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

[There's a good point in there, Palamedes thinks - and in any circumstance besides dealing with Cytherea, he just might feel troubled about not feeling troubled. There would be valid concerns to evaluate if he felt nothing, although in his defense - it isn't nothing that he feels when he looks at her, when her words and vile behaviors crawl their way up into his conscious thoughts.

Just in case the city needs to hear it, he says, bluntly:] I'll hurt her again if I have to and sleep like a baby about it tonight. I won't apologize for that.

[He has a short checklist for what will inspire him to do violence, he'd told Anna, 'it's personal' chief among the reasons there. He's already exercised patience to see if she'll leave; it's lingering concern that she'll lash out at Viktor that stymies his maybe-violence now.

So fuck her, how about this drug man. Hmm. Palamedes smooths his thumb over Viktor's sympathetically, watching Singed ignore them for notes. Hmm...]

What does he want from you, then? Are we both hypocrites in the eyes of the morally questionable? This is going to be a long night if our guests don't realize they're in the wrong.

[it's comments like these viktor probably shouldn't find attractive, but he does. he at least is confident it is not the violence that appeals so much as the conviction, and allows himself to tip pal's head for a kiss.

'love and legacy are the price we pay for progress,' singed chooses to tell him like a reminder, at least in his own neutral tones instead of some unholy mix. viktor breaks the kiss with an annoyed grimace.]

You owe her nothing. [he agrees, refusing to glance at her or singed this time around, fingers tight around pal's.

a sigh and he flops his head back against the couch again, tensing but ignoring the creak of singed's chair as he stands, despite having no weight to burden the chair with. he footsteps tap in an idle circle of the room, as if he owns it, comfortable. so far nonviolent.]

Maybe- [his jaw works before saying,] when I last saw him I told him I understood a matter I have since changed my mind on. Perhaps that is it? I do not know what there is to be said about it, or to reflect on. I had assumed I did my reflection without the Trench holding my hand through it.

[See, kissing him is only going to encourage him to keep saying things like that in front of ghosts who could get violent at any moment. Palamedes is just deep enough in his bitterness that he's just barely surprised, leaning into the kiss with a rush of renewed excitement, like oh, yes - this is the worthwhile thing, not whatever is happening with her.

It makes it some kind of ironic when Viktor's ghostly visitor says what he says at that precise moment, leaving Palamedes rolling his eyes. Are love and legacy not parts of progress? Do they not motivate progress, more often than not? He's not going to get into it with a ghost, not yet.

Like, maybe. He's not working on how to make and install artificial lungs for the pure academic joy of it, after all. He winds his arm around Viktor's waist and watches Singed move around the room suspiciously, like, come and try something, old man.]

Changing your mind is worthy of a haunting, now?

[Dryly, he says it, like that's ridiculous, but ah - fuck, if that's true, then every time he's gotten in his head about how much he hates the Emperor and wondered if maybe Cytherea's rage, if not her methods, was understandable...

Hmm nope, he's setting that aside for now. Watching Singed, yes, that's the activity.]

This could just be simple harassment. God knows sooner or later there won't be any earth-shattering moments of personal growth left to have, but then what would the city do with us? Leave us alone? We should be so fortunate.

Is anything? Perhaps it is simply because it was on my mind. [viktor huffs, glad pal is doing the watching because viktor wants to keep his eyes away from the man for a little while longer. of course he keeps glancing to their other ghost, so maybe it's just covering each other's backs.

it's nice. terrible situation, as so many, but the warm presence of pal beside him makes it a little more bearable.] If it is just harassment what is there to be done? We cannot just wait it out, Chizuru's ghosts-

[he startles because in the space of a blink singed looms over the back of the couch, like a glitch of perception, down to his form going unburnt and familiar yet again. with him comes the distinct chemical smell of zaun, nostalgic and a touch suffocating after being spoiled on clean air for so long.

there is nothing sinister about his look, not mocking or bored, just so plainly neutral it could be any other day, any other conversation. 'the mutation must-' he starts, the words drowning out in inhuman, guttural sounds viktor at least recognizes as rio before he fled, the dim light coming from him the sickly shimmer pink. bright and toxic.

it's a cheap trick, viktor will think later, and yet now he still flinches away full body, nearly falling off the couch in doing so.]

