( closed ) the only ones who need love are the ones who don't receive enough

[gradenine]

WHO: roland and certain people
WHAT: roland came back after disappearing mysterious and realized some really bad things. plotting comment for reference.
WHERE: the garden
WHEN: around the middle of the month, before the event
WARNINGS: body horror, violence, talks about murder and other nihilistic shit. also major project moon spoilers. see his opt-out for more info.


[ roland emerged out of the darkness like a dream.

or rather, he stumbles into the relatively new location as if he woke up from a horrible nightmare, clutching at his head as he makes his way towards the tea-party setup. this was the last place he'd remembered before vanishing, but the details were foggy. he wasn't even aware how long it's been. all he knew was that he met someone terrible who gave him equally terrible news, but he's used to disappointments -- even more so in this desolate imitation of a city.

someone had left green tea on the table, still hot. binah had told him that green tea is good for him, so he may as well take the load off and hope that the drink will clear his mind, and make him forget the bad news he'd received from argalia.

ah, yes. argalia is here, angelica's own flesh and blood. angelica had come back wrong, he gleefully. right. totally normal.

...

luckily, this isn't the first time this abnormality has taken over roland. he's used to the way the muscular sinews bloom across his body like a second skin (or even a flesh wound), the multitude of eyes blinking themselves open and roving their pupils around to scan the area. a gnarled leg of a bird sprouts from the top of his head, flexing its digits. his own left arm, meanwhile, has morphed into a bulbous club made of muscle and claw, which he is using to thrash at a nearby flowerbed for speaking out of line. ]

Why is he here... Why. Why. Tell me...

[ "i know why he's here," the half-dead flowers insist. "nothing ever goes my way. this city is out to get me, too."

but just because he's too engrossed in destroying the flowers within reach, it doesn't mean that the bulging eyes won't notice whoever comes into the garden, their unblinking gazes boring into anyone's eyes should anyone stumbles this sorry sight. he is making quite the ruckus, after all. ]

Comments

[unrequite]

[ Midnight is often silly, often inobservant, often purposefully obtuse... but one thing he is not is suicidal. He's gone into the the greenhouse a couple of times by now, just to check for stragglers and anyone who may not have gotten the memo about the flowers inside, but the sound of heavy feet and torn up vegetation is enough to make him tread a bit more carefully, dropping down and narrowing his eyes. Vampiric scent has him on alert, even if he doesn't know what he's smelling. Something like flesh, something like blood, something like something that exists somewhere damp and dark.

He's relying on stealth and the whispering of other flowers to drown out the sound of his approach, but there are certainly a few flowers that seem perfectly willing to hiss out his own inner monologue.

Playing hero again? What if you die this time? Or does that matter anymore...?
It has to matter. You're still afraid.
Of the unknown.
Of pain.
Hell of a demon you are.

He finds the path of destruction, traces it to flying debris, ripped up leaves. What... is that?

... He quietly removes his terminal from his pocket, unlocks it, and swipes for the network. He does this slowly. His hands do not shake. As long as the creature does not move this way... He is pretty sure he won't be able to do this on his own. ]

[gradenine]

[ midnight's enhanced sense of smell would also catch the scent of countless other people, reduced into this coagulated mess of flesh and blood that roland is covered in. the giant green eye on roland's shoulder blinks and seems to tug at roland's side to get his attention. so roland looks up and --

oh. it's that guy, and if the multitude of eyes zoom in a little closer, they can see that he's probably contacting the others for help. hah, not on his watch. the multitude of ears on roland's person has caught on to the flowers that echo midnight's inner thoughts too, and roland's only reaction to that is a wide, lopsided smile. ]

Mid... night.

[ he then starts stomping his way over to the taller man, his club-like arm raised to strike him down. ]

It's just you and me now...!! [ "i won't let your precious friends interfere." ]

[unrequite]

[ He lifts his eyes from the phone at the increased whispering, the drag of heavy feet, and without thinking, scrambles back and out of the way, phone still clutched in his hand, but message unsent. Midnight is not too proud for a tactical retreat. That voice is worrisomely familiar, as is the implication that he is known, but he's not particularly worried about anything except creating space.

