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memestertrucks2025-01-01 12:01 am
monstertruckers) wrote in memestertrucks2025-01-01 12:01 am
Entry tags:
JANUARY TDM
After tumbling through shadow you find yourself in a shrouded, ruined garage. It’s full of shattered windows and broken mechanical equipment; watch out for shards on the floor, in between the strange symbols scrawled into the ground. Outside the daylight is fading; night is rolling in, and there’s just a few dying lights flickering on and off. It’s going to be hard to see in here and avoid bumping into things and people, if you don’t get outside soon.
Beyond the rundown garage is an overgrown gas station surrounded by thick, wetland forest. Starlight is streaming through the trees, along with light from a broken moon. The one thing that isn’t overgrown with plants is a large Convoy of vehicles, parked right underneath the station canopy.
01: START UP
The Convoy looks like a cross between a semi truck and a train; there’s no one at the front, but there’s still power humming through the entire Convoy. It’s also the most hospitable thing in sight. Why not make yourself at home a little? You just have to chase that eerie, empty feeling since there’s no one else present.
Alternately, there are the cars scattered around the Convoy; all of them in better shape than the gas station. And some of them looking and feeling almost like they might belong to you. That feeling is only increased, when you see there’s a key to the car nearby. Perhaps the key is already in the ignition, on the dashboard… It may have even been on your person, ever since you woke up in that garage. Either way, you have the keys to the vehicle now.
…But there’s a few rough edges on these vehicles. Flat tires, cracked windows and mirrors, maybe some stuck doors and locks; all of them the sort of thing that requires two pairs of hands and supplies. The garage can take care of the supplies… Now it’s just a matter of finding some extra hands.
Alternately, there are the cars scattered around the Convoy; all of them in better shape than the gas station. And some of them looking and feeling almost like they might belong to you. That feeling is only increased, when you see there’s a key to the car nearby. Perhaps the key is already in the ignition, on the dashboard… It may have even been on your person, ever since you woke up in that garage. Either way, you have the keys to the vehicle now.
…But there’s a few rough edges on these vehicles. Flat tires, cracked windows and mirrors, maybe some stuck doors and locks; all of them the sort of thing that requires two pairs of hands and supplies. The garage can take care of the supplies… Now it’s just a matter of finding some extra hands.
02: RUIN EXPLORATION
The ruined gas station and garage are the only man-made structures around, and have seen better days. The store still holds packaged food, and tepid drinks of all sorts. The garage has old mechanical equipment for working on cars, along with that strange summoning circle.
There's also a giant tree bursting through the gas station roof. And clinging to its branches, half melted into the surface, are metallic bodies. Graffiti is spray painted onto the tree, reading ‘avoid the Husks.’
Those who ignore the warning and get closer hear a faint hum coming off those bodies. It’s almost like whispers, though it’s impossible to make out any clear words. Some Husks are clutching supplies in metal fists. For a few unlucky new arrivals, those Husks might even be holding the keys to their vehicles.
Making direct contact with the Husks intensifies the hum, and the whispers begin to form into pained cries, and give the impression of something rummaging through their thoughts; trying to pry out things that hurt Drifters, and reflecting those hurtful things on the bodies of the Husks for anyone to see.
There's also a giant tree bursting through the gas station roof. And clinging to its branches, half melted into the surface, are metallic bodies. Graffiti is spray painted onto the tree, reading ‘avoid the Husks.’
Those who ignore the warning and get closer hear a faint hum coming off those bodies. It’s almost like whispers, though it’s impossible to make out any clear words. Some Husks are clutching supplies in metal fists. For a few unlucky new arrivals, those Husks might even be holding the keys to their vehicles.
Making direct contact with the Husks intensifies the hum, and the whispers begin to form into pained cries, and give the impression of something rummaging through their thoughts; trying to pry out things that hurt Drifters, and reflecting those hurtful things on the bodies of the Husks for anyone to see.
03: MONSTER ATTACK
The night grows darker, and the shadows grow deeper. And from those shadows comes the glint of something moving across the Husks, rippling over the metal… And breaking it apart in a flurry of too sharp claws and teeth. That’s when the radio chooses to come on in another mess of static.
Be careful- Keep your fear and rage in check- Calls the monsters- We need the shield up-
The warning comes too late as monsters arrive. Some human-like but with razor teeth mouths that stretch from face to groin; others resembling alligators with bloated proportions and jaws that spit lightning; and still others where the vegetation has come to life, sporting thorn covered appendages.
The Pisaca monsters act as shock troopers, wearing the Convoy down with venomous bites and debilitating howls, before the heavy and brutish alligators bull in, using their bulk and electric attacks to obliterate what’s left. The capparwires scurry in the periphery, taking cheap shots with thorny vines and sparking electricity where they can. It’s a task to keep the monsters at bay until the generator fires up. Especially when one last enemy makes an appearance…
Be careful- Keep your fear and rage in check- Calls the monsters- We need the shield up-
The warning comes too late as monsters arrive. Some human-like but with razor teeth mouths that stretch from face to groin; others resembling alligators with bloated proportions and jaws that spit lightning; and still others where the vegetation has come to life, sporting thorn covered appendages.
