balance_logs | Field Mission 5: Il Prigioniero, Part 3

Field Mission 5: Il Prigioniero, Part 3

	They had discovered one could grow as hungry for light as for food.
	NAVIGATION

1. THE FATE OF WONDERLAND

A. CRESCENDO; FINALE

The beauty of the sentient mind is that hope is hard to kill. Even living in illusion for so long, the Bureau of Balance as a whole believed to the end that a happy ending was possible in Wonderland. That's a good thing, even if an unrealistic dream. Without that vision, that hope, there's no way to succeed. You all know that, don't you?

You knew it when you went back into the tree to save absolutely anyone that you could. Strangers some of them. Strangers most of them. It didn't matter. There's a happy ending to this story; everyone believed in it as surely as they carried out the innocent, as surely as they carried out each other.

You knew it when you got crafty with needle and thread, trying to reassemble the cruel joke Wonderland made with those who lost their way and fell into debt. Nine bodies are saved — including Henrik's, Henrik whose soul is reattached to his body, Henrik whose shaking arms can finally reach out to hold his son.

You knew it when you spoke to a dying Yggdrasil, Maya taking in the suffering and sickness of its years, listening with an open heart until, suddenly, as the tree's consciousness began to collapse, she was taken Somewhere Else. To speak with a man in a sharp suit with places to be. Things to do. Planar systems to devour. You know how it is. A poisoned arrow to Yggdrasil's open wound brought it down for good, leaving Shuichi to hurriedly plant the new Golden Leaf for a new World Tree; leaving Sayori and Angus McDonald to pick up the pieces of their dazed comrades.

You knew it when you tricked the Mirror Maze into glitching apart, giving it quite simply too much to keep track of. The fact that you found a helper along the way certainly didn't hurt, but let's face it: this was genius. The reward is Niel, crystallized, encasing the Compact. Suffering, as he has been for a very long time.

You knew it when three warlocks and a very angry wizard embarked on an ultimately suicidal mission, which just goes to show that the best-laid plans of mice and men sometimes lead to a 50% vore rate. A desperate attempt to keep Adrian distracted for long enough that the Compact could be retrieved was only able to delay him in the end. Just because success is possible doesn't make it guaranteed. Sometimes a fight with the villain ends in stalemate.

Sometimes a fight with the villain isn't a fight at all. Sometimes it's an outstretched hand (or two, or four), and sacrifices from each member of the party, and pain, and . . . self-awareness. Sometimes the villain just wants to let go. Sometimes there are happy endings, but this time Niel — fused into the Tree itself, his life tied up in the dying Yggdrasil, extended by the Compact — just wants it to stop. He doesn't want to hurt anyone anymore.

His friends are holding his hands as they take the Compact and make it stop.

This isn't a happy ending. But that isn't your fault. Hope for a happy ending has, quite literally, saved the world.

The nightmare is over. Wonderland slips away.

2. ON THE EDGE OF THE HORIZON

B. THE PEOPLE

And as suddenly as the myriad indulgences of Wonderland went to ... well, complete shit, there's something of a metaphorical blink of light. Those who were meant to be dead are - both your fellow Reclaimers and the Rolands who could not be fixed in time - but there is still many that are saved. Injuries knot back together at the slightest curative magic. Smog and negativity vanish like they never were, taking the last shambling monsters away with it. The souls of Shadowdale that you have returned to their respective bodies have a new life to forge. Things can be fixed.

If only it were that easy.

Shadowdale, for all intents and purposes, is uninhabitable. For the first time since the Bureau's mission began, an entire city population has lost its home, and must move on. No matter how much blame you may place on yourself for the way things turned out, whether it's guilt or hope that drives you forward, time, and the cycle of life itself, spins onward. And the people who live march on.

To New New Aspen.

Matthew has promised to bring the survivors of Shadowdale to his home, to give them a new chance. You have a couple of options here, if you would like to help them. You may serve as guard, helping escort the people of Shadowdale to New New Aspen. Super convenient for you, since it's right by the Moon Base! You may help them build and settle.

The people of New New Aspen, only months away from Candlenights, are hard at work carving their annual ornaments. You may help the new residents acclimate - whether it's helping them work the fields, start a business, or take part in their new home's most coveted tradition. And you'll have a new ornament to bring home with you, too.

C. THE FOREST

The deadened woods you traveled through to reach Shadowdale at the beginning of this mission seem somehow even more silent, cloaked in demise, than when you first stepped in it. The madness is gone, replaced with double the silence, a stillness like nothing you've ever experienced before. It's almost as if your senses, save for however you perceive the light of the sun, are gone.

