citylogs | OPEN + catch-all for December

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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

[ Her words bring back memories of his own. Good ones, that he rarely associates with Tatarasuna nowadays. But he still remembers the day he was taken in by Katsuragi, taught the basics of human life, and all the time he spent watching the smiths forge swords... He thinks he understands the fondness Altria must feel for this place. ]

You were happy then, weren't you?

[ Because he was happy then, too. He feels a connection to Altria—one he hasn't felt in a while. If she was happy then, then she would understand him. ]

[That, she doesn't even have to think about. That answer comes easily, immediately.]

Yes! Being with Grandpa Ector was the best. I wanted to stay with him forever in his forge, and be his apprentice, and forget about the outside world.

... I wanted to stay.

[And it was never, ever meant to be.]

[ This, he understands all too well. He'd wanted to stay too. But unlike him, it seemed she had been aware that it could not last. She seemed burdened by something great and heavy. A purpose, maybe. Her fate. ]

But there's always something, or someone out there who decides otherwise. It's unfair, isn't it.

[ They're the same, the two of them. They've never gotten what they wanted. ]

[She wants to stop there. She wants to spill her guts, too. She wants more validation, more of him saying exactly what she wants to hear, while she can tell that he means every single world.

It's unfair.

It's cruel. Why did it have to be her? Why did it have to be Ector? Why couldn't she have just stayed past her 16th year? Once she turned 17, she'd no longer be eligible to be the Child of Prophecy.

She knows it's the room, this place, compelling her--but his understanding is so sincere, too, that it breaks down that stubborn need to never look back. After all, how can she avoid looking back when it's right in front of her?]

... He was... once one of the Queen's guard. The faeries of my village were scared of him because of that. They were... honestly afraid. I was the only one he trusted, so...

["The Child of Prophecy should do this for us. If you really are the Child of Prophecy, then..."]

... They sent me to kill him.

[She stares at the painting, at the forge, and reaches out as if to touch--before she tugs her hand back. She really doesn't deserve to, after all.]

But I loved Grandpa Smithy's forge. [How could she ever kill him? Child of Prophecy or not. Even if they'd kill her for it in return, how could she do it?]

[ So this, too, ends in tragedy. No matter what happens next, it is not an ending she wanted, he can tell.

He closes his eyes to give her privacy, and to contain his own feelings. They are so similar, it hurts. The pain of his past—he's wished it on others before, but—he would have never wished it on her.

It's really not fair. It's not fair at all. ]

What did you do?

[ He knows she can't stop, so he prompts her to keep going. The only thing he can do is listen to her and witness her pain. ]

[The next obvious question. Really, it's so--there's a part of her that's gratified by the fact that he doesn't assume one way or the other. What did she do? Even the Altria back then wasn't sure until she was there.

And then...]

I couldn't kill him... but I thought, maybe, if I lied well enough, since the faeries in the village were too scared to approach his smithy, I could hide it.

[... She doesn't sigh, or even sound upset at this next part. Just resigned.]

But one of the faeries had followed me, and she told everyone what happened. I guess I should have known better.

[ She wouldn't have lied well enough anyway, he thinks, not with the way she is. But of course he doesn't voice the thought, because it's the schemer in him who speaks, the spiteful, vengeful, bitter part of him that still sees the world in red.

If they were scared of the smithy, then... ]

They punished you.

[This is the easier part of things for her to talk about. This is the matter-of-fact part, the part that was simply a fact of life.

They threatened her with this her whole life, after all.]

They put me into a cell, and called for Woodwose's executioners. Oh, those were a group of the Queen's soldiers, who went around the country taking anyone who they thought was the Child of Prophecy to the Queen.

Some of them wanted to sell me off instead, but it was too late for that.

I figured I could probably find a way to escape, but...

[... She moves from painting to painting again, until she reaches this one.]

I didn't get the chance. Ector... came to save me before I could burn down with my village.

Did he...?

[ The question is left unsaid, but he wants to know. Did she, too, lose someone she loved?

Their lives are so similar, and yet so different. Where he was loved and then deceived into thinking he was betrayed, she was hated but saved by a loved one. They are polar opposites, but the end is the same, somehow. A tragedy, and lots of pain. ]

... Yes.

[She has a different sort of expression on her face when she stares at this painting.

Anger, low and bitter and cold, caught in the back of her throat.]

He was badly wounded in the process. He pretended he wasn't the whole time he got me out, but I could see it.

[She can see everything.]

And then he died. [And she was left alone, and her dreams of spending the rest of her life in the smithy with him was shattered, even though she knew all along it was never to be.]