If it's that simple, I should be haunted by another one of you, except one who keeps trying to feed me spicier and spicier foods.

[Ha ha. It's fine enough like this that he can make jokes about it, so there's that; Viktor is on his mind more often than Cytherea, so that theory isn't entirely great, either. They're swinging and missing quite a lot right now, so—]

Wh—

[So what the fuck, how did that ghost get over there that quickly, and what is he talking about now? Palamedes grabs for Viktor with one hand to keep him on the couch, they don't need any slapstick injuries from this ghost incident, and he thinks for some reason that if he's holding onto Viktor, the ghosts just simply cannot touch him, so—! Holding onto Viktor it is, at a somewhat uncomfortable angle, as he leans the opposite way himself to reach with his other hand and grab—

The blanket. The one he brought in to stay the night. He grabs the edge of it now and throws it up without really thinking about it, right up at ghost Singed's face making horrible sounds. Pro tier defensive maneuvers...]

[that gets a genuine laugh out of viktor, before everything goes b grade horror movie jump scare that is. he would have loved ignoring both the ghosts for a moment of spicy food quips but alas, instead he's just glad they are tangled so close and pal kept him from cracking his head open or something equally unpleasant.

another thing he would laugh at, pal's blanket attack, if he wasn't busy untangling to get to his feet and pull pal with him. the blanket does stick for a moment, making him a proper cheap halloween costume of a ghost before it flutters to the ground, singed gone with it.

viktor hates how his heart beats heavily in his chest, cursing under his breath in fantasy czech as he pulls pal close.] Enough, this is just... just a game. There is no deeper meaning than childish antics and prodding at old wounds.

[Well, ten points for the blanket attack, at the very least. Palamedes lets Viktor pull him off the couch easily, staring at the spot where Singed stood as he fumbles back to his feet. It takes him a moment to blink himself out of the adrenaline spike and ease into Viktor's hold, lifting both hands to cup his face as he looks away from the couch to Viktor, properly.

Hey so, what the fuck? That was marginally more shocking than Cytherea borrowing his voice, all things considered. Yikes. They remain untouched, so-]

Well, it's clearly a game we have to win, so how do we do that? I'm already out of blankets.

[Some levity? Barely. In the commotion, Cytherea has left her perch to go over to a chalkboard, where she's begun to write a list of very particular steps, beginning with Step One: Preserve the soul...

They cannot have nice things with two ghosts mucking around in here at once; Palamedes staunchly ignores Cytherea's list to look around for Singed, instead.]

What is she- [you know what? he doesn't want to know what she's writing. it doesn't matter, what matters is figuring this out.] Nevermind. There must be something that can banish them, whether it be within us or- or some exorcism.

[he's holding pal's arm now, using him in lieu of a crutch as his eyes stay on the lyctor. of course then the door to the room slams shut, making him jump again and let out an irritated snarl at the fact he did, turning just in time for singed to walk through them idly. viktor gets a chill, pal gets

(a heaving, writhing creature on the floor for just a flash, just a second of familiar screaming and clouded eyes and the empty, quiet determination filling his chest. satisfaction at a job well done)

something else.

'it is why i parted ways with heimendinger,' he informs them like the conversation of before never stopped. 'they'll despise you for this, if you choose this path.' ]

I don't have to, not anymore. [viktor spits, then once again looks agitated. getting pulled in isn't going to help, he runs a hand down his face and tries to focus.] Maybe there's a way, a... ward, a ritual.