The Pisaca monsters act as shock troopers, wearing the Convoy down with venomous bites and debilitating howls, before the heavy and brutish alligators bull in, using their bulk and electric attacks to obliterate what’s left. The capparwires scurry in the periphery, taking cheap shots with thorny vines and sparking electricity where they can. It’s a task to keep the monsters at bay until the generator fires up. Especially when one last enemy makes an appearance…
03-A: MIRRORMIC
There's as a metallic shiver along one of the remaining Husks, and a strange ringing whisper in the ears. The next moment, the Husk breaks open in a gleaming pool of quicksilver. That quicksilver catches reflections, and molds itself into a darker copy of a Drifter.
The mirror monster whispers faults and secrets at the reflected Drifter, and anyone close by. It tries to goad Drifters into an attack. And when struck, the mirror monster plays its second trick; whatever damage it takes is reflected back onto the Drifter as a transformation. An injury to the arm transforms the Drifter's arm, and so on.
It's possible to banish this monster through direct lights shone on it from a car, flashlight, or magic… But such action needs to be swift, before the Mirrormic completely changes its Drifter.
03-B: BOMBADGY BOMBARDMENT
Before, during and even a little after the monster attack, there’s an extra presence scurrying around the vehicles, snuffling and barking when startled. A band of chunky, raccoon-esque monsters known as the bombadgy are raiding anything that looks like it could be food storage… And this includes vehicles!
The bombadgy’s claws are deft and sharp with tearing through windows and door seams. These creatures are a touch skittish and won’t attack unless provoked. They also can expel a flammable gas… And this means they can explode if sufficiently spooked or stressed. This also means that they can be treated as living bombs, and be lobbed at other threats if needed.
04: WIND DOWN
During the monster attack, there’s changes gripping the Convoy, and especially the people in it. It might feel like your control is getting worn away by the second… At least until something in the trucks starts to whirr to life. It’s a soft enough noise, little more than a hum as something blooms out of the engines. It fast turns into a shield that envelops the Convoy in a shimmering, glowing dome.
And while it might not be enough to reverse those changes, it can at least stop them from growing any worse. Give you a moment of breathing space to adjust to everything that’s happened, and give you some measure of clarity and control. There’s time to breathe and mend now. Take stock of one’s injuries and changes.
But there’s a few strange surprises still waiting, it seems. Because the corpses of the monsters begin to disintegrate, like they are bleeding out motes of sickly light. Light that you quickly absorb; it has the side effect of lessening pain, even mending wounds… Though it might make you feel a bit off. Maybe a little more excitable, maybe a little more irritable, or maybe expressing a certain odd psychological quirk. Still, that sudden surge should pass in about an hour or so; just need to keep it together until then. Perhaps with a little company.
And while it might not be enough to reverse those changes, it can at least stop them from growing any worse. Give you a moment of breathing space to adjust to everything that’s happened, and give you some measure of clarity and control. There’s time to breathe and mend now. Take stock of one’s injuries and changes.
But there’s a few strange surprises still waiting, it seems. Because the corpses of the monsters begin to disintegrate, like they are bleeding out motes of sickly light. Light that you quickly absorb; it has the side effect of lessening pain, even mending wounds… Though it might make you feel a bit off. Maybe a little more excitable, maybe a little more irritable, or maybe expressing a certain odd psychological quirk. Still, that sudden surge should pass in about an hour or so; just need to keep it together until then. Perhaps with a little company.
05: CAMP
A screen in the Convoy flickers to life. The image isn't visible through a snowfield of static. Same with the audio:
“Still… Alive? Good. Connection- Can’t hear you. Can't talk. Convoy will- take you closer to Nirvana.”
After that, the connection is dropped, leaving a collection of text:
I’m sorry. I have no answers for you. But you’re still alive. You’re not as broken as the rest of the world. When the sun rises, this Convoy and all the cars around it will start moving North towards Nirvana. If you want answers, and to stay as close to human as you can… I suggest you stay with the Convoy. Good luck.
A last alert flashes across the screen: “TESTING LOCAL NETWORK CONNECTION.” And then… Music starts to play on the speakers. Mellow guitar and brass music that’s at odds with all the weird that’s happened recently, but perhaps just the thing to relax to.
“Still… Alive? Good. Connection- Can’t hear you. Can't talk. Convoy will- take you closer to Nirvana.”
After that, the connection is dropped, leaving a collection of text:
I’m sorry. I have no answers for you. But you’re still alive. You’re not as broken as the rest of the world. When the sun rises, this Convoy and all the cars around it will start moving North towards Nirvana. If you want answers, and to stay as close to human as you can… I suggest you stay with the Convoy. Good luck.