[ He hears that anger with startling clarity, for it is the emotion is he familiar with most. There is a darkness in her eyes that he understands all too well, and he knows that she, too, has seen the ugliness of the world and hates it as much as he does.

There's a moment of silence as he gives Altria time to process her emotions. It's not easy to talk about these things, no matter how long ago it was.

And once again, there's a compulsion to reveal his past to her. This time, though, he knows it's his own, true desire.

Once an appropriate amount of time has passed, he shifts. Turns slightly, towards an art piece he remembers them passing by. ]

...I want to show you something.

[...?

She tilts her head a little, but she's eager to leave this place behind, eager to step away from her past and once again pretend like she can ignore it.

Besides... she's still curious about him too. There's so much she wants to know, so much that she doesn't know how to put into words. Maybe this will help her find them.

So she steps away from the painting and nods, expression evening out a little as she follows him.]

[ He leads her back the way they came, but not too far back. They stop in front of a bloodied, half-melted sword. The pieces have been arranged thoughtfully, but if it actually means anything, the drifter doesn't know. Personally, he thinks it's tasteless. ]

When I was much younger, I stayed at a smithy village. I knew nothing of the world, not even how to behave normally, so they taught me everything. From eating, to writing, to clothing myself, and even forging swords.

Times were simpler, back then. I helped where I could, and watched the smiths forge their swords. ...It was a home to me.

[ His voice is wistful. He almost never thinks of Tatarasuna in this way anymore—warm, inviting. His home, rather than the tragedy. ]

[... Ah. So that's why...

The half-melted sword is uncomfortable to look at--it's a project at a smithy that was unfinished and went terribly wrong. There's no way this story ends in any way but tragedy, not with a statue that looks like this.

But... he also...

She didn't realize they could have so much in common. Something about it warms her heart; so when she was talking about Ector's work, Wanderer really did understand, probably better than anyone else besides Muramasa, and she never told Muramasa about her past so clearly and plainly.

But he gets it, doesn't he? Just like her, the smithy was where he was allowed to grow and be himself.]

... It sounds like a wonderful place. Full of wonderful people.

It was. It was... a place full of love.

[ He's never said it aloud, but now that he has, the realization of what he's lost hits him again, and he clenches his fists as he tries to swallow the emotions rising up in him. He doesn't want to break down in front of her. That wasn't the point of this.

His voice wavers as he continues the story. ]

One day, a man from another nation came here and introduced a method that improved the efficiency and production of the forging process in the furnace. Everyone was happy at first, but...

But it was a curse. The method he introduced used a dangerous material, and started causing people to fall ill and die.

[ Dottore...! And to know that he only came to Tatarasuna for him made it sting even more. If he hadn't been there... If he hadn't existed...!

But the past can't be changed. He knows that all too well. ]

... Oh.

[It's the softest of exclamations, almost little more than an exhalation of breath. Oh.

A curse.

Of course... of course it was a curse. Of course, that's how tragedy came. Of course... it was brought to them. They had done nothing wrong, they had taken Wanderer in and taught him all of these things, and in the end, they suffered for it. Just like Ector. Just like, in a sense, the village of Tintagel, even though they were not innocent.]

But... why? Why would he do such a thing? [Why would someone do such a thing? She knows of the greed, malevolence and cruelty that people are capable of possessing, and even so... she just can't help but ask.]

I didn't know it at the time, but... he wanted me. Because of what I am, I made a good research subject for him.

[ Because of him...! Because of him!!! He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to control his temper. ]

And he wanted to inconvenience the country I was born in. Though I wouldn't be surprised if he thought it a good experiment to see how the dangerous material would perform in the furnace. Knowing him, it was all three at the same time. Tch. That damn bastard.

[ Still, there's a continuation to the story and he has to finish it, because this wasn't the worst of it. Not even close. ]

The furnace eventually started going out of control because of that method. It couldn't be approached or stopped.

[... Oh no. It's... even worse. It wasn't enough for there to be a curse. It wasn't enough for people to start dying.

... this wasn't his fault, but she needs to hear the whole story first, she knows.

An out of control furnace is so dangerous. She knows this--Ector absolutely made sure some things in particular landed when teaching her. She does not like where this is going.]

What... happened?

That man created a purification device that would stop the furnace, but it needed someone to take the device and enter the furnace with it.

[ With every sentence, the story just keeps on getting worse, and worse, he knows. It's like a terribly written tragedy where the stakes keep rising and never come back down. And there's no happy end to this. Of course there wouldn't be.

