On the Significance of Scars, Part One - RPLOG
Participants
Date
18/9/2016
Log
The small, dilapidated building stood along the edge of the wall separating Xanadu Gardens from the rest of Fairhaven Park. To a casual glance, the building might still seem abandoned, but a discerning eye would note signs of attempted repair and reclamation. It might have been anything, back when it was new - maybe even one of those characterless McMansions that sprouted like mushrooms in parts of Californina before P-Day. But it's been crudely renovated and rebuilt along the model of an office building. It was probably easy to spot back when it was first built, but with the current, wild state of the gardens' overgrown foliage, the building was now effectively set back into the line of woods that bordered the Field of Dreams.
Inside, it was quite different. Obviously, a significant chunk of someone's personal resources, and most likely some official Zephyr resources as well, have been invested in making this place a functional subdivision headquarters. To judge by the state of the interior, most of the building is occupied by a small but very active research & development team, focusing on both crafting and nanomagic.
The uppermost floor, by contrast, is set up as a living space, albeit a rather cluttered and neglected one. There are concessions to comfort here, though nothing very expensive-looking and much appears to have been scavenged and repaired to the best of the scavenger's ability (which isn't always too good.) There is a sort of nest consisting of a couch on which various pillows and blankets have been piled, and a neatly made, very unused-looking bed.
This is where Acetyl brought Galve after they were able to escape from the Swamp. Too exhausted by the ordeal of escaping to do much more than flee for home, and too shell-shocked to face the crowds in Zephyr's lobby which he'd have to pass through to get to his official apartment, he'd come here, to the Xanadu R&D building. It was hardly ready for its proper purpose, much less to be hosting visitors, but Acetyl had felt like he had nowhere else to go. Totally burned out, he'd plunked Galve on the unused bed before crawling into his unkempt couch-nest. He was so exhausted he'd fallen asleep with his pipe clutched in one clawed hand, lighter in the other, both unused.
Acetyl woke up the same way, hands feeling a bit cramped and tired from gripping the two objects all night as he slept. The subtle, dull ache was very minor, and would have been mildly annoying normally, but it was totally swamped out by the pain in the rest of his body. His nanites were mostly done repairing the damage he'd taken fighting the feral Male Gator on the way out, but his cells weren't done bitching about the trauma they'd suffered yet. Emitting an irritable, throaty growl, Acetyl pushed himself upright in the mess of bedding sprawled over the leather couch and lit the bowl he'd loaded the night before. Normally, infected agents benefitted little from drugs, but one of the benefits of Xanadu Gardens was that the drugs here worked. 'Cet had his suspicions about why, but no proof yet. It was one reason the R&D building was here. Zephyr, and Acetyl, both wanted to know what the hell was up with this place. A pleasant mystery, it was. He had enough unpleasant mysteries in his life.
Of course, exhaling a gout of smoke through his slit nostrils, Acetyl knew he had no one to blame but himself for that. Perversely, being in control of his own descent into the darkness made him feel less bitter about it. At least he was no victim of outside forces. Merely his own victim. He'd chosen this.
And speaking of which... Acetyl's sensitive ear twitched. He heard motion from the bedroom. Why did he make a bedroom, anyway, when he'd always slept on the damn couch...? Still grouchy and groggy from waking up, Acetyl took another hit, trying to decide how to handle what was coming. You rolled this joint for yourself, dragon. Now light it up and smoke it, he told himself cynically. "Oi. You up?" He called quietly, in case Galve had merely turned over in his sleep. But instinct told him the other agent was awake. Something about how the smell coming from the open door to the bedroom had changed.
The scent had indeed changed. Still garbed in practically nothing but the meanger rags that he'd fled the cave in, Galve had shifted as he had slept. Nanites had taken over and he'd shifted back to his native form, a satyr-like kemo sheep. Stirring around, the effeminate agent pushed himself up on sore arms and surveyed himself. Pushing his fleecy hair from his eyes and clambering from the bed, he wandered out of the room still completely unclothed, still half-asleep and barely recovered from his previous condition and the exhaustion from the trip here.