A last alert flashes across the screen: “TESTING LOCAL NETWORK CONNECTION.” And then… Music starts to play on the speakers. Mellow guitar and brass music that’s at odds with all the weird that’s happened recently, but perhaps just the thing to relax to.
MICRO ENCOUNTERS:
PLEASE NOTE! These are small bits of set dressing for players to include in threads if they wish, rather than full fledged prompts or events. You may handwave your exploration of these areas, or thread them out.
Race Track: There’s a race track that winds around the gas station! It’s a bit threadbare in places and little more than a mossy and muddy trail. But it’s still a race track that weaves under and over trees, and seems like a good place to test new wheels.
Gone Fishing: The gas station area eventually turns into the start of a swamp; that explains where the alligators came from. It may be possible to do a little bit of fishing, though the fish are just as weird as everything else. Still edible though. Swimming in the swamp is not advised. The alligator monsters and fish tend to bite back.
Spray Paint Messages: The paint on the trees and gas station is starting to fade and wash out, but can still be legible; most of it contains messages warning about the end of the world, prayers to the heavens for mercy, and dire warnings about husks and something called “moon warps.”
no subject
Is the amount of exposure the same?
[ not just the hammer. jayce's arm holds the same spindling pattern of abnormality. across his cheeks is a similar pattern— albeit one would need to catch the reflection of light bouncing off it just right to see.
and so much more viktor's eyes can't reach without clothes in the way. ]
no subject
[The hammer was also discarded outside in Jayce's panic to rush Viktor somewhere more safe.
Though, there is a noise like a shield powering on beyond the doors of the van they locked themselves in as a shelter. The battle raging outside has come to an end, though they would need to actually open the door and look out to realize as much. Viktor will note that the sounds of struggle seem to go quiet beyond the metal shell they're within... maybe the monsters have been banished?
He doesn't want to peel himself away from Jayce to check, his partner matters more than anything else right now.]
no subject
jayce hears it too— it's hard not to, when you're attuned to the mechanisms of technology that splits the growing silence with a thrum that can't be ignored. the shuffling and stalking of any monsters outside have died down. despite thinking of looking, he doesn't pry himself away. not yet.
he heaves a placid sigh, instead, exerting pressure against the sides of his partner's hand on him. ]
I just wanted to keep us occupied.
[ there is more to that. he misses viktor's bright ramblings, his astute hypothesis and how his mind quickly pulls evidence into truth. he misses listening to him theorize.
he misses everything about him before the explosionm they had just found themselves again. reunited. together they devised a plan that would free zaun. it what the chorrupt council, mel, heimerdinger did not do in decades, jayce had managed to do in record time. with viktor. together.
they should never be apart. they ground each other. ]
Hear you— speculate again.
[ as if it were the most beilliant thing in the world, as if it were a balm for all this ache. while small and lacking strength, his lips still tug up, and the breathless laugh that intertwines with the emphasized word leaves his tongue with yearning. ]
no subject
I can do without the enrichment, Jayce. [They are definitely in an enclosure right now, but maybe don't treat him like a pet lizard.
Viktor's harsher look promptly softens at Jayce's secondary sentiment.
How long had Viktor been dead, gone, or just... changed beyond recognition to Jayce? It gives him such a heartache to see Jayce a mess over him. And to be so openly cherishing having Viktor back. What does he even do with this!?
A huff, that's really it. Viktor squeezes Jayce once more with both hands. Only the topmost one slides away, curiously moving towards to door of the van. Not quite opening it to peek out, just yet... he speaks hushed,]
We have much to discuss, but in time. It sounds like... things have calmed. I'm going to take a look, hold your breath. [no noise, if they can help it. Viktor very slowly swings the back door of van open an inch, just enough to see out of. Hm...
A shield, yes, that's what he believed he heard. Has it blocked out the monsters, or merely trapped them inside a cage with them? Judging from the lack of any screaming or explosions,]
It would seem we're safe. There is a barrier up around us.
no subject
there was . . . too much to talk about. perhaps they could theorize together after everything is explained and straightened. they still needed to figure out a way back, to their designated timelines.
jayce levels himself with his elbows, rises when viktor does and keeps at the ready, with bated breath and a skittish reaction time that would promptly pull viktor by the waist and close the door if they must. nothing happens; instead, the dull light of the shield around them makes his eyes flinch from the brief brightness. too bright.
shortly afterwards, jayce's hexcore tainted limb rests his hand against his shoulder, only to reassure him: ]
I'll go get your cane.