[Well, if only Allen were here and actually the correct kind of exorcist, huh— Palamedes drops his hands to Viktor's shoulders, ready to yank him close and dash out of the way again if either of these ghosts go in for another horror loom. Cytherea's writing - he staunchly does not tell Viktor what that is, for both their sakes - is a dramatic upswing in her usual activity despite just being writing; he wonders if the two ghosts are feeding off each other, somehow. Someone could study this, if they weren't actively being haunted—

Ah, and then Singed physically walks through them, and Palamedes' world lurches into something else, a sight he can't make sense of until abruptly he can and the realization curls sick in his stomach. Psychometry is one thing, he knows how to handle the ghost within the thing perfectly well, but this is something else entirely; the assault on his senses of sights and sounds and feelings that aren't his, that he doesn't want. It's that hollow satisfaction that's the most cloying, the thing that seeps the most insistently past his usual defenses, and he's struck by the abrupt fear that if he doesn't get out of this vision, the emptiness is going to be stuck in him for who knows how long—

—And then it stops, and his awareness comes back up to reality as if from underwater, and Viktor is talking; Palamedes squeezes his shoulders and anchors himself to it, the sound of his voice if not the words. It's probably obvious at a glance that he's had a slightly different experience just now, ah-]

What did he— What do you want me to try?

[Please give him a task so he can think about something other than screaming and glassy eyes and the kind of man that could inflict that kind of suffering and feel such clinical, detached pride; anything will do. His fingers twitch - will he need to bleed real quick, just wondering - and over Viktor's shoulder he can see Cytherea continuing her list, somewhere around step four now of how to pin a soul and eat it correctly, and so he snaps at her:]

Oh, fuck off, that's your mistake, not mine.

[when viktor glances over it is pretty immediately obvious something is wrong, that chill for some reason shook pal more than it did viktor. his grip tightens as if he's the one steadying pal now, lips in a grim line.

not exactly the time to dig into if he's okay, not when everywhere singed moves rattles and the steady sound of chalk hitting the board keeps filling the air.

he glances over to catch what she's writing and- ah. he can guess now, what is happening. what she's doing. it has him pulling pal a touch closer before he tries to push it all out of his mind, pal with camilla's eyes staring at him, haunted by her tragedy. rationality was their best bet.]

I need- [a beaker comes flying at them, viktor turning in time for it to merely hit his shoulder rather than pal's head. he grimaces and continues.] Time. That is what I need. There may be some rituals we can try but I need to look at my notes, I was trying to find any information when Chizuru was-

[this time the entire shelf of books nearby flies at them, singed merely watching with what pal might recognize as that quiet satisfaction.]

[Beakers! Now there are beakers flying around! Palamedes still ducks, gaze darting between Singed and Cytherea and then Viktor's busiest desk beyond. For notes, alright-]

Alright; I can only get you half the room.

[So let's hope this is the correct half with the right notes in it to solve at least one of their problems, he doesn't add; it seems too obvious. He tugs Viktor back with him, closer to the desks and to Cytherea, unfortunately, but she's done nothing but write sick directions on chalkboards so far, so if he had to pick a ghost...

The real world still doesn't feel entirely - there, almost, there's a very swimmy quality to things left over from that vision, but Palamedes is aware enough to throw up a ward that spans from one wall to the other. It's the same kind as his classic first meeting ward, the kind that is markedly not going to hold if he breaks his concentration. Still: it's something between Singed flinging books (what the fuck) and the two of them, and he still has the presence of mind to scoot with Viktor over to the desks before the blood sweat starts to break out.]

Well— [please go fast xoxo] Here's time.

[viktor's mouth is in a grim line but this seems like their best chance, short of getting out of here and hoping allen or someone else can help. he would theorize about the ghosts feeding on each other, especially because singed's bored stare is melding too seamlessly with cytherea's before.

pal's arm gets a squeeze before he's rushed to the desk, flipping open his notes and running through them as calmly and quickly as he can manage.

easier said than done when singed seems to be aiming very much for pal now, even as he stands still, nothing but a lipless sneer. books, beakers, one jar of hope orbs crashes against the ward and cracks, some of the little lights bleeding out.]

