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]

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[the archives are... well, a lot. the confusing nature, the 'gut instinct' rather than a proper system, the displays that include fetuses. all in all there's weirder around but the archaic archives does get a special place in viktor's book for being pointlessly obtuse, in his opinion. maybe never mind is just Like That.

either way today finds him walking through the stacks, leaning on his crutch as he hopes that willing it will make a useful section come into existence. it's around a sharp corner he all but bumps into kazuma, stumbling a little to stop himself and leaning heavily on his crutch to keep from an annoying fall. the two books on lunar energy he's carrying do fall to the ground.]

Apologies- this blasted place. [he sighs.]

[viktor never really thought teaching would be in the card for him again, not after breaking free of his assistant position and the various classes that came with it. if asked he would say no, he did not miss teaching at the academy. it was a special kind of hell to be stuck handling a bunch of largely upper class piltovian students who did not particularly enjoy being at his academic mercy in any way.

teaching penny and hayato is different though. they are pleasant, for one, and the situation is far more important than a bunch of brats gen eds.

so viktor would go as far to say he enjoys it. today it's just penny, and he spends the lesson covering whatever energy system she has, with a focus on what they could do if there was some sort of leak or disruption. as things wind down he'll offer her tea, assuming she drinks it.]

I think that is enough for this evening. How have you been handling the new month, Miss Polendina?

[The gaze always feels like a complex school zone. That maybe his age talking, but it's the way he always perceived it. It's a place Megumi frequents and has a lot of respect for. It's unusual for a monster or beast to penetrate its walls, but not unheard of. The Trench is in a constant state of change after all.

Megumi has been following the growing cursed energy trail all afternoon. It seems to have been traveling along with what he suspects to be someone on the verge of beasthood. The winding streets paved in cobblestone are a labyrinth of doorways and exits that lead to nothing. Most are marked with carved eyes while others appear to be guarded by statues.

Close to the clock tower, he notices a grand stained glass window of a raven perched on a stack of books. Behind the bird is a large illuminated moon. He stops, as if in a trance, but is snapped out of it when he senses someone approaching. Two small children run past him, waving tiny bells that chime as they run by. It's unusual for children to be in the Gaze, but again not unheard of.

Now this place can be very elusiv,e especially because of its puzzle-like streets. One wrong turn and --great another dead end.

-Wait someone is behind- turning his head he sees Viktor but only for a moment, while hearing the unmistakable cries of a beast. Abruptly he turns back towards the wall, where he believes the sound is coming from. Out of nowhere, he is ripped back into the streets. In front of him the daunting window stands tall, as the same two children rush by.

There is a term for this. 'One of those days,' I think.

The voice belongs to the stranger that was in the ally way. ]

Yeah [ His expression annoyed but his tone neutral and dry. ] What just happened? [The question is blunt and a bit accusatory, despite the look Viktor has just given him.]

Edited 2022-05-27 19:45 (UTC)

[typically it takes a good deal to get viktor to remember to make room for other things when he's working. sometimes it's the extreme of food and sleep- what can he say? he gets tunnel vision - but usually it's softer matters. breaks, fresh air, a moment to socialize. living with pal has helped keep a better schedule but sometimes rio needs to bop him with her head until he realizes ah right, maybe the tinkering can wait a few moments.

today it comes with inviting chizuru over if she's free. no particular reason really, maybe it's been a little while, maybe she just came to mind when he's out in the market and sees the surprising amount of fruit now offered. maybe she'd appreciate some fresh fruit and yes, far too early in the month to know he should be wary. one day he'll learn.

he settles for picking up some apples, cutting them into slices when she does come in. he leaves the door ajar, letting a little air into the massive room.]

I admit, I've always had a fondness for fresh fruit. [he informs her in greeting, a crooked smile as he glances to her.]