[ the wait here is not exactly said, but nonverbally gestured with his hand out in a steadying motion as he slips away. it's the cane first. his hammer was secondary. jayce stiffly walks out to the blast sight, quite easily ignoring the heavy rod of his weapon in search of where the cane had been thrown. under some wheels, it seems . . . his braced leg trembles every time he puts his weight on it, the earlier rush making his wobble worse. every time, he squeezes his left hand into a fist, relaxing when he rests his body mass on his good leg. kneeling and bending is a slow way down, but he could still do it.
this is not the first time he's had to dig through wreckage to retrieve viktor's cane.
once he's managed, he has to use it to help him stand; his right leg was tired of carrying extra weight and his left protested— but he's surpassed limits far greater. he could do just about anything now, with viktor in mind. the tred back is slow to preserve himself, as well as still seemingly more cautious than he was curious. the hammer's hilt is hoisted halfway back, lifted to carry. his hair clings to his temples by the time he returns, allowing the hammer's head to connect to the ground and returning viktor's cane with both hands, brute yet undeniably gentle.
he'll sit himself on the back of the caravan for a moment. the first thing he needs to do is lift his injury off the ground, and maybe consider recalibrating the scraps. ]
no subject
So, allowing Jayce to do this task for him is something Viktor can do. Despite the struggle, despite the strain, it might put Jayce's mind at ease to perform this service. Viktor sits with his legs slung over the tailgate of the van, doors flung wide, and just... watches Jayce go fetch the cane and hammer.
When it is handed back to him, he'll pat Jayce's knuckles lightly before taking it.]
Thank you, Jayce. [simple and sincerely spoken, Viktor not one to mince words nor to flatter unnecessarily. He props the crutch alongside his legs and looks to Jayce taking a seat besides him.]
... have you gone into the center Convoy yet? It has amenities. We should go together. [Viktor doesn't think Jayce should be separated from him now, so he can repay the man with whatever anchoring his presence provides.]
no subject
the convoy . . . the abandoned shops. ]
For food.
[ he'd been— malnourished. he didn't think to change his clothes, or wash his face, nothing he'd consider a luxury for the now. he ate as many expired sponge cakes and processed meats he could before being forced to leave, to make up for all those disgusting, festering salamanders that thinking about chips and stale bread loafs makes his mouth water— like he'd still been harboring an empty, groaning pit in his stomach, and damn, he still was. what he'd taken in his haste wasn't enough to satisfy, and now that a taste has extorted a feedback of even hungrier, finally being aware of what the cells in his body screamed for. he wants to drink more water, too. it doesn't even have to be juice. ]
. . . We should.
[ he'd gotten too used to having to wait, sometimes, that certain days may not warrant a meal. now that it's so close by, the brain fails in not being anxious to eat. it's ironic, for someone who'd bring an entire meatloaf and wine to the lab.
he's anxious to eat, and doesn't even think about a bath. ]
no subject
[Viktor says in correction. He feels entirely disgusting and he's basically a fresh meadow compared to Jayce's state. Then again, Viktor was used to putting off meals more than Jayce ever was. He'd choose hygiene and sleep over a full stomach, but his appetite was a stunted and maladjusted thing. First from the food insecurity of his childhood, then worse and worse by illness.
It was always Jayce who had to convince him to not live off of coffee alone...]
There are rooms with a bathtub and shower. We can claim one for ourselves. I'm not sure about cleaning or replacing our cloths. We can figure that out once we're not this... caked in grime.
no subject
That, too.
[ although he doesn't seem to be keeping it as one of his highest priorities, his response a dull one as his focus drifts away to thinking about having another three bag's worth of dried beef and a huge gallon of lukewarm water.
on the way over, despite viktor's pointed arrangements, jayce makes a wobbling bee line to the abandoned convenience store to stockpile a meal. whatever his arm could carry along with the hammer he has to drag, a little too apprehensive to consider that he could just come back and get more, despite having the creeping fear that there'd be nothing left by then.
he eats like he's forgotten to eat around people. like he's famished. like he's been part of a pack of wolves for as long as his hair's grown, and he doesn't care how he looks ravaging through ding dongs and chex mix. the beef jerky tasted like a juicy steak. so much water. it takes some satiation before he reminds himself to get some baked pretzel chips and tepid tea for viktor (it would have been iced if it were cold), and whatever else he seems fond of for later.
maybe some clothes and basic hygiene products, if they're going to bathe.
the inside of the rooms are as neglected as one may think, but it's more than enough for them right now. there's a soft place to sleep and running water. there's a long moment where jayce simply stands in the room, hammer put to rest against the wall and kind of just— hugging the goods he's helped carry as he looks around in stationary limbo, and stops with his eyes on viktor. ]
no subject
He won't judge as Jayce devours what he can as they go. The man was stuck with a broken leg at the bottom of a ravine. Viktor isn't about to shame him over table manners, he's just going to try and herd him out of view so they're not making a scene.
Finding one of the larger rooms still unclaimed is a massive relief. There isn't much room around the bed, but the sheets appear clean and the bathroom isn't disgusting. There are even towels stocked. The room may be a bit scuffed, worn and musty, but it must feel like the height of luxury for Jayce. No complaints from Viktor.
