noblegarnet: (f: oh god please no)
Ferran Gallagher ([personal profile] noblegarnet) wrote in [community profile] balance_logs 2019-09-18 03:10 am (UTC)

ota; will match format

[A; cracked crown (mild body horror)]

Ferran can't leave this alone. Although helping Lucretia is... apparently important, he doesn't like the idea of everyone else risking themselves inside what's left of Yggdrasill while he's out here, waiting for something to happen. He can't stay behind—so he goes.

Somewhere along the way, he slips through a fissure, fingers scraping the edges of something sharp as he falls. At first there's only black, but then it becomes a stark contrast slicing through colors so bright they hurt to look at, jewel tones that sparkle in a light that isn't there. He lands on his side with a crack on whatever counts as the ground in this crystalline place, gasping. Nothing should be cracking. He forces himself to his knees, and when he looks at his hands he sees a deep, beautiful red and for a split second thinks blood but no—

He is Garnet. That's all he was meant to be: a tool for some higher power to wield, never a person with his own goals or a future. He was given power, and everything else was taken from him—his home, his family, even his sense of self as he obsessively turned to that new role. But ultimately, it was for nothing. He lost that power too, failed in every goal that might have been expected of him as a Noble. His friends are dead. His revenge is impossible. His world is gone.

He sees his reflection in pyrope hands, and the new scars on the side of his face have eroded to show the gem underneath, faceted and polished. He could never be anything other than this; now that his world is gone, he's just a useless decoration. And with the dark fractures running through his hands and jaw, he can't even manage that adequately. He just has to wait to be thrown away.

Someone else could fall into this nightmare in the same way, or simply find themselves walking into a cave with walls of gemstones and a floor of rough onyx. Maybe they're unlucky enough to feel crystal slowly overtaking them from their core once they step inside, just like the young man who's kneeling and staring into nothing. All the other Reclaimers would have been so much better suited to the mantle of the gemstone he was given...

"What's the point... of any of this?" he mutters, sibilant sounds shattering midway through and echoing off the walls. "What am I doing here?"

--

[B; some kind of harry potter betrayal reference goes here]

Color. There's so much color here, every part of it dense and whole, but unlike the excitement of Wonderland, it leans more towards comfort and contentment. It all fades together, the transitions impossible to make out: A clean school hallway. A refined house. A calm city evening on the river. Ferran almost loses himself in it, but reminds himself what he's here to do—

There's a hand on his shoulder.

—but then there isn't.

Vague faces fade in and out around him as the light dims and color saps out, their voices laughing with disdain, pity, superiority. The deepest of them seems to echo more clearly, and the longer Ferran listens to it, the harder it feels to move. He has to find the others, his allies They didn't trust you, why would they?, his friends They were forced to like you, it was never real, the relic None of this means anything, you'll never make a difference... but he stops moving forward.

Everything was fake. Everything was a lie. Why would it be any different here? They don't have much choice but to work together, and they hardly know anything about each other. He already knows that thinking you know someone, trusting them enough to confide in them—that doesn't mean anything. At any time someone could take away everything that means something to him, and he would never see it coming. The deep voice echoes again:

They're just waiting for the right chance. You're so easy to use, after all.

He's no longer made of red stone, but black cracks snake up his face as he succumbs to paranoia. It's easy in this place for anyone to feel the same, familiar people whispering gleefully about every time they've hurt you, every time you were abandoned when there was supposed to be trust and support. Eyes wide, Ferran pulls a dagger on whoever has approached. There's an almost invisible but iridescent chain wrapped around his wrist, extending into some spot above them that's impossible to see.

"Get away from me."

[Wildcard]

[Ferran will be remaining in Shadowdale for several days at first, working to fight off monsters and help provide resources, before heading in to presumably help with Reclaiming efforts. If you want anything else with him, let me know here or at [plurk.com profile] lumieresdedragon and we can figure something out!]

Post a comment in response:

This account has disabled anonymous posting.
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
No Subject Icon Selected
More info about formatting