If his precious friends are not allowed to interfere, that's fine. Midnight's used to going it alone.

You were never meant to survive for long.
Not your heart, anyway.
But it's a nice narrative bookend now that the rest of you will follow, isn't it?

He ducks behind some shrubs, trying to find cover. He just came in from the door, he should be able to get out again... Or at least make enough space to get the rest of his message out.

(He knows that voice. Who is that...? There are too many eyes to tell where a possible face might begin and end, but the shape of those shoulders was familiar...) ]

[gradenine]

[ there are indeed too many voices, and some of them don't even come from the flowers that echo both their thoughts. roland shuffles down the path, multiple eyes scanning the shrubberies and potted plants at the side, and when he opens his mouth, he doesn't sound like himself. he sounds like a man first, a woman second -- just an entire crowd of people begging for help a long time ago. ]

"Mon… ster. That… mons… ter… That monster… why is it here…"
"Help…me… Hel… HELP ME!!!"
…er!!! …ger!!! Save… me!

[ that was midnight he just saw, right? why else would he be here, trying to contact anybody for help?

"for an intimidating looking guy, he sure has a bleeding heart," the nearby flowers say. "and that's going to be his undoing." ]

[limbical]

[Occasionally, Daan does check back in the gardens, because really nobody should be drinking that damned tea. He knows from personal experience, especially after the Pocketcat persuaded Vergilius and Midnight to partake as well. Not that they didn't do it of their own free wills, but... well, it's still hard to not feel some guilt about that.

In any case, when he sees the remnants of destruction, he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.]

...Please just let this be the result of someone extremely cranky.

[nah man it absolutely isn't. By the time Daan catches up, he's watching Roland wreck the flowers, looking extremely...

Well, the word Daan has in his mind is moonscorched, but that's not the case for Roland. It'd be something else, wouldn't it. Either way, it seems someone's had a spot of tea.]

[gradenine]

[ well, "extremely cranky" is one way of putting it. the different-colored eyes that belonged to other human beings once upon a time start blinking rapidly, as if to catch roland's attention. roland does look up, and upon seeing a familiar face -- ]

Daan... Daan.

[ he starts limping towards the other man, face breaking into a grin. when he speaks, he sounds as though he's holding back the urge to laugh (or cry). ]

I finally know... I finally know what happened! To her. We're the same...

[limbical]

[Well. Fuck.

It's impossible to keep himself from empathizing with Roland immediately. How could he not? They have dreadfully too much in common. Concerningly, he isn't sure how much Roland can listen to reason right now, and he tries to think and plot for a way to reach the right seeds to make him take.

For now, conversation.]

I wasn't aware it was a mystery what happened to her.

Will you tell me?

briah level time wahoo

[beanallright]

[ It's nice seeing so much real greenery again. There's plenty of flora he recognizes and even more that's unfamiliar. Occasionally, Chesed will stop by the garden to jot down some notes about a new plant he's stumbled upon.

Gebura is less enthusiastic about the plants, but given the sight he's greeted with, it's probably a good thing she'd agreed to accompany him today.

Something new skulks about the garden. ]

Hm. This is a bit nostalgic, isn't it, Gebura?

[ He's unfazed by the fleshy creature tearing at the flowerbed. Instead, Chesed makes easy eye contact with one of the bulging eyes.

It occurs to him that he and his associate are mostly unarmed. ]

I thought you said Roland was pleased with the selections of food in The City. I can't imagine he stumbled upon a dish that offended him to this degree.

[bemist]

It's the tea. [ tersely, and it's a good thing she doesn't really wander anywhere without her tire iron, though as she looks at Roland, the familiarity of this Abnormality only makes her clench her teeth a little more tightly together.

It would be better if she had Mimicry, but Gebura has never placed her fighting value just in her ability to use E.G.O. as a weapon or as armor. ]

One of the effects. Angela went through something like it earlier.