Viktor will move into the bathroom and flip on the shower- cold... Hmm... he knows how Jayce would hate that,]
Let's give this a moment. Maybe we can get some hot water going. [He will just... seat himself at the edge of the bath as he waits. A sighing moment to collect himself, hang his crutch alongside the towels on the rack, then thumb at his vest to begin removing his dirtied clothing,]
no subject
he'll sit on the toilet seat, lid down, and wait with him, wrench and screwdriver in hand that he picked up from the garage. for their braces. the second he notices viktor peeling away his ruined clothes— his gaze averts, and he chooses to focus his eyes on his crude, handmade contraption. he put it together with his bare, scratched and bruised hands. using the tip of a screwdriver would facilitate removal tenfold. ]
If it's cold, I'm going straight to bed.
[ there is a very stark silence there with the gruff drawl of his words. his mostly hidden face doesn't hide the subtle lip quirk under the bush of his whiskers. ]
I'll just CW: nonsexual nudity/intimacy and self harm injuries here
[Savage, Viktor, but also he has standards.
Why he already presumed they'd share the bed is beyond his current thought process. Sharing a bed felt like a foregone conclusion. He's not overthinking it... unless Jayce won't shower off the smell of the fissures. Then the man is on his own.
He peels back his vest and shirt, groaning as fabric clings and peels away from the only scarcely scabbed over runic carvings. Viktor's suddenly very glad that Jayce is averting his eyes. He's not ashamed, not really, but there is a regret that comes with... failure. Marred forever by his own inability to save himself. If he feels at all humiliated, it's from the pathetic nature of that, rather than a prudish or modest sentiment.
Distracting himself, he reaches towards the water fall to test the warmth. No longer cold, so it's heating up a bit,]
Lukewarm, now. Get undressed and sit in the tub. I'll stay sat on the edge... we won't waste warm water if it's fleeting, that way. [yeah, also bathing together is a foregone conclusion, just practical. Not at all because Viktor would feel terribly guilty leaving Jayce alone when he's clearly so desperate for their shared proximity.]
and cw: description of injury/gore
it takes a bit, but the brace comes off, broken scraps bursting at one of the points of tension which makes jayce curse under his breath. he'd still needed this thing until they could get better materials for a new one. preservation was key.
he then also remembers, that . . . viktor no longer has his brace. it's something he was so accustomed to that, even after such a lengthy amount of time has paced— by the time he was ready to ask permission the way he used to, he finds nothing for him to work on. only the scabs of injuries, the runes they'd turn nights over studying, self inflicted. desperation.
jayce tries not to let his gaze linger. he knows viktor wouldn't like the guilty look in them, but he can't hide that any more than his own injuries. he knows what's coming, now. he keeps thinking it, the words he wants to say. ]
I should've never joined the council.
[ he admits, quietly, feeling the lump in his throat dislodge, although it doesn't get easier to swallow. his shirt comes off, still sitting. without the brace he feels a little less confident to throw is weight about. his right shoulder, his back— they hold bizarre scars. colorful, webbed and matching the anomaly's signature, the arcane has contaminated it like blight on foul flesh. less than, at least, his half-hexorized forearm. jayce's drenched socks come next, then his pants, coming off with more struggle but soon enough, left as a dirty pile on the floor that would never see the light of day again.
he's grown more hair just about everywhere to compensate the low temperatures in the ravine, but the worst is the remniscent of his fracture. the leg is not quite right in angle, if one's eye for detail was astute, having healed the way jayce could fix on his own. the hole where the bones had protruded is surrounded by a network of magical disfigurement— ugly blues, neon greens and pinks in layers, and layers, and layers. crusty caking of blood and arcanic puss circle the blooms of the chaotic blisters. he's never been able to properly wash it, and it's by a magical miracle he still has a leg at all.
jayce is guarded as he shuffles toward the tub with his hands in front of him, steps inside— and lowers himself down with a vice grip on the tub's edges, only because he'd been afraid of misstepping, slipping, and breaking all over again. ]
no subject
[a nonresponse from Viktor at the commentary. The council... yes, no, maybe. Viktor cannot say. He had been so consumed with his research on the Hexcore that he didn't know what Jayce was getting up to on the council. Not beyond how it effected the Hexgates, how they might need to shut them down and investigate trade. Not beyond his barricades between the Undercity and Piltover, further separating the two parts. Creating a distinction without any difference, given Zaun had not yet been deemed independant and under its own leadership.
How close they got to that- that was Jayce's work, wasn't it?
That was good work. It may have amounted to nothing, but Jayce always gave his all. Viktor can't believe the same of the Hexcore. It had amounted to the senseless death of Sky. He is about to say something to Jayce's comment, but the man is moving to follow Viktor's suggestion and sit in the tub. Viktor tucks himself beneath Jayce's arm to steady him, so he's not so worried lowering himself down into the bath.
Good god, the state of Jayce's wrist, leg, and back... Viktor's runic slashes are nothing compared to that. Not that it is a competition in misery.]
