particularly bitter pill.

more aware of the effect now he thinks he can pinpoint his irritation starting to bubble, all the more when he glances up to find remina still staring. he resists the very real urge to go over there and punch her this time, which very well may happen by the end of the visit. why not punch two pseudo gods in one day? that can only go spectacularly for him.

he forces his gaze back to his host, jaw tightening.] So, where were we? Unpleasant conversation and half answers, I think.

Something like that.

[ He takes his attention off the eyeball in the corner, and the overt tension smooths back out again, hidden behind the quirk of his eyebrows. He is still watching her with senses Viktor does not have. ]

Maybe you can remind me what you're here to learn.

Magic systems. [he manages to grit out, like it's difficult, and it very clearly is.] I am... a strong believer in culminating knowledge for the advancement of the collective.

[remina stares, and at the very least when viktor finally snaps it's at a different god this time.] Was twice not enough for you? What do you hope to come from this farce?

[unsurprisingly remina has nothing to say just as viktor bites back something like he deserved it, just barely.]

The collective.

[ He murmurs it like it's a thought worth dwelling on. He can, at least, appreciate that Viktor turns his magically-worsened temper on the other asshole god in the room. While Viktor engages in a staring contest with a giant eyeball, he finally settles into his chair. ]

You've played the game before. What's the usual goal?

Yes, rather than hoard our knowledge like misers then vanish to the sea as sleepers often do I believe that an effort should be made to be open with our research. That it should build upon each other. [he says as much bitterly, though at least not snappish. an anger at the state of many things rather than a pointed one.

of course he doesn't stop staring at remina, lips nearly curled back in a snarl. feral roots one never quite grows out of, no matter how much piltover polished him.] To correct what she feels is a mistake, is how I would put it. One ended in being able to cure a child turned to a beast, the other is not your business. [well. rude but direct!] It was a 'personal lesson,' which I fear this might be. Though which of us is learning it I could not say.

[ Well, that's all he needs to hear. From his first week out of the sea, John has been certain of one thing only, and it's been reinforced at every turn: the Pthumerians have it out for him, specifically. He knows exactly what they want of him.

They love to trot out his ghosts. ]

I don't see any beasts at hand to cure.

[ (Beneath his meat, his bones itch to twist with chitin. Trench has been trying to twist him into something monstrous since May, and he's only skinned himself over human again by spite and force of will.) ]

But we've sussed out that she likes to watch us eat spiked fruit. That's a start.

[ Apologies, Viktor, if you thought he would make this quick or easy. ]

[ah, is anything ever quick and easy with the pthumerians? or gods for that matter, and viktor's glare turns on his host yet again.]

Perhaps she wishes to hear you answer a question straight, even just once. [ah resentment, because he is so very aware that if this is a lesson he is the tool in it. why else would he be forced to eat the fruit then turn on the emperor like this? he learns nothing, unless remina somehow thinks he'll get answers.

ridiculous. his fingers curl too tightly again.] Because we are both aware I am the tool being used against you here. So why not, perhaps you can finally answer what this war of yours is really about, or what happened to your cavalier that makes you so eager to put others through this horrific nonsense.

[ There it is again. He exhales, and the silence between them hangs for just a beat. ]

Let's set a few facts straight.

[ Remina's gaze bears down on him from the corner of the room. God ignores her, and leans in to pour the tea. ]

We have been at war for a very long time. See, we aren't the only ones spreading out among the stars... There are other kingdoms out there. And they had a hell of a head start.

[ The teacups clink quietly. God stirs sugar into his. ]

It took us centuries to do with necromancy what they can do with tech... We had to invent it all from the ground up.

[ He raises his teacup, and raises his eyebrows at Viktor over it. ]

And not to make things awkward, but: I think you misunderstand what I am.

So this is a war of mutual conquest? That is the goal of this war machine of yours? [not impressed, shockingly. more so he thinks it's hard to have this discussion when everything seem to rely on God's word here, and he does not trust that.

pal never really mentioned a war. an army yes, but not a threat. ortus' memory had propaganda. it seems especially heinous to him that they me be fodder for this machine and be offered little in terms of what the machine's purpose truly is. just on god's own word, as the faithful should, perhaps.

his ire is rising dangerously again.] What? You are 'god,' and a necromancer. I am more curious what your cavalier was, if your eyes are the way they are.

[ He says, very calmly, still holding a teacup: ]

No. They want us wiped from existence. Necromancy is our way of life, the breath of my people, the only way we survive... the only way I raised us from the ashes. They would see us eradicated. Every necromantic man, woman, and child.

[ He sets the tea down untouched with a clink of porcelain, then leans forward over his knees. Remina watches from the corner, silent. ]

I am the necromancer. All the rest are my children, and the River is my domain. I have the keys of death... et cetera.

[ What your cavalier was, says Viktor, and for a moment God closes his terrible black-hole eyes. He leans back in his chair and says, again so terribly patient: ]

There's the mixup: I am not a Lyctor.

[ And they loop. ]

[ah, a lot to unpack there, and most of it impossible to confirm or deny. plenty to dig into, but instead of that his mind is suddenly cleared of rage and god is standing.

another loop. remina watches on, as blandly as an eyeball can be. viktor's brow furrows then quirks up.]