Edited 2022-05-28 01:46 (UTC)

[sometime in early june viktor comes for a perfectly pleasant boneshed visit. in truth he finds the shed more palatable than the house itself, but he supposes that might be cultural insensitivity on his part. just. the skeleton thing. zaun is weird but it isn't that weird. (yet. one day it will have an honest to god drug werewolf but that's after viktor's time, thank you.)

it's nice. he gets to sit with his room temperature water and have a chat about the current happenings, poetry probably, maybe a little rambling about his own research. there's something about ortus he finds easy to exist around, though it's not a matter he gives much thought. the trench makes him deep delve into his psyche enough, thanks, maybe he can just enjoy an afternoon chatting with a friend.

unfortunately before this visit he had some apple, knowing full well what they can do. to be fair he had no reason to think the apple had a delayed effect, given it's been several hours and all his experiences were within the moment he ate it. surely it's safe! surely.

it means at one point when they meet eyes everything shifts.

the memory is a simple one. feeling it is different- the persistent ache up his leg and back, the biting hunger, the grimy feeling of the air that tastes like chemicals on the tongue.

the vague, faint hope quietly fluttering away when the child on the rock turns to ignore him, like they always do. it's fine, he has his boat. it's going to work this time, he's tinkered for hours, put it together so painstakingly. when it does work the pride blooms warm in his chest.

the cave is all curiosity, uncertainty and fear. he knows better, a man hiding in a cave like this is doing something dangerous, probably. but he's kind in a way most the undercity simply isn't, a quiet understanding that cracks through the nerves and pushes viktor forward. to meet him, to meet this creature. to feel a pang when he learns she is rio, and she is dying.

can he help? he's earnest in that, and surprised when it is help accepted. more surprised at being 'loners together.']

A trick of the Trench, or of a pthumerian. [is viktor's answer, glancing around and not all that bothered at the tone. fair, he would be incredibly put off too if he hadn't seen this once before.

after a moment he sighs and gestures to a wall close to that great window. GET IT RIGHT THIS TIME it declares in smeared, glitched red. viktor's lips thin as he regards it, grip tight on the handle of his crutch.]

This happened to me a few days ago. We're expected to fix a mistake we made in the time that was taken from us.

[Tckk rude. The words on the wall reak of a mocking high and mighty tone. He's probably right, this seems very much like a pthumerian tactic or trial.

Or else we end up back here, til we get it right? [He's assuming, and that would be tedious and inefficient. Especially since there is something about to break loose in the city. Turning his attention to Viktor. Let's go back to where this all went awry. His mind begins to calculate.

You look like a scholar, [ and you're in the gaze] so why did you come into the alley? [Dropping his irritated tone as emotion will not help him to think logically.]

Precisely. [viktor sighs. he tries not to be bitter about it, but well... fuck this, is the thing. fuck it very much. maybe this will be for the best, maybe he was about to walk into a beast's maw but-

it's still irritating. especially knowing how picky this 'loop' business is going to be.

he turns to regard the man properly, taking him in- not someone he recognizes at a glance, a hunter, maybe? he isn't sure.]

I suppose I am, though not one of the arcane scholars. Mostly I do my own research in the Willful Machine, as an engineer. [he explains, then finally thinks to offer-] I am Viktor. As for the alleys I live in Gaze, and I decided to take a walk. That... turned out to be ill advised.

I heard the call of a beast shortly before we were taken. I assume the mistake was taking a wrong turn. [a pause] Why are you in Gaze?

[viktor rarely goes to cellar door, though today is an exception. it's mostly a matter of a change of scenery, taking a peek around what shops dot the place, eyeing the weird, big blood gem on the red and wondering what that is about. with the at least temporary healing of his lungs it's easier to wander and he's decided to take advantage of that while it lasts. why not? getting a better lay of the land certainly never hurt.