Steady. [it's all he can much say, as Jayce settles into place. The water is gaining in warmth and Viktor is afraid to adjust it, in case disturbing the process will suddenly turn it icy cold. He busies his hands removing the rest of his own clothing. The leg brace... he had actually arrived with his own, but had taken it off to do some recalibrating on. It ended up left in the garage, as he'd been interrupted by the monster attack. It seemed he would no longer always need it, his hexcorified leg working with him in some bursts. He would not leave the brace behind, in case the weakness in his leg fully returned or just needed help some of the time. Later, he can go retrieve it... once he's helped put Jayce's brace back together. That can wait until after they're cleaned up and rest.
Viktor unlatches and pulls away the back brace from around his chest. The brace disengages from the permanent bolts anchored into his spine, revealing the track marks it left encircling his ribcage when he wore it too long. He had definitely worn it much too long again... It is set aside with care before he turns and pulls his legs around and places his feet down into the tub, resting behind Jayce's back provided Viktor has been left the room. Jayce can lean back against his thighs if he needs the support, though looking at his back... maybe it is too tender to press against anything.]
... would you allow me to wash your back, Jayce? It is... in a worrisome state. [Viktor has a deft touch, one adept at both the intricate and tougher tasks required for building their inventions. Not a medical professional's touch, but he studied under Singed. He had long taken care of his own illness. Viktor has skill in handling the sensitivity of flesh and not just unfeeling machine. It would be good to remind himself of that, that he has some human caring left inside to spare.]
no subject
there's plenty of room; despite his size in height, he is not exactly a hulking piece of muscular work anymore, with what he'd previously be able to tank the width of the container with ease. his knees have tucked closer to his chest, giving him that fetal sitting as the water laps at his feet and toes, runs over his frame beneath the water's spray and already flushing away at the outermost layer of crud on him. it's . . . nice.
he manages to murmur, vulnerable and smaller than he was in the empty space between his chest and bowed legs: ]
Yes.
[ the strange, rooted scabs independant on where on the body it was may bleed tiny streams of translucent blues or greens when scrubbed or pulled away— allowing the remnants of an infection fought single-handedly to exudate and make way for steady ribbons of bright red. a good sign, really. the thick, worrying type of purulent drainage has been conquered before his arrival.
in the meantime, jayce tries to quietly busy himself. his nails could use a good cleanse, so he starts there, a slow, steady motion of cleaning the muck stuck beneath them, focusing on the sensation of warm water, and soon, viktor's hands. his back's muscles may ripple, both in anticipation as much as a reaction to actual touch, like a flinch, or a subtle startle at the reminder of how it works and feels. it is also nice. it is also viktor.
he hasn't been touched in what felt like eons. ]
no subject
[Viktor had acquired a bar of soap in their looting of supplies and will make good use of it. He wets and rubs it sudsy before applying it directly to Jayce's back. His other hands follows, making gentle circles along injured flesh. It is difficult to tell what is scar and what is just clumped on dirt. The soap isn't going to really discriminate, so any lines of blood Viktor incidentally brings to the surface will make him narrow his eyes in a wince. He powers through his feelings of inadequacy at this... tender a task. Jayce is acting so fragile, a word Viktor would have never applied to the man, save that first time... stood on a ledge.
He takes more time for the task, cupping fresh water into his hand and spreading that with his palm. Being firm, but careful. Jayce is usually such a talker. Whatever the details of what happened to him, he is truly a changed man.
But he is still Jayce. Viktor feels the urge to take up that mantle, to be the one who soothingly fills the air with chatter. It doesn't need to be about anything important. In fact, it shouldn't be. It should just distract.]
Do you remember my story... about how I got started going to the Academy? [he recalls Jayce's delight the first time Viktor explained it to him, but it was a long time ago, now. A reminder might be nice?]
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the talk is good. jayce hadn't known what to say, hadn't known how to react other than listening to his own pulse thrum in his ears with every careful circle over the hex-infected scar. it stretches a silence from jayce, but with patience, jayce answers: wistful and bringing a curve to one corner of his lips.
viktor always knew what to do. viktor always saved him. ]
I remember you, [ he starts. you, specifically, a sting pricks his eyes when he remembers the connection they shared on top of the aqueducts. it's easily the water just getting in them. for now, it's easier to blink away. ] attending the Academy classroom without an acceptance. [ viktor may not see his face, but it is one memory that finally splits his chapped, broken lips to expose the gap of his front teeth. ] Your parents even bought you the uniform.
[ his gums even click as he recalls it all, his smile wider. he especially remembers the moment they had shared in the lab, budding partners spending their late nights theorizing over bread, teas, sweetmilk and sometimes jugs of wine, until fatigue diverted their focus to this common, boyish prattle. this one story of many stories. he was so ecstatic and eager to hear about it, then. he remembers viktor's face, his smiles. the healthier fullness of his sharp, distinct cheek bones. the era of his attempts at making crank it stick. it was such a fun time he feels as if he's taken it for granted. ]
I'd imagine the look on their faces when they finally caught you, and— [ he chortles with mirth. it comes out wet from his throat, the strain in his voice beginning to oscillate his breaking tone. ]. And laugh.