You're lying about not being a lyctor. [interesting. he plucks up two raspberries before remina can get any ideas, but it's with a very clear head he asks,] Why? Because it is too common for a god? Or because of your cavalier? It is hard to imagine 'god' feels remorse.

[ For a moment, his composure breaks: God looks at Remina as though he is very seriously gauging whether to throw the notebook at her. With difficulty, he drops it back onto his own desk. ]

It isn't that simple.

[ He folds himself down into the seat across from Viktor, again. Pours himself a cup of tea. Lets the silence hang. ]

I am not one of my saints. [ He says nothing, again, about his cavalier. Remina watches from the corner. ] But apparently that's the intended topic of our little tea party, so I'll confirm some history.

[viktor watches him, and in the silence he finally eats the god damned raspberries with an exhale out his nose. annoying.]

Then what are you? [for the first time he isn't totally pissed at remina, at least she's keeping the whole thing somewhat honest. though that does imply what he said about the war isn't a blatant lie.

good to know. still vague enough for questions.] Why are your eyes black? What gives you the right to play with their lives like this?

I am God.

[ The statement hangs. Remina does not protest.

He traces a finger around the rim of his teacup, as though deliberating on this next bit, and looks Viktor in the eye. ]

Our system was in rough shape, way back when. I built the Nine Houses from dust and rubble. Its people have life because I gave them life. And that's not a parlor trick: I pulled their souls out of the water and remade the bodies they'd lost. It took a long time... It took a hell of a long time to rebuild.

But I had help. I had my twelve disciples... sixteen, by the time things really kicked off, but it started with the twelve. [ He smiles again, thinly. ] They were my first resurrections.

[ He pauses, here, on the cusp of something. Remina looms and watches. ]

[viktor's jaw tenses, remina does not claim him false. it adds a lot of information, some he knew and some he did not. the resurrection, he remembers hearing. a little bit about the ruined first.

this man calls himself god and maybe he is, in some ways, in a self built way, but-]

How? If becoming a lyctor takes devouring a soul what did it take to become 'god?'

[said with the sharp implication it must be a greater horror still.]

[ What indeed. But all he says is: ]

Devouring a soul... that wasn't it. It wasn't some horrible ultimatum I set them, you know? It was their research, their great work. They cracked immortality. They built the path to ascension.

[ He looks steadily at Viktor. Remina watches impassively. ]

To help me face everything out there which was against us, they became my fists, my avenging angels. Two souls joined in apotheosis... the dead safely entombed in the heart... There was beauty in it. It was a willing sacrifice. It was the bravest thing I've ever seen.

[ Remina watches, and watches, and watches. ]

If I wanted to churn out super-soldiers, I wouldn't have buried the trick of it all these years. In ten millennia, there have only been nine saints.

It was monstrous! [well viktor is up again, the ache of his knee ignored even as the muscles twinge and tighten with the sudden movement.] A willing sacrifice, they are people and they were turned to furnaces!

And worse still, in this world after, in this world you are the god of, cavaliers assigned to necromancers and told it is some great duty. All poetry of it, all the damned molding, how many would be blinded by your gospel into believing it was right when faced with that choice? When you sent them to that house without any idea what the cost of their success would be!

[well. it's punch time again. regardless of if it hits, or if god blocks it, or anything, the moment it happens remina loops them and viktor finds himself seated again.

this time his anger is still simmering though, raspberries or not.]

[ It's awkward, this time: God raises a plain human hand in his defense, which Viktor blows right through, knocking God's own knuckles into his face; the cups rattle again; and then he's standing across the room before they can even sort out the rest.

He blows out a breath and drops the notebook. ]

Well! That went well.

[ Ha ha, he is joking. ]

What a shock. [viktor answers, not yet going for the raspberries as he glares to the man.]

Tell me, in something that is not a half answer, why you think this is happening. It's clear whatever is happening is about your answers as much as it is my response to them. So why? Why should any of it matter?

[ He knows the answer, because he's known the answer since day one: they want him to talk about Annabelle. They've dangled visions of her corpse, left shackles on his bed, twisted his bones like silly putty until he resembles her worst echo. They named his Omen Lenore. They dumped his First Saint on the beach: the only man still living who really understands the shape of things, unless Gideon the First got lucky.

He's held out long enough they're making him do Groundhog Day, now. ]

The usual, I figure... Someone here [ get it, they're not looking at the eyeball in the room ] is using us as entertainment for the evening.

But, I'll be honest, and try not to take it personally: I don't know why she thinks you should play the sleuth.

I do not take it personally. I think we are beyond pretending I do not find you and your methods repulsive. [viktor says without any malice or irritation, just the simplicity of fact with a shrug. might as well just be honest, the ship of playing polite has already sailed.] Perhaps it is simply a matter of opportunity, or bad luck on my part.

[with a sigh he plucks up the raspberries again, pops them in, chews. rests back against his chair despite the tightening of his jaw.]

Always nice to be told gently that you're repulsive.

[ This he mutters with some low amusement. He considers his options, here: moving against Remina isn't one, really, and moving against Viktor would just be awkward for everyone. That's why he's the sleuth, of course: he's an outsider. Knows just enough to ask the painful questions, but no fear of God to speak of. ]

Like I said, this isn't common teatime conversation... These are— and I'm noting your disagreement, here— the holy mysteries of the Empire. When we planned an info swap, I was thinking a little more intro-level.

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