At least, until someone speaks to you. A wood elf - he doesn't give you his name, but he does identify himself as someone who was trapped. Someone who, through your efforts to restore the Rolands, you gave life to again.

And he does have a request for you.

"This place has little hope for revival," he says, sniffing slightly, taking in the silence around you both. "At least, it has little hope in your lifetime.

But I do have something to ask of you. Give this place life, the way you did for the people here. Even if you, or even I, for that matter, will never likely live long enough to see it."

That's sort of an existential way of asking you to do some hardcore landscaping. But you will be provided with seeds of all sorts, and you will have the opportunity to plant them as you see fit. If you would like to build a shrine, or remember those who lost their lives here in some other way, you are free to do that as well.

There's something else curious, though: literally anything you plant, regardless of what it is, will eventually produce a viable bud sprouting from the gray, dry soil.

What does that even mean? If you plant a book of poems, are you going to get a poetree?

Are you even going to live long enough to see it in full bloom?

D. THE EXHAUSTION

You might not be on Lucretia levels of exhausted (she is, remember, zonked, and will remain so all the way back to the Moon Base and beyond for a while), but this has not been an easy mission for anyone who dared to test this Grand Relic's powers.

Whether you return from New New Aspen, or whether you finally catch a ride back to the Moon Base from the forest, you are now free to return home. This is your welcome home wildcard, a chance for you to try to recuperate, address anything at all before the next Lunar Interlude begins.

You will find that the Moon Base has an awfully somber feel to it, from the inner members of the Bureau to the people serving the Reclaimers in the town. Word is starting to trickle in on what you all went through.

blurb code by photosynthesis

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[The butterflies swarm. Erika can't or won't hold form for this, and can't or won't close her eyes, either, as she leans up and in and squeezes one arm around Crowley, and for a moment wraps her fingers around the spike and tries to pull it, but gives up quickly and reaches in with Necromantic Touch instead and cracks his life force open like an egg.

There's a lot of blood and smoke and grime smearing itself into her shirt and cloak and the spotted edges of her butterflies' wings, and it's all so much peripheral vision around the tortured guttering of Crowley's vitality. Make it fast, he said, and in the midst of battle, she does, with a nod into his shoulder; one moment he's there, and the next moment she drives a wedge of exhaustion between him and the spike through his chest, and then it's over and she lays him clumsily back so she can stand up again.]

A. Ornamental
[You’d think Carmen would be so done with anything craft related after the ordeal with the sewing. She had to admit her fingers still ached, but she didn’t really want to pass up the chance to, well, think of something different. The idea of making ornaments was appealing, probably because most holidays weren’t really celebrated back on Vile Island and she needed something more positive and super low stakes to focus on.

And hey, it wasn’t origami either, which was a plus. Wood was much preferred to metal, cloth, or paper at the moment.]

B. Kettled
[Crafting wasn’t the only way she decided to get a change of pace, but decided she’d do her best to help the new residents of New New Aspen acclimate. It really seemed like the least she could do, it felt like she hadn’t done enough before. She pushed that thought aside and for a few days she plays a waitress at a brand new tea shop: Tea & Whimsy. Serving tea is relaxing and, as a perk, when she’s not on the clock the proprietor lets her sample various blends. So you may be served by Carmen or you might catch her on her break, sipping at a freshly brewed cup.]

C. Moonbase
[When she does finally return to the Moonbase it is definitely to take a very long bath. She then tries to return to something resembling a routine. Browsing books in the library? Check. A lecture at the Academy? Sign her up. Target practice at the Dojo? Well, she does need to get better at this new telekinesis thing. And a shopping trip sounds nice too. She’s getting out and about and just trying to re-calibrate.]

[ I don’t want to be doing this Alex has the time to think before skidding to a stop in front of Ferran. Beaky screams and swarms as Adrian starts to turn his attention to her master, but he knows that’ll only buy him a moment, less than a moment.

He drops his limp hand into Ferran’s. ] I’m sorry.

[ He hates using the spell like this, as it’s originally intended. He’d much rather take people’s pain away; eye of the Death Goddess or not, that’s how he works. Still, there’s no healing here, for Ferran or for himself. Just power, and the absorption thereof.