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It was the most expensive thing that we owned. I treated it like a... a hexcrystal. Like it would explode if not handled with absolute care.
[This chattiness is working? It's working. Viktor's own smile softly upturns. His voice matches, low without being quiet, because he refuses to be drowned out by the patter of the water around them. His hands continue to work the difficult task before them without so much anxious focus,]
The Academy Professors... they would only check the attendance record if you missed a class. I made every one of them. No matter what. It took them years to sort through their own bureaucracy and discover the truth.
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It was Years . . . [ jayce repeats, reminiscing the aftermath of it. he could still see the smug look on viktor's face when he'd told him for the first time, and how much it made him bounce his thighs on the edge of his seat. ] Heimerdinger made you the Dean's assistant to keep the Council off your back.
[ even though his voice was hoarse and weary, jayce makes for a terrible impression. maybe if heimerdinger were sleepily on steroids: "Punishing the lad for pursuing knowledge would be counterproductive for Progress."
he remembers, down to quoting viktor quoting heimerdinger. jayce rests his cheek against one of his knees, his arms beginning to coil around his legs to tighten the ball he's made of himself. ]
I'm glad he did. [ jayce was so obsessed with his studies at the time, he ended up completely isolating himself from his peers. his grades were abysmal, fucking dimitri pissing him off for existing — his hope had been the kiriman's backing until the hexcrystal explosion tore through his dorm. then, his hope had changed. ] Because then I met you.
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[Now, he hadn't really gotten into this with Jayce. He'd had one drink too many of wine, sleep deprived and worked to the bone alongside his partner, and bragged about it in private. Jayce was the only person he could do that around. Heimerdinger encouraged him to keep his head down about it and Viktor had already been a master of that. He got away with it for years by being subtle. He didn't need to boast. Even with Jayce, it wasn't something he much elaborated on.
They're far away from all that now. Not just in time, but now in place.
He also tries to do the Heimerdinger voice. He is also so bad at it-]
Punish a boy just for wanting an education? Preposterous! [-Viktor laughs, then coughs, ducking his head away from Jayce to direct it towards the tile wall. It takes some time to calm, ragged and wet from exhaustion. The hexcorification did not cure his illness, only kept it at bay... and who could guess for how long? Viktor is in uncharted waters.
The soap bar and his hand return to rub Jayce's shoulder's clean, his back largely taken care of now,]
We met at the correct time, Jayce. I was so held back by my own gratitude. You showed me so much possibility, so many... potentials.
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and he wanted to go back so badly. turn back time even further. do things a bit more differently than he had.
but they'd always be doomed. even then, he'd rather they be doomed together.
jayce's head lifts at the sound of viktor's hacking, his eyes obscured by the draping of his hair all over his vision. he opens his mouth to speak. even with all this water, his throat sounded parched. ]
You showed me how to live.
[ it is more than thankful. it is earnest, sentimental. he doesn't mean to tear this attempt at levity to shreds, he is— too sensibilized. too unprocessed. too overburdened.
he hadn't thought to tell anyone about the ravine. in his timeline, he wouldn't end up telling a single soul. the only one who would see was—
him. ]
All I thought down there was to . . . Survive. To get back— [ he has to pause, force one. he feels his last word crest. ] to you.
[ he would have to pay a terrible price for it: destroy the hexcore deep within the chambers of the herald's chest. it could save him, one day — but his time to reunite with viktor afterward would not be immediate. there would be more pain. more chasms. viktor told him so, when he sent him on his way.
he doesn't know what he'd do, now. met with this viktor, mollifying his heart into an easily foldable piece . . . would he have the courage to do it? fresh out of the ravine, he was certain he would. he promised, he would. he doesn't want to. with such gentle hands on his shoulders, avid words, even laughs— even his coughs. he cannot bare to think of harming him. he wants to be with him until they both succumb to the blight of their magic. a fitting end.
after a growing, strained silence from his end, jayce makes a grab for one of viktor's suddy hands, confining them within the grip of his desperate fingers— desperate for more direct touch. more connection, despite the chiefly intimate moment they share in a bath tub, warm water and nude proximity. it was so selfish.
it might've been what jayce always wanted, but it still felt somber and unforgiving. was this a second chance or punishment? he doesn't say a word more as his shoulders begin to shiver. until they jolt in an irratic way some moments after, in choked silence. he doesn't let go. he doesn't want to. there're so many things he doesn't want to do.
his whimpers begin to bubble, stiffled, and what he could do best to soothe himself was rub his thumb into the inside of viktor's palm— just as the wave of his experiences crash into him with ugly realization, like a wild storm. he absolutely crumbles what he hadn't outside.
and he can't hold it in, judging from how much he strangles his throat shut with little success. ]
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He sets the soap aside and then wraps his other arm fully around Jayce's shoulder, looping around his collar. A hand over his heart, flatly laid. Embracing him from Viktor's seat on the ledge of the tub, not wanting to put his weight onto the man's terribly tender back. Viktor holds close, buries his forehead to nudge the back of Jayce's wet and still oil caked hair. Viktor confides, with strength and earnestness,]
If anyone I've ever known could make it out of that alive? It's you, Jayce... [what would the Jayce he knew want to hear most? Viktor knows. He knows the man so well.]
