citylogs | OPEN + catch-all for December

Entry tags:

OPEN + catch-all for December

WHO: (

featheradrift) & You!
WHAT: Open post & Catch all
WHERE: Various locations
WHEN: All of December (but the prompts happen early Dec)
WARNINGS: Mentions of child death in the exhibit prompt

i. the city's machinations

[ Understanding the city, the experiments and their kidnappers has always been at the forefront of the Wanderer's priorities. He's spent all of his free time exploring the entire city, trying to find information where he can. There's both so much and so little to cover—though the overall size of the city is smaller than Sumeru, it is far, far more packed with shops, facilities and apartments. Buildings extended into the sky, standing by their lonesome, but clustered together in groups. It's dizzying to look up and see the sky boxed in by the drab buildings. It's nothing like Sumeru at all.

But he knows patience, and he knows thoroughness. He was once a schemer in the shadows, and it's that part of him, the Balladeer, that demands to know all. Then there's the nameless drifter. That part of him is calmed by the purpose, of having a direction, instead of drifting aimlessly. So he diligently explores every nook and cranny, every shop and restaurant, trying to understand the scope of resources everyone was working with, and trying to familiarize himself with the city's strange architecture. He notes specialty stores unique places, stores with goods that are rare, anything that might be useful in the future, whether for his interactions with other inhabitants of the city, or to combat their kidnappers.

It's only once he has a solid understanding of the city as a whole that he decides to finally tackle the unique structures within the city. The buildings where experiments had taken place in the past. He's experienced the draw of the art installation, and the way it twists and turns and traps people, and he isn't keen to walk into such places unprepared. But now, he's prepared to handle anything that may come at him, so it's with only a small amount of trepidation that he steps into the Science Discovery Center.

Almost immediately, he ends up wandering into the office space of the Discovery Center, which is rife with documents and information about the building's day-to-day operations, but nothing particularly special. Not until he gets to the director's office, and his curiosity is piqued by how spotless it is.

Anyone will be able to walk in on the Wanderer making a mess of the office, pulling out files and trying to understand what he can of its contents. ]

ii. the past is a canvas for the future

[ Eventually, his investigation takes him to the museum, which closely reminds him of the art installation in its choice of exhibitions and display of items. But he's confirmed that the building hasn't twisted to prevent him from leaving, and it seems that it is otherwise benign, which he supposes is a blessing, if gods could even bless this city.

But it's a thought he has far too soon, as he walks into left wing of the museum, and he's immediately hit with his past all at once. Not every item on display was related to him, but... it's unmistakable, the ones that are. How could he not know his own past, one that he had forgotten and then painstakingly recovered and made his own once more, because it could not be erased, his sins. They would forever exist in the history of Teyvat, no matter how he tries to reverse them.

Anyone who steps into the exhibit will notice the Wanderer lingering in front of one of several displays, eyes distant, and even melancholic as he stares at the art piece.

a. A beautifully carved statue of a goddess. It's been positioned in such a way against the light of the exhibit that long shadows are cast across the goddess's face.

b. A bloodied nagamaki, with its half-melted pieces arranged in what can only be assumed to be an artistic way atop a platform.

c. A canvas depicting the burning of a Japanese-styled shack, and a child artistically depicted in the center of the flaming mass, burning along with the house.

d. A canvas covered almost entirely in red paint, rendered to look like blood. It's hard to see what the painting is depicting, but there are purple and black shadows, shattered swords and lightning somewhere in that mess. On top of it all is what seems to be a very stylized chess piece.

e. A large canvas depicting a lone blond warrior with a fairy by their side standing against the descent of a mad god.

f. A canvas depicting a towering blue tree, and a familiar drifter in front, dressed in purple and black fading away with a grin on his face.

g. A beautiful painting of a large celebration in a lush, foliage covered city, with a small child as the focal point. Unlike the other exhibits, which are cold and harsh, this one clearly exudes warmth and love. ]

iii. even a puppet tires of dancing

[ In the aftermath of the fairy tales, he hadn't the latitude to explore the newly opened media store. It had taken a while to process all the emotions that had been agitated by the scenarios, to process his own actions and reactions, and take stock of his relationship with those involved.

Though his body would never tire, need food or sleep, the same could not be said for his mind. He was soft, even through hundreds of years of pain and anger. His true nature had been twisted and warped by his experiences, but it could never be truly changed.

Summed up, this meant that he was tired. Tired in a way he has not felt in a long time, where his body felt sluggish, and his thoughts proceeded at the speed of a hydro slime inching its way across a field. He could admit that he wasn't functioning at full capacity, but he tried to continue on as if nothing was wrong, because he was a puppet, and puppets do not tire.

But he could welcome a moment of reprieve, so after visiting the media store and discovering its textbooks, he grabbed a few and proceed to find a cozy nook in the park of the First District. Though he was wary of the park's calming effects, it was something he sorely desired, and so he welcomed the blanket on his emotions. He could take this time to learn how advanced this world was in various fields of research.

Anyone who comes upon him will find the drifter seated on a bench with his head tilted down, the textbook loose in his hands, almost threatening to fall out of his lap. It seems that he's sleeping. ]

iv. wildcard

Feel free to throw up a wildcard starter or plot with me at

Tenkomi!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[She finds herself meandering into here a few days after they've all recovered from the gala. Altria's been lucky so far; in the time they've been here, she hasn't had to deal with much at all, and certainly nothing that picks at her past.

This exhibit... it takes her some time to really understand what she's seeing, honestly. At first, it just seems like art--provocative art, art she doesn't always understand, but just art nonetheless.