There's- [this time a beaker crashes and breaks into pieces, and those sharp pieces get thrown.] -a ritual, for banishing. There are two ways to do it, both involve blood. Give me your scalpel.

[good thing for blood sweat!]

[Holding up a ward that's actively being attacked by jars and sharp things is - easier than it looks, actually, but that doesn't make it easy overall. Palamedes is, after all, bleeding from more pores than is frankly comfortable; but it could be worse. For example, the ghosts could attack the ward themselves rather than Singed just throwing things at it with ghost magic; not that Palamedes knows what happens to Trench-brand ghosts against this kind of ward, but slamming one breed of thanergy against another is probably painful!

So, he's doing his best. He's holding it up, and manages with effort to fish a scalpel out of a pocket of his cloak - which he is only now noticing he never managed to take off, thanks ghosts for the distraction - and hold it out for Viktor.

Now Viktor wants to endorse bleeding, etc etc, got 'em... He'll save it for later.]

And then? —Why does he throw more things at me than at you? Not the point; what's next?

[viktor grabs the scalpel and immediately cuts his palm. if he wasn't busy he'd wonder why they always go for the palm, it's actually a bit annoying of a place to work with. it just feels natural but- yes, focusing. the low glow of the moon from the window turns it pale immediately as he turns to pal.]

Pardon me. [have to be polite when you reach out to take some of your boyfriend's sweat blood on your fingers. he then dips it into his own blood when he says,] One way is the combination of types which- does not seem to be working on it's own. Lovely.

[singed moves foreward, so. him, about to test that what happens if a ghost hits the ward. viktor's next move is to pull his fingers up to draw a circle on his own forehead, just in time for singed to press a palm against the ward.

he stops, mouthing something viktor can't make out before vanishing in a peaceful lull. after only a brief moment viktor turns to rub the same circle on pal's forehead, hastily, eager to free them both.]

[Oh, that's his blood sweat, cool. Palamedes trusts Viktor to know what he's doing, mostly focusing on the ward— he can't help but be curious about whatever this ritual is, much as it turns out to be underwhelming, as actions go.

Still, the few seconds Singed is touching the ward are uncomfortable, in a way Palamedes can't explain; the ward is thanergy held up and made tangible, not any piece of himself. He reasons that Singed walking through them earlier is a good enough explanation as any for why he feels something off now, and then— there he goes.

Palamedes' gaze darts to Cytherea as Viktor smudges his head, and she simply watches. In the moment before she too disappears she tosses the chalk at the two of them with almost whimsical laxness; it rolls toward their feet and stops, and then she's gone. Palamedes glances up, past where she was, and says,] Great.

[But he does drop the ward now, after an extra moment to be sure they're really gone. He's bloody and tired, reaching for Viktor to check him for any errant injuries from those first object throws. Cytherea's writing has all but exploded: the lyctorhood steps still sit in the center on the board, while 'YOU LIED TO US' is scrawled in increasingly erratic sizes all around it on the wall behind.

Well, her drama has to wait.]

Are you alright?

[a tension leaves viktor's shoulders with her vanishing, returning as he looks over pal, similarly concerned some errant book hit him. fuck his sleeve, he pulls it up over his hand to dab a little at the blood sweat, letting out a soft, shaky sigh.]

Yes, fine. That escalated far faster than I assumed it would or could. I suspect our ghosts fed off each other.

[his eyes stray to the writing, though he can leave it alone for now to kiss pal. firmly, with the determination of someone why wants physicality to prove they're alright and here.

when he breaks it he finally slumps back to a seat on the desk, frowning at his sluggishly bleeding palm before his eyes go back to pal.] Are you alright? You seemed dazed before.