He changes track for a moment. ]

There was someone I was close to, when I lived there. He was one of the masters of the Isshin Art of bladesmithing, and one of the top officers of the furnace. He was... a very kind and friendly person. We all respected and admired him.

[ ... ]

That purification device needed one more thing to function properly.

[ It's deliberate, the way he switches back to the tragedy. It's not an avoidance—there's a connection, and it's not a happy one. ]

[... Of course. Of course... there was someone he loved. Someone who was kind to him, someone who he admired and respected.

Someone like Ector.

Someone who's not going to make it through this tragedy.

Her voice is quiet, and her eyes are on the sculpture, because sometimes (too often), she sees too much.]

... One more thing?

[It's a gentle, quiet prompting. They both know this is headed towards tragedy--but it is important he gets to tell his tale in its entirety, exactly how it happened, no matter how terrible it becomes.]

A heart.

[ Not the metaphorical kind, either. The heart of a human. ]

That bastard killed him—took his heart, and put it in the device. And then told me that I had to go into the furnace with the device to absorb the corruption within. Being the naive puppet that I was, I didn't question him, and did as he said.

[ It'd hurt, being in the furnace. But he had so badly wanted to save his home that he was willing to do whatever it'd take, even if it melted off all his fingers and more. He survived intact though, for a god does not burn in flame, and the purification device shielded him from the corruption. ]

And you know what he said after, when I asked what was in the device?

[ It's here that his mostly steady voice warps, and becomes slightly hysterical. There's a grin on his face, but it's not from humour. It's sharp, jagged, and pointed straight at himself. ]

He said the heart was from an innocent person my friend killed! And that he ran away to avoid punishment! How could something so cruel have been my saving grace!?

I was disgusted. So I threw the device on the floor and left. I left them all to deal with the aftermath.

[ He gestures to the half-melted sword, and his voice returns to normal. ]

This blade once used to be called the Daitatara Nagamasa. The celebration was wonderful, the day it was forged.

But it was used to kill the person who ended up taking the blame for all this, and his commanding officer, the one who wielded the blade, threw it into the furnace after. That's why it looks like this.

Katsuragikiri Nagamasa. That's what it's called now. [The nagamasa that killed Katsuragi. ]

Edited 2023-12-05 03:01 (UTC)

[... How cruel. How terrible. It was as she thought. Proper humans were just as disgusting as faeries, if not more so. Their capacity for cruelty was different, but still present. Less capricious than faeries, perhaps, but all the more calculating for it.

There's a bitter taste on her tongue again, and it doesn't take her long to place it. Ah. Right. It's disgust. Disgust for a world that could allow for such a thing to happen. Disgust for a world that would allow for the victims of such a plot to be only those who did not deserve it.

He was used for someone else's twisted game, and... it's no wonder, now. The wording he'd used before makes so much more sense now. Of course he considered the nameless boy's death a "betrayal". Because betrayal is what he's known--and what he's suffered through.

(And still, part of her can't help but think--this sword has a name, and he does not, and neither did that boy, and there's an emotion about it that she can't quite explain.)]

That's...

[She doesn't know what to say. What does one say in response to such a tragedy?]

I... I can't imagine...

[ There's nothing to say. She still doesn't know what he did after that, but he's spent now. He doesn't want to continue telling her more of his past. It was this, and only this, that he wanted to share, because she and him—they're far more alike than he ever thought they'd be.

(Though, if she hasn't resorted to massacre after what she's been through, than she's far better a person than he'll ever be.) ]

Don't. I don't want your sadness. I just...

...I just wanted you to know that I understand.

[... To an extent, she can understand that. She hates to see people make sad faces when they realize what happened to her, too. It's one of the reasons she tries to keep it to herself, as much as she can.

So she takes a deep breath in, and slowly lets it out, and focuses on what he says, instead.

He wanted her to know this so that they could understand each other better. And truly, in many ways... she thinks he's right. She's uncertain almost anyone would have been able to understand quite as well as he does.]

... Thank you. [For telling her. For understanding. For listening.

A deep breath in, and:]

We should get outta here, right? [They've been through the wringer enough today.]

[ He nods quietly. It's not as bad as the fairy tales, but he still feels like he's been through an emotional wringer today. He's certain Altria feels the same way. So he starts towards the exit, feeling relieved that there was no longer any compulsion forcing him to stay here. He doesn't think he wants to see this exhibit ever again.

(But, he thinks, if possible, he'd like to take that painting of Nahida and store it somewhere.)

There's something, he thinks slowly as he walks, that would probably help both of them after all this. ]

...I'm in the mood to cook.

OPEN + catch-all for December

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