Sounds of motion. Yeah, the other was awake. Acetyl realized they'd never even had a chance to exchange names. Pilot of your own destiny, indeed, the Storm Dragon grumbled internally, feeling annoyed with himself. You'd be better off sleeping with strangers like everyone else does, old thunder lizard. Well. Too late for that now. Stretching his digitigrade legs beneath the blankets, doing his best not to catch the fabric on his spurs, Acetyl turned automatically, drawing another hit from the glass pipe as he glanced at the doorway. Expecting a bunny, the Storm Dragon blinked and looked around more sharply as a sheep emerged. His nostrils flared and eyes narrowed, but after a few seconds he sat back again, recognizing a native shift. He hadn't been expecting that, but he supposed it wasn't important. He himself shifted around at times, as a Nanite Adept, so he couldn't hold it against someone else if they sometimes found it useful to be something else. For all he knew, the bunny form had been forced on the other agent as part of the captivity. The idea was uncomfortable. The whole situation was uncomfortable. Again, Acetyl turned the guilt he felt into a mental weapon and cut himself on it, bleeding out the guilty feeling so it turned into a sort of self-loathing resignation. He'd had his fun, after all, done whatever he damn well pleased with no thought for the consequences, that night. Now he was sane, sober, and the bill had come due. Time to pay the price of admission.
You've got no one to blame but yourself, man. It's a fully mackin' triple overhead and you're going to surf that son of a bitch or it's going to kill you. And you're the one who brought a board and swam out to the lineup, aren't you, sonny? So start paddling. Catch it, or it's gonna catch you.
Acetyl went to light the bowl again, but found it empty. He sat up, reaching for a low, battered coffee table in front of the bedding-strewn couch, and seized his grinder, preparing to load a new bowl. As he worked, he hummed to himself, not looking at the sleepy sheep. As much as he wanted to confront the issue right away, it was clear at a glance that the other was still in a fragile condition. Better start slow. "Wake 'n bake, man. If you smoke, c'mere and take yer turn. Then food." This all was spoken without looking at Galve, but after a few moments, the Storm Dragon looked over his shoulder at the sheep. "Never caught your name, by the way." He didn't offer his own.
Slowly waking, Galve caught a smoke cloud in the face as he entered the main room and staggered for a moment, waving his hands around to clear the air as he coughed.
"S-sorry... I dont smoke." He said, coughing again. When he finally managed to clear his lungs, he moved into a less direct line with the smoking dragon as a precaution. "Galve.... my name is Galve...." he said, replying to the request.
Offering an indifferent shrug, the draconic anthro flicked the lighter. It sparked but didn't light very well. He glared at it, tried another couple times, then tossed it onto the table with a piqued grunt. The pipe emitted a feeble stream of smoke, only barely lit. "Fuck. Things were worthless even before P-Day, but now, if I'm lucky enough to find one at all, they're all nanite-chewed. Don't last for shit. Waste of butane." He began fishing around in his jeans pockets before withdrawing a new one. There's something odd about the way the draconic mutant speaks without looking at Galve most of the time - as if he might have said the same words to the empty room, talking to himself, whether Galve was there or not.
Pestered with questions, Galve did his best to recall what happened. "Its.... fuzzy. Like some part of me doesn't want to remember.... But I do remember being captured by gatoress...
Galve scratches at his chin thoughtfully. "I was explor... no I was lost. Trying to find... something.... I can't remember now...."
Acetyl grunts. "Color me unsurprised. Looked like she was doing her best to turn you feral. Going feral tends to fuck your memory at least a little bit." The Storm Dragon speaks as if he has reason to know. He glances around, looking for something. Apparently he doesn't see it, because he begins to extricate himself from his tangled sleeping place. More nest than bed, he treats it that way, too, kicking much of the bedding to the floor as he gets loose and stands up. "I need a drink. You want anything? It's as easy to make one thing as another."
"Umm.... I.... I'm not sure.... Some water, maybe." Galve said, looking around for a chair or something to sit on, his legs still aching from the previous flight.
Nodding, Acetyl turned away and headed to a door in one wall. "The edibles lab - er, the kitchen, I guess - is the floor below us. I'll be right back." It was lucky Galve only wanted water, or he might've had to produce what was needed with nanomagic. He doubted Galve would have been terribly comfortable drinking something he'd produced with his own biochemistry. Then again, who knows... maybe he's used to that sort of thing. It's the post-P-Day world, after all. The building was a research and development center, but a small one, so he was often short or out of a lot of important stuff, since the division was new and only consisted of himself thus far. But one thing he did have a reasonable supply of on hand most of the time was water. For himself, he wanted a glass of milk. Being associated with Zephyr did have some benefits, he thought as he grabbed a bottle of chilled Cow Maiden milk from the fridge in the edible projects lab. Not fridge, Acetyl reminded himself absently. Icebox. The building didn't have electricity, so Acetyl had resorted to using Cryo Nanomagic and his own ingenuity as a crafter to make this ersatz icebox. Now he tended to think of it as 'the fridge', even though he knew better. It was a pain to keep it working and didn't really keep perishables that long because he had to redo the ice all the time or it would start to warm up again, meaning when he left the building for hours, the ice would melt before he got back. Still, it worked well enough in terms of keeping a supply of chilled water available, and if he was in the building and able to return to keep the ice solid on a regular basis, Acetyl could enjoy such luxuries as cold milk sometimes. It was worth the effort, to him.