[Please, save that sleeve, he can use his cloak for the rest of the blood sweat. He does that hastily, pushing his glasses up and askew in the process and humming irritably behind the fabric. Yes, they definitely fed off each other, what a lovely thing to add to the notes—]

They must have, [he says, half-muffled, oop] But that ritual of yours is handy. Who figured that out?

[He says all of this... into the cloak as he wipes his face and neck free of blood sweat... it's fine. Being kissed as soon as he puts the cloak down is a welcome non-answer to the important ritual lore questions and he leans into it like a drowning man. Good— they're good. Yet again, against all odds, they're good.

So, hm. He comes over to the desk and turns to lean back against it, tsking at the mess of broken glass and books and shiny orbs tossed all over just one half of the room. Weird vibe.]

I saw— something, when he touched us before. His memory? And his state of mind back then drew me in; I couldn't do anything but wait.

[Anyway, completely unrelated question,] Where's Rio?

[sleeve is already fucked, though he does resist the urge to use it to clean his own forehead, unsure if it needs more time or something. he is not risking bringing those two back, not now, hopefully not ever.]

It was from a visit to the archives, which was a headache. I was there with a- a man with cat ears, he helped. I didn't know what would work or not. [thank god it did. all the ritual business is too vague and mystic for his liking, to be fair.

he leans into pal a little, shoulders pressed together with a sigh as he surveys the damage. annoying. his fingers are stained inky with pal's blood and he glances over uneasily when he says that.]

What memory? I can't imagine his state of mind was very pleasant, he is... well, I suppose you've seen. [a beat] Oh, she was sleeping by the tree last I saw. Once we clean up the glass I'll call her in, she'll be pleased you came by.

[and he's just glad he could keep her away from the ghost. he cannot imagine that would have been pleasant for anyone.]

[A man with cat ears...]

The one with the glasses?

[He doesn't know how many cat ear guys are around, but surely not hugely many? The one Palamedes met underground was helpful at... being underground and hitting giant bugs, that's very like being in the archives when one considers the overall pleasantness factor.

But anyway. He rubs his sleeve against his cheek one last time, reaching for Viktor's stained fingers to tangle with his own.

Rio is just fine, having a nice nap by the tree, that's a relief...]

She was there, in the memory. Objectively, he's an unrepentant asshole, but something in that memory was— hmm. Just awful. He did something to her, and he didn't feel anything at all.

[Eugh. Terrible. He'd almost rather be blindsided by someone's genuine pleasure-in-evil, before more of that.]

Well, at least we didn't have to grovel for them.

No, unless he wears them only sometimes. [how many cat boys can there be? actually like two so there you go. maybe viktor just didn't notice, given he didn't even remember a name. it was a long month, give him a break.

regardless he's more than happy to curl their fingers together, a firm grip for a number of reasons. all the more when he hears that, brow furrowed.

in a way he's afraid to ask and clarify, does he even want to know if singed did other awful things to rio he never knew about? or is it the big one, the skin crawling one that he tried to make himself understand when he was doomed and desperate himself.

and he felt nothing, apparently. he wonders if that is truly singed or his own fears about the situation. the trench is uniquely annoying, as it turns out.]

She was dying when we met. He said he was going to save her. [he says after a bit of quiet. it means something that pal cares for rio on his own, enough to really understand.] Saving her did not mean for her sake, but for the experiment. Her... quality of life was not put into consideration.

[he leans in more, a thump of his head against pal's shoulder.] At least we didn't have to learn anything. It was purely for torment, and I am not sure which is worse in truth.

[fuck off there are more of them, he didn't need to know this about the local catboy population. not like this.]

I'm... about one hundred percent certain on the glasses, but it was dark. Never mind.