... I have always believed in you.
[Viktor isn't letting go of him, not unless he's pushed away with force. His arms are still weak, but he holds fast and firm. Especially if Jayce begins to sob. Viktor isn't going anywhere.
He couldn't imagine a version of himself willing to abandon his partner in his grief... but if things had gone as differently as Jayce said? That is a too flattering self assessment. A naive misjudgment of Viktor's own capacity for disdain, his own capacity for anger towards betrayal.]
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I'm sorry—
[ he sobs out, wet and violent. the blubbering of words are weaved heavy with turbulence, and the falls of his tears camoflauged by the running water. he could still see the look on viktor's face from that day. anger. betrayed resentment. a destructive disloyalty born from love; the one thing that would make someone do something unimaginable.
he holds viktor in the position he was in the way that he could, the size of his arms allowing only brief reprieve before he wanted to glue himself to the closeness of their bodies and never separate. it's so cherished. it's so wanted and always needed but not as sought as he would've liked, even from his perspective. jayce was always so tactile with viktor: rubbing his back, either on the slightly broader slab or at the small, kneading or clasping his shoulders. he could've done— so much more. instead he betrayed every one of their principles. he became someone he wasn't in his pursuit to please, and to fit into a role that was not kind to his shape.
he never asked for it, but he never said no, either. he still had fault in his choices, always feeling cornered by the possible results or pressure to play the game when there was always a choice. he was too weak to keep sturdy, too pliable to say no. like iridescent iron. he has gone cold too late.
the whines he relents is mixed with an ugly mess of fluids, but he still coils into himself like a broken spring, makes himself smaller, and allows viktor's slender arms to feel so much bigger than him. jayce holds viktor's arm, places a hand on top of his, squeezes both—
he wants to make a crevice within viktor and huddle there. he can't push him away. he's wanted this so much, and he needs it even more, now. ]
I was so selfish— I couldn't—
[ i couldn't do the right thing. i couldn't block them out. i couldn't keep my word. i betrayed you. i betrayed our work— and so much more goes unsaid, but not unknown. jayce turns his head, bows his forehead, and knocks it sideways to feel the pressure, to feel warmth of skin and bone, and not a dusty chalkboard. it makes him gasp, press in— and surrender himself completely.
he would never hurt him again, and whispers: ]
I'm so sorry— I swear it. I s-swear, on my life.
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[He believes him, both trusts and feels for Jayce Viktor didn't have to reckon with the future Jayce lived, so it is easier than not. He cannot muster energy to be outraged and upset over a hypothetical. For himself, at least. To Jayce, it is clearly very real and lived experience. He's so broken down, in a way Jayce never was in all the time Viktor knew. In no world would Viktor believe this is mere delusion.
Or that Jayce, sobbing and desperate, was being insincere in his repeat apologies. Viktor returns each with further, quiet and comforting. (He hopes... comforting...)]
I believe you, I believe you, I do. [He wraps his other hand down around Jayce's front and fits his face to the back crook of the man's neck. Just hugging from him from behind, elevated to not dig into his scars and still bleeding flesh.]
I promise. [his eyes sting and Viktor isn't sure if he's fit to cry. Jayce is an emotional man, in far healthier ways than Viktor ever was. Viktor is expressive, but also very composed. There's some catharsis in bracing Jayce to cry his heart out. It's good for him. He should do it until the water goes cold- though Viktor hopes it doesn't. The warmth should be here for Jayce, as Viktor is, not going anywhere.]
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eventually, jayce's tears go torrid. what is left behind is a stinging silence, the occasional hiccup of his breath or shoulders as he finds gradual, quiet composure. the jerks are more spaced, the snorts as well. he's rubbing his raw face clean, next, following the gentle carding through his crazy front bangs. jayce shuffles, unfurls viktor's boney arms around him only to give himself enough space to turn around once he feels that there's not much else do scrub off his back. curiously enough, he doesn't throw his arms off, or let them go carelessly.
he holds on. gentle. by the palms. settling into his squatted seat and keeping his knees bent so that there's still room for the both of them. once he's front facing, he . . . supposes he could let viktor's hands slip to wherever they wish to go now. he still had his gruesome fracture to clean, and he's a little more worried about that one than his back. it's like he could still feel the decay in them. jayce's eyes are bloodshot, the corners of them wrinkled with stress, but he breathes now, mostly steady, with that sunny-lime gaze on viktor's to inspect the features mirrored at him.
he asks, throaty and bare after his throat cracks and his lips pop: ]
. . . Can I wash you, too?
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1/?? we'll see
2/??
3/5... let's say 5.
4/5
5/5 he's done
KHFZIYFXIVHKHCC 😭😭😭😭😭
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