(unfortunately for him part of this was seeing an incredibly ugly, unnerving doll he just manages to tear himself away from, leaving the shop unsettled. surely that will not come back to bite him! or anyone else! surely.)

it's on his walk he hears a voice, a sudden nostalgia taking him. street performance was common in the undercity, either in an attempt to make some money or simply because someone found an upturned garbage can and decided to go to town. he's always had a bit of a weak spot for live performance, enjoying the energy to it that a recording simply could not contain.

that is why he follows the sound, stopping to simply listen and lean on his crutch when he finds the source, a quietly appreciative audience.]

[How long has it been since Ortus had anyone to pass the hours lightly with in this way? A span of time he knows well, but finds he does not dwell on overmuch in Viktor's company. He finds he is still a good listener; he finds, more to his surprise, that he has not entirely lost the art of simple conversation.

Perhaps that occasions the subsequent event, he thinks, as he meets Viktor's apple-seed pupils and is swallowed in the blossoming of memory within them.

It is a memory that has an odd pang of familiarity unlike his sojourn in the last he shared with another, down to the faint chemical bitterness of air. He does not resist it. He is too much a poet for that, his appetite for experience too keenly whet, and what good would it do? So he bears unstruggling witness to it all, from the isolation to the fretful triumph and loss of the (his) little watercraft, all the way into the revelation and unexpected welcome in the cave. It is an experience that gleams like black stone worn to a polish by passing hands, something he grasps at once as pivotal, a moment in which Viktor's life traced one branching future and no other.

When it is done, he finds his hand pressed over his own heart, a great bellow of breath in his lungs as he surfaces, but it does not cloud him as the River did. He is himself, and certain of where he is, the mnemonic devices Lady Pent encouraged him to compose for that purpose intact and complete.]

Ah. [He says, frowzily.] Viktor, I-

[Later, he will come to understand the thin sliver of cooled pie to be his downfall. In the now, he has never tasted pie, nor has he ever seen an apple in its flesh.

Where would such a thing grow in the cold grey enclosure of these hewn walls? It certainly could not flourish here, in the dusty forgotten crevice of a long disused store room stacked with emptied supply crates, where he is balled up tightly in a secret space he has built of them. He holds a slim plex-lensed torch in one hand, a slender chapbook of poetry in the other, and he is reading with an avaricious speed that barely catches the words as he tears them from the page.

His stomach hurts, a tender, uncomfortable ache. His stomach nearly always hurt, haunted by a nagging roil he could not shift no matter what tonics and unguents his mother plied him with.

There is a scuffle at the front of his tunnel as a concealing crate is shifted, another as a small figure crawls through it, emerging with dark hair dusted in whitish powder and dark eyes set in the simple sacramental paint reserved for unordained children, a sketch of skull confined to the upper half of the boy's sharpish face.

The boy says nothing, at first. He tucks himself next to Ortus' side and peers over his shoulder, chin digging in lightly as he rests there.]

No pictures? [The boy says, in the hush of a child who knows how to truly be quiet.] What's it about?

An old battle. [Ortus tells him, in a matched furtiveness.] A black chaplain against a horde of heretics.

It's better if there's pictures. [Delivered dubiously, followed by a rustling shift as he produces a rolled up, much abused sheaf of stapled flimsy.] I got this for you.

['This' is a garishly printed comic, the cover emblazoned in four color tones, depicting a huddled young person with a bleeding nose and clinging yellow robes shielded by a stalwart gold-armored cavalier brandishing a rapier at a seething rabble of indistinctly sketched human faces distorted by wild eyes and bared teeth. THRILLING TALES OF THE FRONT, the title blares, underscored with the barely smaller THEY TOOK HER NECRO - SHE TOOK THEIR LIVES! It's faintly clammy when slipped into his hand, his chapbook whisked away as if by magic.

The boy adds, as if in afterthought, but far too delicately said to be anything but considered:] Your mother said not to come back yet. After seventh bell.

[Ortus' guts weave into a complicated knot, sour and stretched and stewed to frayed weakness. He blinks his eyes very hard, swallowing the bile that rises from the clench. He flips the cover of the comic open and clears his throat, a tiny, unformed noise miles from the ponderous depth he will one day he able to summon.]