[Never mind, Rio time; he presses their arms together more firmly, like this point of anchored touch will make the awful truth of what happened to Rio feel further away. After another moment he covers their joined hands with his free one, turning his head to kiss the top of Viktor's when he leans into his shoulder. Mmph.

It's one thing to feel that blank nothingness, the bleak satisfaction, and it's another entirely to hear the reasoning and explanation behind it; to picture Rio's big, goofy face bumping into him at all hours in all places, and to ever think that her quality of life wouldn't matter. He sighs.]

We should have thrown the beakers back at him, [he says, after a pause.] Honestly, if we'd had to apologize, we'd have been locked down here for the next couple months. Or learn. I didn't learn anything worth knowing.

[Rio, he means, but he glances up at all the Cytherea scrawling, too. He doesn't count all that as "learning," necessarily. Hmm.]

I brought blankets; are you alright to spend the night here, still? After we clean up.

Neither did I. [viktor admits, regarding the carnage.] Though maybe it reinforced some things.

[ah staying here for the night- yes, he refuses to let either of the ghosts taint this place. he turns to kiss pal a moment, chaste, before he's getting to his feet with a sigh.

and his eyes go to the chalkboard, the scrawling.] I do. I'm not letting them ruin this place.

[he can guess what the steps are, and a curl of irritation in his gut reminds him of certain talks. what he doesn't know is-] What is this about lying?

[If only Jr. was here and not in the lab, he could do a little sweeping... alas. Well, the heavy things that got knocked over are just going to have to wait. Palamedes hums and stoops to pick up some fallen books, the strange border in the middle of the room between mess and no mess where his ward had been.

Ah- and. He'd stood in his office in this very building and told God, This won't benefit anyone to know, which is technically not "I will keep my mouth shut forever," so you know what.

Whatever, empire? Whatever, empire.] Promise me again you won't let that- [the cool scribbling, everywhere] leave this room?

[Which he takes as a given, so after a beat, he goes on:]

It's about him again, like it always is. I'd figured it out, about Lyctorhood, which is why I'd refused; the steps aren't finished. [Casually, he says this, waving a hand at the chalkboard with its steps as he stacks books back onto their shelves.] I don't know how to finish the work myself. I'd need more time, and of course, Camilla. But there's a way to do it that doesn't dispose of the cavalier.

[Mm. Hmm. Hmmmm...]

I think she figured it out. Cytherea. I can only guess how... Anyway, what she knew or didn't doesn't matter; this one will bruise more people than just his delicate ego, if it gets out.

[So please, the rage is very sexy, but this one goes in the box and doesn't come out again, he's asking nicely.]

I promise, so long as errant magic fruit do not once again make me a liar. [hm, bitter. still viktor moves to start wiping the board clean, happy to see the words vanish piece by piece.

though he does pause halfway, turning as palamedes continues.] What? [his words are a snap, there's that good old anger that once was directed at the source.

he closes his eyes, lets out his breath and finishes wiping away LIED with a pointed aggression.] All that talk of honorable sacrifice, the spineless bastard. I cannot-

[he pauses, as if surprised at himself, then turns again.] I cannot go back to him. Will you put our project with my lungs as a priority? I think it is time we did.

[There's that lovely anger; Palamedes smiles despite himself, though it's strained - he knows exactly where that anger is coming from, although his own isn't so... fresh. It's why he presses so persistently for Viktor to please... not eat fruit for a while, whatever.]

He told me the honorable sacrifice story too. Mine even had 'poetry' in it.

[For eating souls!! Souls of their loved ones! For fuck's sake, how could anyone— no, he's focusing. He looks around for something to sweep the broken beaker into, glancing up at Viktor when he's ducked down to do just that. He's relieved; he's been torn about asking, not that, well - he does kind of thing he has ammunition against God, at this point, but the issues of agency, and so on.

So: good. He nods.]

Absolutely. Start first thing in the morning? I want to start with a clear head.

[And Viktor wants his private study sleepover, also a priority.]

june catch-all

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