[ And now here they are, the flowers choking out their breathy secrets as the Abnormality Formerly Known as Roland goes to town on them.

Gebura sighs quietly, stepping forward. ]

Seriously, Roland? You go missing and make us search all over for you and you come back like this?

[gradenine]

Gebura... Chesed.

[ he slowly turns around at the familiar voices, especially at the one he hasn't heard from quite a while now. so much for a reunion with the blue librarian.

"wish chesed were here earlier," say the flowers that haven't been obliterated yet. "maybe i wouldn't be like this if i met him first..." ]

I don't... know where I've been. [ he walks over to them with a limp. Nothing There may have been an ALEPH-class abnormality, but even it's been rendered weak by this city's innate powers. ] But does it really matter...? Nothing matters here. There's just nothing there... Nothing there.

wao so popular sir roland

[icanfixer]

[ it's the duty of a fixer, (an excuse that grows more just that by the day: an excuse) to ensure the safety of others, be they important to one or not, and just like at the mall don moves every day through the newest locations to see if there's someone to help, someone to save, even at the cost of her own wellness. it's been a point of contention for forever, be it here with well-meaning strangers or the people she'd gained the fondness of that didn't, couldn't understand... or the sinners there, but more for the fact she often caused more trouble than she solved.

nonetheless, nonetheless, she wants to help, wants to protect and save, for that is what is right.

even if the monster before her seems to resemble someone she trusts.

the eyes find hers, glance over the pitchfork she'd consider as good as her lance for now, and don raises it high as she calls out far more lucid than last they "fought": ]

Hail, foe! Cease thy destruction of the flowers, for they shan't wither no matter how hard one tries!

[ and trust, she tried. but it's naggingly familiar in a way, the voices and face of someone she hasn't seen but has thought plenty, plenty of lately, the transformation itself not unlike foes she has thrown herself against back at the city... could it really be?

nonetheless, don is a hero (doth a hero lie?) and a righteous servant of justice (what justice is there to serve?) who ought to put down any foe that wishes to do harm to anything great and small (have any asked thee to do so?). ]

If thee do not stop, then I shall put an end to it myself!

everyone's just lining up to punch him ok

[gradenine]

[ oh, don. unsubtle as always. the eyes that cover roland's skin blink wildly as roland himself finally looks over to see who tf dares to disturb his mental breakdown, and when he sees that it's don--

well, he doesn't speak at first. he just smiles his eerie smile, the blue eye that doesn't belong to him twitching as he shuffles over to her. he doesn't need to say anything. the EGO can do that for him, speaking in different dissonant voices that came from other people from a long time ago. ]

"Hello. Hell-o. He… llo… Hello."
"Mon… ster. That… mons… ter… That monster… why is it here…"
"el… llo… Hello? ello… Hello?"

[ "i can never take her seriously even if i tried," the flowers pipe up as their peanut gallery. "she's not even aware of the truth. she doesn't deserve to know." "or maybe... she doesn't ever want to know." ]

[icanfixer]

[ ever to her credit, don quixote doesn't step back.

she should, but the only time she'd ever felt herself so appalled she'd done so without thought was seeing just what humans can become, what they can do to one another in thousands, millions, billions of years time. the normalcy of w corp's workings will always elude her and the some others, and it's probably the most normal thing about her. for now, she gazes into the eyes across roland's body, into the one that isn't his and the one that is, and remembers what angela said.

the flowers aren't lies. whatever they speak is just something you don't want to say.

that said. ]

Thou art rather creepy.

[ plain and simple. many eyes to jab at though, that's nice, though the flowers are hard to ignore. nothing insightful or inciting, but curious enough to catch her ear. ]

What truth do thee speak of? And what monster, besides thyself, begs thy mention?

[ because it isn't her. ]

[unimportant]

[ At first, when Yuki sees the creature from afar, she assumes it must be a cursed spirit. It's how she's been trained to see the dark parts of the world that grow from the subconscious negativity humans naturally generate. You can't fault the sun for giving light just because you get a sunburn, and so she figured something like this could happen. In a world where cursed energy isn't naturally generated, the sorcerers who utilize it could end up leaking their reserves by accident.