'Augusta Trice cared for three things in her life. Her Emperor, her necromancer, and her sword. When the heretics of Hephaetus IV kidnapped her necromancer, they had no idea of the wrath they would bring on their heads...'

[He has read this one before. He knows it nearly by heart, well enough to season it with pause and emphasis, the voices of each speaking character (the noble Augusta, her swooning necromancer Hannibal, and the crude heretic leader) distinct and true. The boy at his side knows it just as well, tensing before each fight and adding brief commentary between panels.

By the time the comic is finished, necromancer saved and heretics thoroughly and gruesomely slain by blade and flesh magic, Ortus has forgotten his sensitive and troubled constitution. He closes the book, turning towards the other boy -

- and he is seated in his chair, still, blinking like the cave dwelling creature he is drawn unwilling to the light.]

[ Yes this time loop business can have almost infinite possibilities of what needs to be fixed, and he is actively ignoring that fact!

Ah, an engineer, now that's new to him. He's not used to adults actually behaving like adults, much less an engineer. Megumi wants to ask him many questions about what he does but the issue at hand takes priority.

Fushiguro Megumi. [A quick small head bow out of habit] I was in the archives today, when I picked up the trail of someone on the verge of beasthood. I tracked them to that alley not realizing it was a dead end. They were behind that wall.

[He pauses.]

We should try to correct the turn first then. Were you alone last time this happened? [He dared not ask how long or how many tries it took the first time this happened.]

[the moment the memory hits viktor finds it shockingly easy to follow the natural flow, to make only idle note of the soft pain in his stomach (not his stomach) and the odd quality of the thing almost like paper under his fingertips. he knows it the way he understands an abstract concept, the way this unfamiliar corner is a place he feels he's built with his own hands.

(in the tangle he can grasp at ortus as an entity, and it makes it easier to feel it all yet exist as viktor, who watches, who greedily reads the same words and feels a such an odd and aching understanding of what it is to be a child hiding away, untouched and unnoticed.)

heretics, that is new to viktor's understanding of the world of necromancers, now a space filled in with the dramatic tales that reek of both excitement and propaganda. ortus' mother is another filled in black, deafening in she said not to come back yet and the churning bile that came with it. the delicate constitution, he's heard others say in the life he calls his own.

when he blinks out of it, out of the end of the tale and the small space, his hand is over his stomach. it takes a moment to recenter his thoughts to an order more suitable for where he is, for who he is, glancing to ortus in surprise.

that look back-] A memory? I saw- gods above, that is what you used as paper? [is what he manages, voice feeling a touch odd in his ears before he straightens, tries,] I apologize, Ortus, I did have some of an apple hours before but I did not think- they have this effect, with memories, but I had assumed only in the immediate.

[It was about time for one of Scorpia's daytime performances! She stood there along the sidewalk, performing for a small crowd. The song she sang was one filled with themes that should sound familiar to inhabitants of Trench, with many of the lyrics referring to squids and rebirth. It was a contemplative ballad, but with an optimistic heart. All about second chances.

And she has a small container open as her equivalent of a tip jar, where onlookers leave behind various goods for her to thank her for her singing.

As the song comes to close, she smiles and waves to the applauding onlookers.]

Thank you, thank you! I'll be here all week! ...And for the forseeable future beyond that! [As she looks around at her audience, she does end up locking eyes with one guy who seemed to be listening on his own.]

[By now Jason is pretty familiar with Viktor's lab. He makes himself home as invited. He looks around with interest at all the things Viktor is working on. The guy's always busy. Jason doesn't want to interrupt so he waits until Viktor turns to him]

Hey. If you ain't too busy, I remembered I owe you a song.