Returning to the living area on the top shelf, he noticed Galve looking a bit lost, as if he wanted to sit down but wasn't sure where. Acetyl couldn't blame the other. He'd furnished the upstairs more or less purely for his own comfort, even though there was room for up to seven other people to dorm up there if needed. Thus there was a lot of empty space, and doors leading into unfurnished rooms. None of the rooms were large, but the relative lack of stuff in them made it seem bigger than it was. Acetyl looked around, feeling annoyed with himself - how could he forget to bring a damn chair up here? Then he shrugged and sat down at the far end of the couch, gesturing at the other end. There was a cushion's worth of space between them; the storm dragon hoped that would be enough to make Galve comfortable. He'd have to remember to make or bring a chair up here later on. For now that would have to do. He set the glass of water he'd brought for Galve on the coffee table before taking a long swallow from the glass bottle of milk. "Mmmh. So. You don't remember why you went. You don't remember your captor. Do you remember... anything? Where those scars on your back came from, maybe?" The Storm Dragon was watching Galve very closely now, a sharpness in his gaze, not hostile necessarily, but not entirely a friendly sort of interest, either.
"Umm..... Scars? What scars? All I remember.... what I do remember, anyway, is mostly just pain and pleasure melted together..... Maybe she did it, I dont know." Galve mused, taking a seat on the couch and taking the water, sipping it slowly, slightly unnerved and suspicious with how... specific the dragon was being.
Acetyl met the kemo sheep's gaze with a calm, unemotive stare. Almost as if he thought Galve were lying, but felt nothing emotionally about that. Or maybe, thought Galve was in denial. "So. You haven't noticed, then? Didn't notice at all." He paused a moment, watching Gelve in silence, before continuing. "Everything she did to you healed as it normally would. Pain is cheap these days," he adds with a growling chuckle. That remark might have simply been cynical or depressive or maybe black humor from someone else. But the weird, unsettling aura which perpetually hung around the storm dragon gave the remark a sort of dark, capering humor that had nothing in common with a normal person's black humor - the malicious glee of something totally inhuman. Yet there was an undeniable undercurrent of pain in the statement that revealed profound human depths of thought and emotion behind it as well. It was a bizarre combination, almost as offputting in its uncomfortable blend as the unnatural aura would have been on its own.
When Acetyl broke eye contact, the weird spell of the aura broke, too, leaving Galve to wonder if perhaps he'd imagined the weirdness. Acetyl took another long drink. But then he looked back to the kemo sheep, and the weirdness was back. It wasn't part of Acetyl's nature, but he wore it like an old and familiar cloak, so that it seemed to be as much a part of his own being as the golden-bronze color of his eyes or the long mane of humanlike hair hanging around his bestial face. "But your back still hurts." It was not a question. It was a statement of fact, spoken with a cool disinterest that belied the intense focus in the dragon's eyes as he watched Galve to see his reaction.
"W-well.... now that you mention it...." He'd felt a discomfort, a small burning sensation, from his bare back since they left, but adrenaline and fear had kept it dulled. Now that everything was calm, and now that his attention was directed to it, the pain was back. Especially with whatever this dragon was doing to him. "P-probably just tore a muscle or something... Maybe the gator got me..