So she approaches it like any elimination mission. Get in, bust up the curse, call it a day. A Special Grade doesn't need to make a plan of action, because they're one man equivalent of an army capable of overthrowing a country. So she walks toward the hulking bloody mass as it destroys the flowers, all smiles. ]

Hey handsome. Turn around so I can take a good look at ya.

[ Curses are born of the worse nightmares. She wants to see what sort of face this one has. ]

[gradenine]

[ the odd-colored eyes all blink at her, and roland looks with an equally maniacal grin. it's yuki, the beautiful woman who took him down the tunnels that one time. the one that roland was able to open up to, even for a little bit.

but that meant nothing in the end, right? ]

Yu...ki... [ he drags his feet over to her, his club-arm raised. ] You didn't have to--

[ his voice then changes to that of an entirely different person -- or two. or three. voices that used to belong to people who once lived. ]

"Hello. Hell-o. He… llo… Hello."
"Mon… ster. That… mons… ter… That monster… why is it here…"

[unimportant]

Roland?!

[ It's a shock but, past the heavy distortion in his body and voice, it's him. Suddenly a simple elimination is anything but. Someone in his condition would be considered a lost cause by typical standards... no, she can't think like that. This probably isn't a cursed spirit situation like she thought. None of the sorcerers here could leak enough reserves to cause damage to a human on this level. The other voices coming from him too... are they the source? Grotesque parasites latching on?

The researcher in her wants to pluck samples and run tests. Any thought of that will have to wait. ]

Yeesh. Such ugly growths on a handsome face. But you just called out my name. Are you grasping for sanity beneath that thing?

[immortalpoet]

[Distortion.]

[Has to be. He's seen it for himself. A man turned into something filled to the brim with dots, with a salamander-like tail. But to find something of the like happening to someone so familiar...]

[Vergilius pauses, stares at him with this vivid eyes of his. He doesn't break his stare. His gaze can never falter. No matter what his heart feels, he must move forward. This flow cannot be stopped.]

....Roland. You look like shit.

[gradenine]

[ gee, thanks. normally roland would've retorted with his own snarky comeback too. but nothing there has nothing much to offer except for screams of help by the employees of a fallen wing. it wouldn't have been the same. ]

Red Gaze...

[ he shuffles over to the color, the oddly-colored eyes staring back at him. ]

You've come to finish me off. Right?

[ do it. coward." ]

[immortalpoet]

...

[His gaze flickers for but a moment, but his expression doesn't change. No matter what, he has to steel his emotions. He instilled that into Garnet, didn't he...?]

[He instead opts to let out a low sigh, as if more disappointed than not.]

Couldn't help yourself to some tea, huh, Roland...? Why? Just because?

asiyah action

[wordchain]

[ In all likelihood, this city takes issue with any direct interference, and Yesod doubts that his and Midnight's joint signage creation efforts have remained intact — even murals painstakingly painted have vanished without a trace, after all. Moreover, the gardens in the park are filled with unpleasant interactive features. They certainly stimulate further interaction with others again as well...

Picking at recent memories stirred up here is of no help to anyone, either, but at least concentrating on confirming the presence or absence of those signs acts as a temporary distraction. And then, familiar for several reasons, another rather conspicuous sight becomes much more urgent a matter to address.

It's a patchwork of elements of what they know from the past, across lives, and now Angela's transformation in the greenhouse as newer context. But why would Roland, suddenly reappearing without any announcement, take on this particular form? Compared to the encounter with Angela, Yesod and Netzach may be better prepared this time; still, it's no less of a troubling surprise, and the flowers are as irritating as they were last time.

Roland's lucidity already seems lost to the whispers and the Abnormality's warped shape. All the same, as its multiple eyes fix their stare upon what Roland might perceive as something to attack, Yesod makes an attempt to appeal to any reason left before casting a glance around for a sense of the surrounding space, should they need more of it. ]

...What do you mean, Roland? We'll reverse your transformation.