[He lifts up a harmonica meaningfully. Let's say one fell out of the many portals that were opening a while back]

[it's one of those days where viktor's leaning over something, only vaguely waving at the door as he finishes up some final wiring and glances up, pulling his googles up his forehead. seeing it's jason has him offering a smile, but the bit about a song?

oh yes, he's been looking forward to that.] For this? I am not too busy. I just finished, actually, so I have plenty of time to experience the harmonica properly.

[ The lessons have been genuinely interesting and helpful to Penny. To an extent she already knows a great deal about her own system, but more in the way that a car's operating manual knows a lot about a car. She's lacking in experience and, more critically, the creative thinking necessary to solve issues not neatly laid out by manuals and guides.

Penny does not drink, and she'll gently reject the tea with that explanation. The question about how she's been handling the events of May earns Viktor a reassuring smile, however. ]

I have had no problems this month! It seems as though it isn't unusual to sometimes avoid all the strange events in a given month.

What about you?

[not having a money system is kind of a pain in the ass in moments like these, viktor will admit. the bartering is great for him usually, he's gotten by offering repairs more often than not. one can not put a repair iou in a tip jar, sadly.

luckily he does have a few blood gem slivers he thinks will be a fair enough trade, dropped into the tip jar so he can listen to the tail end of the song in peace. the optimism of the whole thing is what surprises him, it isn't really a vibe he's seen much of in the trench, let alone in trench art.

so when she finishes, and when she seems to notice him, he finds himself asking,] Is that your own work?

[Those are some pretty gems! They definitely catch Scorpia's eyes as she checks her earnings.

She meets him with a friendly smile and nods as she answers his question.]

It is! It took a while to make, too. You can consider that an official Scorpia original! Like it?

Ah, is Megumi your first or last name? [he has learned that is a thing, last name first for some people, especially those who have ionian sounding names. at least he is learning not to embarrass himself with assumptions there.

he nods along, then-] On the verge? Hm. I hope this loop may allow us to catch the person before that. I know a place they may be able to be purified before it gets so dire.

[he uh, does not sound hopeful that will be a thing, since these loops seem more petty than kind. so he turns, glancing down the alley he had gone down. wonders how long they have to talk before the loop resets. a little planning does seem key.] I was alone. From my experience we may be expected to pair up to complete this or I may need to be alone again to appease this nonsense. I would suggest sticking together for now at least, there may be a reason we've been trapped together like this.

Yes, I've noticed sometimes one can be passed over if they keep their head down and with a touch of luck. [not. always but sometimes. he takes a seat now that tea isn't needed, resting his crutch against the table as he considers.]

Eh, a few instances of this memory business, which have not been as dreadful as they could be. It seems to be tied to the apples? As far as I have come to tell. I've tried a few tests but as far as I can tell they are ordinary apples in every possible way but effect.

I do. In truth I'm used to songs around here being a bit more... eh, depressing.

[a touch amused there as he glances around at the surroundings and all their trench aesthetic. maybe not the most cheerful place.] Which is understandable, I suppose. Still, a little variety never hurt.

Exactly! [She points her pincers towards him.]

I do have my share of sadder songs... but mostly I like to help people feel good with my music. It's a break from all the doom and gloom. And a reminder that there's good things about this world too. It's not hopeless! If I can brighten people's with my singing, then mission accomplished.

My first but I prefer Fushiguro. [ Not a fan of his first name. Viktor is the first person here to ask or clarify. He's been here eight months, so he appreciates that.]

And bringing them somewhere isn't necessary. I can exorcise or purify them on the spot.
[Mitigating any damage before it happens would be the best scenario. He's not hopeful though. That cry they heard definitely indicated a turn for the worst.]

Staying together seems logical considering we both were brought back here. [He looks up to see which way the ravens are headed. Some appear to go in the direction he initially went while others diverge into a few separate paths.] I was told if you follow the ravens, they lead you to functioning passageways.
[It's quite possible while tracking this beast he relied too heavily on his own sight, while the answer may have been above him.]

Edited 2022-05-28 20:50 (UTC)

I figured. First, I'm gonna play a real song, just to warm up.

