[OPEN] EVENT LOG: BAD MOON RISING - WEEK TWO

[asgardmods]

Who: EVERYONE!
What: Bad Moon Rising: Week Two
When: Days 323-326 ( September 8-15 )
Where: All across the city.
Rating: PG-13. Anything that might go higher than that should be taken to a private log, please!

[ You've been on edge. Inexplicably, so far as you can tell in the moments after those short bouts of quick, sharp anger you've experienced in the past few days - but maybe it's simply stress from the recent attacks on the city. Perhaps some rest will help, or a nice day at Folkvang to decompress and gather yourself.

Whatever you try, though, the odd feeling of being off stubbornly lingers on. Anger is joined by discomfort, the shadows in the corners of the room just a little bit darker than usual and did you see something dart down that alley way? The hallucinations creep into every day activities, paranoia and snappishness leading to insomnia and sleep deprivation. Try as you may to ignore it, the symptoms only seem to escalate over time. Maybe it's stress. Maybe it's something else entirely.

But it's stubbornly lingering on. Perhaps some rest will help ... ]

[ OOC NOTES: This is the mingle log for Week 2 of the Bad Moon Rising event! Characters will start experiencing auditory and visual hallucinations alongside vivid violent thoughts at strange, innocuous moments. Some characters may start sleep walking and heading towards the Gate of Fog; none will make it, however, so lock your doors and keep an eye on your friends. Please put [OPEN/CLOSED] along with the time/location in your comment titles. Let us know if you have any questions or concerns! ]

Comments

Desmond Miles • Sigyn • Open

[familyissues]

[ Desmond has a way of grinning that can light his face up, warm, earnest and open with a touch of cockiness skimming the surface, the common precursor to one of his lame jokes. This time the smile doesn't reach his eyes, lending it an unsettling insincerity, a puppet making faces for its master. The laughter, when it came, was worse, hollow as if everything that made him him had been neatly scooped out, the leftover shell inhabited by something that only had a vague, horrifying impression of what a laugh should sound like.

Barefoot, in little more than the track pants he'd fallen asleep in last night, he should be thoroughly incensed at having to stand out in the cool morning air freezing his ass off, but even that doesn't seem to matter. He'll stand there and laugh, or stand in silence, it means little to him. ]

[true_renaissance_man]

[He had seen the other two earlier, but then to hear the eerie laughter of a third? This one he did not recognize but he stood as the others had, leered at the castle, and uttered that unearthly laugh.

Just what was going on with these people? Insanity was not usually catching...]

You must have been in bed.

[Leonardo sighed and looked to the castle too, just to puzzle out what might be done about this, but it was very difficult to think as tired as he was. ]

You could at least use a robe?

[He expected no answer, but set to work drawing something that might give the gentleman some way to protect himself from the chill. ]

[familyissues]

[ There is no response forthcoming, though the strange laughter is dying down, replaced by the occasional toneless chuckle or two. Leo might as well be a stick of furniture to Desmond in this moment. ]

[true_renaissance_man]

[A stick of furniture bearing gifts. Since there was no struggle or resistance it was easy enough to slip the robe over Desmond's arms once it had been created. ]

This is really meant to mock the Gods?

[secondborn]

[He's so tired. He hasn't been sleeping well at all, having terrible dreams that he barely remembers upon waking and then going through full days of training and practice and work all while doing his best to ignore the thoughts of violence and the whispers he knows aren't really there.

When he hears about Desmond and Altaïr though, he can't stay away, even in his exhaustion.]

Desmond. Hey. Desmond.

[He hesitates, then reaches out a hand and gently shakes the man's shoulder.]

[familyissues]

[ He offers no sign of recognition to Alastair, won't even glance at him, his eyes on the castle yet utterly empty of focus. When he's shaken Desmond doesn't resist, shifting slightly with the motion as the effort behind it warrants. ]

[secondborn]

[Alastair moves around to Desmond's front, waves a hand in front of those glassy eyes, and sighs.]

Nothing, huh?

[He crosses his arms and considers him.

Try stabbing him.

And there go the thoughts again. Alastair cringes and rubs his face momentarily, but he can't shake it as well this time.

Because hey. It's an idea.

It doesn't have to be fatal, it could just be... a prick... just to get his attention...

Dammit stop thinking like that.]

[familyissues]

[ A chuckle falls from his lips, but it's not directed at Alastair, it's somewhere for the middle distance between Gladsheim and Sigyn. Another chuckle follows, eerie in the stillness. ]

[secondborn]

[Alastair tenses at that chuckle, and his frown deepens.

Just a little cut, just to see if it'll snap him out of it.

Just... a little one, right?

And he could heal it after, even.

Before Alastair really realizes it, he's got his dagger out in front of him.

This... is not a good idea.

But it's all he can think of.

Gently, he reaches for Desmond's hand, watching him closely for any reaction.]

[familyissues]

[ Nothing, just the soft, meaningless chuckles. His hand is pliant in Alastair's, fingers lightly calloused, his skin faintly cool from the morning air. ]

[secondborn]

[When the thought comes again, Alastair doesn't resist it. He quickly and deftly sinks the dagger into Desmond's palm, pulling it out again before he can push all the way through. He holds the hand carefully and watches Desmond's eyes as his hand bleeds, and bleeds a lot.]

[familyissues]

[ There's nothing quite like that sound, that of flesh neatly parting to a blade, sickening to hear. By all rights Desmond should have responded swiftly, seized Alastair by the wrists, driven a knee into his gut and relieved him of his dagger, likely with a shout to the tune of What the fuck is your problem?!, but he doesn't move. Doesn't even blink an eye. He continues to chuckle, as if at an offhand joke, while blood wells up in his hand, spilling in warm, red rivulets between his fingers, collecting in fat droplets along his knuckles. ]

[secondborn]

[There's no change in Desmond, and Alastair inhales sharply as the wound continues to bleed and all Desmond does is just stand there and laugh. What the hell is happening?

Alastair swallows and looks back down at the wound. He concentrates.

Slowly the wound knits back together as if nothing ever happened.

It feels harder to do this time, for some reason. When it's finished, Alastair takes a deep breath like he's just sprinted down a city block. That... shouldn't have been that hard. Maybe it's because he's so tired. That's probably it.

Well it's healed, but there's still blood. Alastair stares at it, unsure of what to do about it. It's run down Desmond's hand onto his and is beginning to drip onto the ground.]

[familyissues]

[ Desmond lapses back into silence, blank as a piece of wood, the whole exercise and Alastair's slide into temptation going without comment, without even a shred of acknowledgment for his Assassin brother. Blood leaves a streak down his arm, cutting a red line neatly between the black whorls of his sleeve tattoo. ]

[secondborn]

[Alastair swallows, still at a loss for how to clean this up.

Well. They're in Sigyn. He could just run to his room in the Welcome Hall and grab a wet cloth or something.

Probably the best thing to do.

It's not like Desmond's going anywhere.

Carefully Alastair lowers Desmond's hand, not releasing it until it's pointing at the ground so that the blood can. Properly drip off and all that. Alastair grimaces, steps back, then nods.]

Stay there, okay?

[Like he needed to say that. He huffs at his own foolishness and runs off.

A few minutes later he's back with a wet washcloth and looking for any sign of change in Desmond's face.]