From where Alex touches, Ferran’s skin pales, quickly. He won’t let this go on, won’t let him suffer- in the back of his throat and the back of his mind, he tastes, feels something, almost like strawberry rock candy and he almost pulls away in horror, his skin warm and tingling like a thousand ants marching, marching, marching.

His knees wet with Ferran’s blood, but it almost sinks into him. He’s absorbing it. The life, the essence...and he’s converting it to pure power.

Alex lets Ferran’s hand fall. He raises one of his limp ones and starts rapid-fire shooting Wldritch Blasts, barely even looking at his target. ]

Leave my bird alone, dickwad.

[ Both eyes glow an ethereal violet. ]

[BEFORE]
[It all seems fairly straightforward, Ogata thinks. That is to say, if what they're predicting about the mirror maze is right. Initially, he'd been unenthused to find out he had to work with other people, especially strangers. But then, once the plan had fallen into place, and it was actually going to entail getting as far away from his teammates as possible, he was wholly on board.

Now here they were, standing before the entrance to the mirror maze. Ogata had already poked around inside this new, drearily dark version himself, a bit. He wasn't terribly worried. Lion hands off their mace to Eleanor, and just as they start trying to concentrate on setting up the three way ceremony, Ogata comes up behind them, claming a hand on each of their shoulders as he imparts the necessary Dark Vision onto the both of them, without warning.

Almost as if he's trying to startle them on purpose.]
Make sure that takes, I've never tried to pass this ability onto anyone else before.

[AFTER]
[It's all rather unceremonious, in Ogata's opinion. He was promised a monster. Something to fight and defeat. They truly did just unravel the maze by expanding its bounds. The mirror maze is destroyed. They succeeded. Now they just have to wait and hope that the other groups are able to take advantage of that in their own endeavors.

When they're deposited outside of wonderland, Ogata looks startled for a moment, then dazed as he looks around at the outside world for the first time in weeks, and then just looks down at the rifle clutched in his hands with a disappointed expression.

He glances over at Lion and Eleanor. A normal person might have learned something about the value of teamwork, how they couldn't have triumphed if the three of them hadn't been working in concert, even if they weren't exploring the maze together. Or well, in a way, they had been, the whole time, actually. In any case. Ogata isn't that sort of person.]

Frankly I'm almost disappointed your plan worked as well as it did.
[Go, team.]

[When Alex does spot Ogata, the first thing that might strike him is how small the man is. His height of barely over 5 feet doesn't exactly come across over video, after all. Just a terrible little gremlin of a man, still smudged with dirt and grim from the last week on the decrepit tree, boots scuffed and a corner of his overcloak torn, trailing a loose thread. But none of that is being attended to. Rather, the first bit of maintenance he's chosen to attend to is his gun.

With a steady, practiced hand, he's taking apart the rifle, wiping the apparatus down with gun oil and brush, before reassembling it just as methodically and efficiently. A task he's clearly done a thousand times. It's the sort of specific skill that would be impressive to watch it be done so fluidly if not for the fact that it's Ogata doing it. If he notices Alex from where he's sat down, attending this task, he doesn't show it.

He might be unaware. Or he might just not think acknowledging Alex's presence is worth his time at the moment. Take your pick.]

Edited 2019-10-09 02:07 (UTC)

[Even though he consented to this possibility before the mission even started, Erika finds not a warm, runny yolk when she cracks open his life force. She finds a living, fighting thing that tastes like heat beyond what the scoville scale can measure, pure capsaicin for the sake of pain instead of flavor, all with a smoky undercurrent of sulfur like the grey film around an overboiled egg yolk.

And then she drives a metaphorical stake into him alongside the literal one, and the writhing cosmic horror of his life force falls still and burns through and into her, demonic energy absorbed into her own.

Crowley is dead.

Give 'em hell, kid.]

[ Just sitting there. Covered in grime but overall fine, isn’t he? He looks so, so nonchalant.

The sight of it fills Alex with red-hot fury.

Crossing he distance between them in a few swift strides, he only shouts when he’s close enough, so Ogata will look at him as he pulls back his clenched, twitchy fist— ]

Hey, fuckface, I take it back!!

[ —And lets it fly. ]

a. night has always pushed up day; shadowdale/forest

[On the first day, Michael leaves for the forest as soon as he figures out where exactly the moon pods are.

He stalks out of Shadowdale, cradling Eleanor's body in his arms. She's pale and cold, so terribly tiny in death. There's no blood. Even if there were, his stomach doesn't turn at imagining it anymore. Even if it did, he has to take her back himself. He didn't do it before, and he should have.