[ Whatever the easy access to the remedy implies, the process of using those seeds is straightforward — if the affected person cooperates. It's painless, unlike drawn-out battles. And it isn't what the employees of Lobotomy Corporation faced, back then. ]

[abstractart]

Not again-

[but this isn't-- that's not angela, or anyone else. it's... roland? how did this happen to him? angela's the one who resonated with the library (at least, as far as he knows), but this is definitely the same type of transformation. another abnormality reflected, one of the worst of them to deal with.]

...Roland? Roland, man, what happened to you?

[where has he been? he's been gone, and now he reappears like this-- he hasn't been somehow afflicted the whole time, has he? left alone somewhere in this form? surely he hasn't. he couldn't. someone would have noticed.

his hand lingers near the wooden sword that now sits at his side, a new addition thanks to kaveh's help, but he doesn't grip and draw it yet. not before he knows if roland will respond to them-- if he isn't entirely lost to the abnormality.]

[gradenine]

He is... here.

[ did they not see him? maybe it was all his imagination, like how this place has been making him hallucinate about angelica for months now. no, maybe that's just him too. he doesn't know anymore.

"i want to know, but no matter where i look, there's just nothing there." "maybe that's why i'm like this."

but luckily, he only has to face these two bozos. gebura and yesod know how to fight, but they're no match for a color. it'd be easier to just shuffle up to yesod and bonk him on his nerd head, so roland is going to do just that, charging up to the purple man to attack him with his arm. ]

kicks the door in 80 years later

[halbird]

[ what sinclair finds isn't quite what he expects, but in some respects, he— shouldn't be surprised. this is more normal to him now than the quiet, calm: fingers clenched around a (makeshift) halberd, gazing carefully and patiently at the destruction around him that he follows. because of course. the tangled bundle of emotions at the pit of his stomach when meeting danger is still the same, he realizes. he hasn't dulled there. a little bit of fear, a little bit of caution, and...

some of the flowers reach deep within. they whisper only a "finally," and emil ignores that to the best of his ability.

... it's easy, when he sees what's on the other end. the mess of eyes, the mess of flesh... is also intimately familiar. in a way that makes his skin crawl, in a way that makes him slightly nauseous, in a way that has his fingers trembling slightly as he recalls.

( that? those, again? no, it would be. it would be. )

underneath, he realizes something else. ]

Mister... Roland?

[ oh. ]

let's fucking GOOOOOOOO

[gradenine]

[ he looks up at the voice he hasn't heard in a while. the eyes on his crown of his head and shoulders blink owlishly at sinclair, and once roland registers who he is in his mind, his mouth breaks into an extremely wide grin.

now, isn't that a sight for multiple sore eyes. ]

Emil... Sinclair.

[ he drops whatever he's doing and slowly makes his way towards the boy. nothing there gurgles with every step, muttering pleas and screams that came from former employees of a wing gone past. ]

You're going to kill me too. [ it's not a question. with that makeshift weapon in emil's hand, there's only one conclusion roland can draw from this. ] Go ahead. I'll make it easy for you.

[ "this is a rite of passage for any citydweller. you may as well realize it early on." "never spare anyone." ]

🗡️🗡️

[halbird]

[ he attempts to steady a shaking exhale.

sinclair's fingers clench tighter around his weapon in response. that grin is familiarity, too. like there's something within him to build up and then devour — something to nourish someone else's ego, something that will prove someone else right. the way that upsets him almost counteracts the grip of seeing this corroded mess of thoughts in front of him, some echo of a monstrosity from long ago.

he's back in that vent. dusty, suffocating, shaken... the difference being that he can't turn back. that he won't. past memories and the sounds of suffering claw at his psyche, yet they also keep him in place.

kill him before he kills— no. roland may come back, but he'll have lost something important. sinclair doesn't want to take.

breathe. breathe, emil. ]

I'm— not. I already told you what I want to be like. Did you forget?

[ am i walking away from that? i've killed, and killed, and killed.

i'm almost good at it. that scares me, sometimes. ]