The flickering, faint bioluminescence of the dragon's eyes flared brighter for a moment, but faded quickly. At the same time, a more human flash of impatience twists his expression. His thin lips pulled back as if he were about to snap something, but then his mouth closed, expression becoming tired and rather sad. Maybe even a bit guilty. "Sorry. I'm feeling... uncharacteristically impatient." He considered taking something a little stronger, but thought better of it, flicking his fingers in unconscious dismissal of the idea. He noticed the look on Galve's face and, not for the first time, resented the way that non-Acolytes tended to react to an active Acolyte's presence. The power of the Book was strong in him right now, as it had been on the night he'd cut those scars into Galve's back, as he needed to be in order to have a chance of understanding just what he'd done. But it was having a negative impact on Galve. It usually did that to non-Acolytes. But there was nothing he could do about it now. So he just drank more milk and sighed, looking down at his bottle rather than at Galve. "Sure. Tore a muscle." A little lopsided smile tugged at one side of his mouth. He fished around for his pipe and took another hit, once again covering the bowl so it went out quickly, though he did allow streams of smoke to emerge as he spoke - or, rather, had little choice in the matter, as he began to speak while still having the smoke in his lungs. Naturally, it billowed forth, oozing like silver serpents from his slit nostrils, puffing between his teeth as he talked.
"Let's be honest with each other, Galve," the Storm Dragon chortled smokily, giving the sheep a one-eyed glance. "You stop pretending you're dumb enough to believe that. And I'll tell you exactly why your back still hurts. Deal?" Without waiting for Galve to respond, he blew the thin remnants of the smoke from his lungs and sat back, pulling in another hit. "Let me tell you a story. Once upon about a week ago, maybe - time's a bit fuzzy at this point - there was an agent. This agent was given a routine clear-out mission in the Bone Yard. This agent did not take this mission quite as seriously as he perhaps should have, and went out there with his metaphorical cock out." More smoke breathed forth, though again thin and weak as 'Cet was holding it long enough for much of it to be absorbed, even though, as before, it tended to escape as he spoke. "Well, this agent got exactly what he was asking for. He made the bastards pay in blood, but he paid plenty himself." There was a pause as he flexed the retractile claw from his thumb and used it to stir the bowl, looking down at the business his hands were involved in.
"Let's not linger on the ugly details for now. The long and short of it is, this agent... did not keep his cool. This agent... regressed." He spoke with a sort of calm that was distant by emotional force, willpower and training giving his recitation a clipped delivery, as if he were reporting to a superior officer, though with that subtle tone of sardonic darkness that one probably would not use with a superior... if one could control it, anyway, which Acetyl could not. It was an aspect of the unnatural aura of an Acolyte.
Turning the now mostly-smoked bowl in his hands, watching the shine on its glass, Acetyl's voice became more subdued, yet with a rumble to it somewhere near but not quite a growl. "He... was mutated in a way he was not accustomed to. He ran wild for several hours. While in this state of... regression... this agent found himself deep in the Naga Swamp. He found a cave that stank of a female feral... a gatoress." Acetyl's voice trailed off in a hiss.
Galve sat and listened, starting to piece together the details. Rather than voice the obvious, he decided to nod instead and sipped on his water.
One slit-pupiled eye lingers on Galve for a moment, gauging his reaction. Noting the noncommittal response, Acetyl snorts and scratches at his scruffy chin. "Let's not belabor the point. I think you're following. When this... oh, fuck it." Acetyl growls to himself, flexing his claws before sheathing them again. He doesn't want to meet Galve's gaze, but he makes himself look in the sheep's direction, at least. "When I found you that first time, I was gone. Straight gone. Remember on the way back? How I got when that big ol' bull gator got me? Like that, but worse. A lot worse. The pack that caught me on Boneyard Plateau would've spanked that gator with his own tail and had him begging for mercy within ten minutes. Ten strong, lead by a Promethean Stygian Hound gone totally feral. Determined to have their way with me, make me like them in the process. Typical feral bullshit," he grunted dismissively, though his eyes flicked away for a moment, revealing his discomfort and distress at the memory.
"They bit off more than they could chew." That inner light brightens briefly in Acetyl's eyes again as he says those words before fading to its usual dull flicker. "But they got their way, damn them. I only got out by becoming like them. At least, enough to count," he finished in a bitter tone. "Most of what I did to you... it was bad. But I put it square by getting your ass out of there," he growls, almost harshly, sounding rather as if he's trying to convince himself of that as much as Galve. "But... there's something else." Outside, a Psilocybe Dragon flies past, but Acetyl doesn't even glance toward it, apparently well accustomed to such weirdness going by his windows. He looks at Galve silently, leaning forward, almost hugging himself, gazing at the other on the far side of the couch. "How much do you know about Woodfield?"
"Only that RSX operates out of there. And that there are significantly more.... creepy mutants, rather than just oversexed furries, among the mutants there." Galve said, relaying what he knew from idle research in the Zephyr lobby.