You might see him making his way out of town, or walking through the forest. He doesn't seem keen on company in the pod.]

b. you must know life to see decay; new new aspen

[After a few days, by the time Eleanor's up and about again, Michael ventures back down to New New Aspen. It's his first time visiting the city. He wants terribly to go see the sights - it's like a literal Hallmark movie, with a weird amount of spiders - but his priority right now is to try helping out the refugees from Shadowdale. He didn't do much to help them in Wonderland, after all. Especially not towards the end.

After flitting around for a while, he settles down in one of the career centers for a few days. He's played at counselor often enough that he likes to think he's not terrible at it. Anyway, a lot of them just need reassurance, and maybe an extra eye towards their marketable skills.

On his down time, he walks around and has some new experiences. He's never been cold in a human body before. He buys a coat, and plays for a while with his breath condensing in the air, and then gets a warm drink. Upon reflection, he can see why humans like this so much. It all lines up fairly well with what he thinks Earth Winter is about, except maybe for one thing:]

So, is this what everyone does? Giving people ornaments?

[He's sitting on a bench in town, a knife in one hand, already starting in on something. Look, if he's been missing some kind of human custom, he wants to catch up!]

c. but I won't rot; forest

[Eventually he goes back to Shadowdale, too. At least to the forest surrounding it.

He seems a little uneasy being here. His madness has broken - in retrospect, his certainty that he was being watched by some sort of television audience seems ridiculous - but he still has flashes of memory regarding this place. Maybe that tall faceless monster wasn't real, but something happened to him out here.

It's over now, though, isn't it?

He wanders silently, peering at the elves, until he's approached to help. After his brief experience with the greenhouse back at base, he's not sure he's the best guy for this job. But he can probably handle just burying some seeds and leaving, right? So he sets about doing that. After a while, he notices other people getting inventive, realizes that he can bury just about whatever he wants, and starts just using random items himself. His least favorite bowtie. A cupful of frozen yogurt. A philosophy book.]

I'll live long enough to see it. Bunch of kids, I bet they're not even a thousand... [He mutters, patting the earth down over his latest seed-thing, because yeah of course he has to be a petty fuck about that]

d. not this mind and not this heart; wildcard

[hmu at lluosogrwydd or w/e~]

i. right now, i wish i was older ( poetree )

[When Wonderland falls—]

[When Wonderland falls, after he gets his ribs rearranged to how they're fucking supposed to be—]

[Mista's in the forest. The forest that was, with its leafless gray trees that impart a sense of space, even if the space between them really isn't any greater than it was before. The claustrophobia has lifted, sort of. In a way.]

[He's resting with his back against a trunk. Resting because Lion told him to, and because he has the nagging reminder of connection in the back of his mind: Sayori and Maya will be mad if you don't. So he sits, and rests, and some godforsaken soul gave him a pad and paper to keep him occupied.]

[It was a mistake. Madness has struck, and so has inspiration. There's a thick section of the pad already taken up with Collected Works, but this one appears to be giving him trouble. He beckons over anyone foolish enough to get close.]

Hey, c'mere. What rhymes with gun? [i,,,]

ii. right now, i wish i had closure ( planting )

[The pad is gone. Hopefully someone burned it, but we're probably not that lucky. Mista stands, looking down at the barren ground for a few moments, considering. In one hand is a fistful of seeds. In the other, small messily-torn squares with names written on them. He hides them against his palm.]

[He plants the seeds first, without any particular order or arrangement. They sprout quickly. He smiles, faintly and a little tiredly. Then he goes to dig holes for the names.]

[By the time he returns the following day, there are five plants standing where he buried the names. One is green, covered with crawling ladybugs. One is sickly, pale with aggressive roots. The third (black-stalked with white berries) and fourth (leaned against the third, thorny with bright purple berries) stand behind the fifth, a squat, smug sunflower.]

[Its seeds, if one looks very closely, are tiny toy airplanes.]

. . . Huh.

iii. until i've done all that i can ( purple haze | body horror & unreality tw )

[It's not until back on the moon that it kicks in properly. Up until then, it's just growing paranoia: the scent of ozone, the prickle of someone watching him. Breath on the back of his neck. It hits him at odd times, leaving him darting his head around, looking for someone in his periphery. The Pistols are scattered and terrified, scuffling amongst themselves between crying jags and reports back.]