She finds Wanderer standing in front of the beautifully painted depiction of destruction, the shack that burns so brightly, she feels as though she could almost feel the flames. Her expression is pinched as she stares at the painting, and it feels so familiar that she knows it isn't just a piece of art.

And, quietly, she finally breaks the silence.]

... Did you live here, once?

[ He doesn't respond immediately. This is a painful part of his past—one of the three betrayals that ultimately shaped his view of the world and destroyed his innocence. And out of the three, this one had perhaps been the most tragic.

The immortal puppet would finally realize the fragility of human life, and how quickly it could be snuffed out.

There's something compelling him to tell Altria. It's not him, he knows. The city is messing with them again, this must one of the experiments. But the urge is strong, much stronger than he expected, and it's Altria. He's... comfortable, around her. More than he ever expected to be, but she's not human either. Maybe she would understand him, even a little bit. ]

Humans are weak, pathetic creatures.

[ Is how he starts this. With the conclusion, rather than the beginning. ]

They fall ill so easily, and die so quickly.

[It isn't the first time she's heard words like this. And she remembers, too, so vividly, the simple and confident, "I've been told humans aren't as fragile as I believed."

But that isn't what this is about. Behind his words, it isn't disdain, but rather grief, isn't it?]

... I'm sorry. [In the end, isn't it simply just that:] You must have treasured them.

[To sound like this.

To look like this.

After losing them.]

[ He was the fool, to become so quickly attached to an ailing child. A nameless child, without purpose or place in the world. Just like him.

But... It had been warm, the precious little time he'd had with him. ]

I suppose so. He was like me. No name, no home. So we decided to become a family. Just the two of us, together against the world.

But he was very sick. And one day, when I came back after collecting Lavender Melons...

[ He doesn't complete the sentence, instead reaching out to touch the depiction of the child on the canvas. ]

[A sick, ailing child... a child with no name, just like him. A family.

What a precious treasure. What a terrible tragedy, to lose it so soon, so easily. To have it slip through his fingers just like this.

But... this painting depicts flames. Perhaps, rather than violence, the flames are grief as well. She understands now. He returned, and the child was dead.

...]

... You were left behind by him. Even though you were supposed to be a family.

[That is what he means, behind each of those words. Isn't it?]

It was a betrayal.

[ This might be the first time he's ever talked to anyone about this. The Traveler didn't count, because it was due to a brief connection of their minds that they became privy to his past. It wouldn't have been something he would have told them otherwise.

His past is a record of his failures, and this one was a failure to understand how it hurt to become attached to something that would inevitably vanish from his life.

His voice is steady, thankfully, even if his emotions colour his intonation faintly. ]

He promised me that we would be together forever. But I was too foolish to understand that humans don't have forever.

[ Now, he covers the whole house with his hand. ]

So I burned it all, and decided I would never trust another again.

[So the flames were his, as she thought. He burned it all down, erasing the experience, erasing the evidence of the boy.

(And granting this unnamed boy a funeral pyre. Because humans in Proper Human History do not just crumble away into dust, do they?)

It isn't like she doesn't understand. Betrayal hurts so much. Loss, too, is so painful. Sometimes, it feels like it would be best to never gain anything ever again, just so there'd be no risk of losing it. And yet...]

That sounds... very lonely.

[To never trust a single soul, ever again... how lonesome.]

I wanted to burn with it all.

[ He hadn't been wanted by his mother. He had been betrayed by the people of Tatarasuna. And then, he'd lost his family. A naive puppet like him hadn't been able to bear with the pain. ]

But I couldn't.

[ Because he was made in the image of a god, and no god would be harmed by a mere flame. ]

It's a wretched existence, to be unable to die.

[ Twice now, he's tried, and twice, he's failed. Though he finds more peace with his life now than he ever did before, there will always be a part of him that wishes he did not exist. He doesn't think that part will ever go away. ]

[So that's how lonely it was. It was so lonely that he wished he just didn't exist at all. That he wished he could just disappear. Wipe himself from the slate of time and memory.

(It frightens her a little, just how much that resonates with her.)

But she doesn't say that. Instead, she smiles. There's nothing she can say to really help, she knows; he's been through his fair share of trials and suffering, and has come to terms in his own way.

But even so... she has to say, with all of the honesty she possesses:]

I know it's really selfish of me, but... I'm glad you weren't able to die.

I'm glad that because of that, we were able to meet here, in this place. I'm really glad we met!

[It's selfish, of course. Her gratitude at being able to meet him here is about her, not about his pain or what he's gone through. But still... even if he can never trust again, and even if he'd rather not be here... she's still grateful.]

[ Of course she would look at the bright side of things, wouldn't she? Normally, he would scoff at her and her optimism—did she know what a mess he made afterward? Deceived by Dottore, he would go on to destroy the Raiden Gokaiden and ruin so many lives. Then, he would try to become a god, and take the place of someone far more deserving of the seat of Archon. He is nothing of worth, and nothing could change that.

But he does not find her comment irritating, surprisingly. It doesn't claw at him, the idea that she likes his presence. He knows that, really, he hasn't been trying to push her away lately. He's been nice, and helpful to her, even.

Perhaps it's because he, too, appreciates her presence. It's an equal trade. He can live with that. ]

...you're not too annoying either.

[ Yeah, that's what he's going to say to Altria's sentiment. ]

ii.

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CW: suicidal ideation

cw: suicidal ideation

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Dec. 3rd

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iii

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