The Storm Dragon gives Galve that one-sided smile again. "Creepy is a word for it. And have you heard of the Necromantic Acolytes?" There is a pause, ever so slight, before Acetyl speaks the name of the cult.
".... No.... Am I going to turn into some kind of zombie? What did you do to me?" Galve said, not even trying to hide the fear in his voice as the pieces started to fit together
"Zombie? Warden's balls, no. At least, I really doubt it. Even if I did, it'd only be cosmetic, like any other nanite mutation. There are no real zombies. Not... not here. Maybe not anywhere. Not that you need to worry about, anyway." Something in Acetyl's voice was a little wavery at the last, as if he knew more than he was saying - something that made him, too, a little anxious. But he moved on quickly, rolling his milk bottle between his hands a couple of times before draining it at a long pull. "To tell the truth, I don't know exactly what I did. That's why you're here. Your back hurts because while I - when I found you, I mean..." That was another moment where he caught himself and censored whatever he'd been about to say, but he continued quickly enough to cover up the slip, whatever it had been about to be. "You were bound, with your back exposed. I... among other things... well... I... kind of... drew on you." Now he sounds very human, indeed, downright embarassed. The animalistic eyes shift upward, glancing to the ceiling. "With... my claws." He swallows, still looking up and away, as if too anxious or embarassed to meet Galve's eyes. "And what I drew... It could be nothing. It could be important. The problem is, I don't remember. When I was in that state, I guess some of what I drew..." Suddenly, Acetyl shakes his head irritably, growling. "Ugh. No, I'm doing this out of order." He heaves a frustrated sigh. "OK, it's like this. In Woodfield, there's a book. A really important book. A book that... I said I wouldn't bullshit you, didn't I? Fine, I won't. It's not from this world. I'm not even sure it's really a book at all. Sometimes there seems to be a... a mind, or awareness at least, associated with it. Sometimes I think it just takes the form of a book in this world." He stops, snapping his mouth shut. Closing his eyes, he pinches the bridge of his muzzle, rubbing just beneath his horn. "Nevermind. Forget all that. Just... rambling. The point is, if you go to Woodfield, and you... do certain things, make certain agreements, pay your way, so to speak... you can see the book. Even read it." His voice was a low whisper now, full of the muttering rumble of a cold winter rain.
Acetyl rainily rataplans, "And in that book are... let's call them formulae. Equations, of a sort. Except that in a way, they're also a language. And a way to ask questions. I may have asked some questions. And gotten some answers." "
By now, Acetyl is actually biting his lower lip, glancing at Galve with a definite look of apology and guilt. The weird aura is still around him, but now he seems almost lost within it, a man struggling to do his best but sinking beneath the mire of his own bad choices regardless.
Nodding slowly, Galve put his hand on the dragon's arm. "Its ok just calm down, neither of us need to lose our cool right now." Galve said. "Sometimes things happen. We'll see how this little fuck up turns out." He said, trying to be optimistic despite his internal fears.
The storm dragon almost jumps in surprise, unused to spontaneous gestures like that, but controls the startle enough to reduce it to a mild (if still visible) twitch. He glances at Galve curiously, then barks a short, cynical laugh. "Things happen. Can you really reduce this to that? It's not like I tripped and just happened to scrawl ritual hieroglyphs into your skin. But..." He sighs again, gritting his teeth so that the breath hisses through his sharp teeth. "Well... thanks," he finishes lamely, apparently unable to find better words, or any words beyond that. His eyes unfocus and he looks distant and thoughtful for a minute or so. Speaking slowly, he says, "You know, that's the bitch of it. If I'd done it on purpose... well, I'd know what I'd done." He chuckles ruefully, shaking his head to himself. "That's the irony. I've never done a ritual when ... out of it, like that. Oh, I mean, you do the chants and the dances, recite the mantras and do the meditation exercises, drink the holy sacrament and kiss the holy asses. All that stuff. And your mind changes, sure. You're in an altered state when you deal with a supernatural dedication, no question. But it's different. You're still doing it by choice. It's almost like..." But then he shivers, and trails off without finishing the sentence. Acetyl looks to Galve frankly, then. "The point is, I'm going to need to keep you here for a while. I might even need to take you out to Woodfield. The only way to understand all of that, in its entirety, is to study it. Translate it. Do the math, so to speak."