[And with that, he starts playing "My Darling Clementine". It's a simple tune and he stops after two rounds]

What do you think?

[this time they aren't going to bed, though maybe it's a comfortable evening before that inevitable point. viktor's already in his stupid skull tshirt and boxers, jotting obnoxiously complicated looking formulas into a notebook as he rests a head against pal's shoulder. a good couch lounging as he considers some nuance to their new prototype, one he's probably rambled pal's ear off about before settling for the comfort of simply losing himself in the numbers.

dinner consisted of apple slices and whatever else, which viktor warned him could potentially do this memory shit. he tried to find ones that weren't from the boardwalk stock and so far they hadn't had any mishaps. he loves apples and doesn't terribly mind pal seeing his memories so it seemed a fine enough risk to handle.

surely the risk has passed! good for them. except when a glance over to see if pal was getting tired makes the world trip, an odd warmth running through his veins he hadn't felt before from any of his exchanges. his paleblood reacting, maybe in the low light of the lunar orb.

the undercity is a lot. the air is thick and chemical, slides unpleasantly down the throat with any ill advised deep breath. it's dark even in the day, built into the fissures and cliffs, spiraling downward instead of out or up as any other city might. it's loud, a constant pattering of foot fall, yelling and laughing and fighting, the churning of great machines and bellow of factories. bugs not unlike beetles but somehow more like fireflies tend to zip through the alleys, leaving a green glow in their wake.

the viktor of this memory is young, patchy clothes and a makeshift cane as he walks the street, keeping carefully to the side as the world runs amok around. a man sits on a cage of some odd creature, not giving him a second glance as he limps his way by. people with metal limbs, a metal eye, a copper jaw, they sit around tables or lurk and offer no notice either. there's people who look like humanoid bats, there's cat boys, there's a yordle prostitute. viktor doesn't care about any of this, it seems, ducking into an alley and turning his attention to a pile of discarded scrap.

his lips quirk, a quiet, cautious little smile as he moves over to root through it, a few already promising pieces. he ducks behind some piping when a few people run through, some sort of chase he keeps out of the way of until they're gone and he's back to looking through the bits of metal with interest. a few gears go into his pockets, a bent key, a small plate of metal before he's moving again, this time with distinct purpose.

the doctor's lab is near the old water treatment plant, a little cave in the fissures that is difficult to find without purpose. also difficult to climb into yet every day viktor does, stumbling his way down the jutting rocks, moving through the slippery ground and glowing mushrooms to make his way into the lab proper.

the lab is. cozy. maybe one too many dead things in jars but viktor assumes that's just how science is sometimes. the doctor is curled over his desk, doesn't look up but seemingly can tell exactly who it is from the thunk of viktor's cane.] Viktor, take Rio out. I need to concentrate on a delicate matter.

[viktor attempts not to buzz with excitement. that is what he wanted to do anyway, though he makes the effort to nod seriously.] Okay.

[rio crawls out from some crevice as if summoned, bumping happily into viktor's chest until he pats her, hushing her and directing them both back out into the cave proper.] I made the boat faster- but you have to be more careful with it.

[rio trills and viktor huffs.] You said that last time. [ah well, he could always fix it again. he's eager to tinker some more now that he has new material but a test run of the current prototype is important too, he thinks. that's how progress works, the doctor told him, trying again and again, learning each time.

he takes a seat on one of the rocks and winds the slightly battered toy up, pulling out the crank and letting it chug. he's about to put it in the water when he notices rio looking ahead into the cave, and in that space is an odd, skinny man he's never seen before.

he holds the boat closer to his chest, wary when he says,] The doctor's busy.

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june catch-all

for kazuma, june

for penny, june

Time Loop

for chizuru, june

for ortus, june

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Sorry! I posted the first one to the wrong spot!

no worries! i do that often lmao

for scorpia, june

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lab visit

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for pal, june memories