[He's in the quad under the trees, resting, trying to relax the tension in his shoulders, when it strikes. The prickling he's never felt but has seen so many times, crawling over his fingers and up his arm, up his neck, across his face — he feels it. Burning tingling rotting — he can smell it, it stinks. When he looks down he sees the pustules, come up out of nowhere, red and swollen and bursting almost as soon as he looks at them.]

[When they do, they steam. When they steam, his skin — slips. Slides. Sloughs off. Only flesh underneath, bare and beginning to necrotize itself. His skin hits the ground with a sick wet noise. Which no one else can hear. Which no one else can see.]

[But Mista hears it, and sees it, and knows that if he doesn't move, anyone who's close is gonna — and he scrambles backwards, back hitting the trunk before he trips and falls over the roots and back further, trying to make space while staring in horror at his own forearm.]

[This seems normal.]

iv. i'm right here ( wildcard )

[You know the drill. PM or passiones for plotting.]

[Almost done. That's what he keeps telling himself. Almost done, almost done. They're almost there. Wonderland is still now, no longer morphing under their feet. They've cleared everywhere else but the Maze. This is the last corner. This is it.]

[His broken rib is definitely scraping through his lung now, but it's fine. He's had worse. Soon they'll be done. He's not the only one in rough shape, but soon they'll be done. It's almost over.]

C'mon, [he says, gruff and exhausted but with steady step; his Aura shines, just bright enough to illuminate the passage ahead. There are voices up there — no, voice. Just one.]

[Just one. Almost there.]

Edited 2019-10-09 03:18 (UTC)

[ To say they were 'displeased' at the thought of having to work with Ogata would be an understatement, to say the least. But anything for the sake of getting this mission over with, right? Ogata's skills are unfortunately useful in a situation like this, so fine. They can be professional. They can do this.

Plus, Eleanor's there too, and Eleanor's great. No complaints there.

It still takes every ounce of their patience to not turn around and start screeching when he slams a hand on their shoulder out of nowhere, though. It comes out in a startled jump, and a wince because - ow, right, still burned there, asshole.

Ugh. ] Please warn me next time, Ogata-san. I can't cast if my concentration is disrupted.

[ The honourific is sharply enunciated, but they grit their teeth and shake their head a bit, waiting for the magic to kick in. ]

But I admit, I've never seen it in action, either. Is it really that simple?

[ Aziraphale remembers everything.

It had all come back at once. The apathy that had deadened his every emotion, every passion, even his belief in Her (her existence, if nothing else), had dissipated like clouds after a storm. The absolutely certain knowledge that he was a demon, he was Fallen, had melted away to reveal the truth of who he was and always had been, shining bright and clear. And -

And Crowley.

Worse than believing he'd been banished from Her love and grace forever, worse than feeling nothing at all, was remembering his encounters with Crowley over the past month. Crowley, introducing himself again and again, cracking a little more each time. Crowley, gazing at him from across a crowded square, only to turn hurriedly away as soon as Aziraphale caught sight of him. And Mercury. And the note. And the gifts. And - oh no -

Oh no -

He'd been saved, in the most twisted and horrible sense of the word, from having to consider the consequences of one particular (and particularly stupid, on Aziraphale's part) encounter as yet another memory crashed to the forefront of his rapidly churning mind. Victory in Wonderland hadn't been without its casualties. Aziraphale, in his impassive, emotionless state, had barely glanced at the bodies that had been carried out of Wonderland. When he'd walked past one particular corpse, with black clothes and red hair, all he'd felt was the barest blip of interest - hmm, that's different - at its yellow, snakelike eyes, staring sightlessly at nothing. And then minor suprise and annoyance when he'd accidentally stepped on a pair of sunglasses, crushing them under his heel.

The memory had hit him like a punch to the gut, and he'd cried out, a strangled, anguished sound, and turned, running as fast as he could with singular purpose. It had taken far too long to find Crowley. Aziraphale had fallen to his knees, the tears already spilling from his eyes as he reached out and dragged the demon's lifeless body to his chest. In the end, they'd had to pry Crowley out of Aziraphale's arms, but there was nothing that could pull him from his side.

He'd stayed in the hospital, forgoing food and, as long as he could, sleep, but scouring Yggdrasil in search of innocents to save had left Aziraphale exhausted. He'd finally dozed off, head falling to his chest as he sat in a chair at Crowley's bedside, still clutching the demon's hand in his. ]

Just to be sure, Bread is still out exploring and therefore not in New New Aspen? Just in case he happens to be visiting home, we wouldn't want to miss him.

[As far as Wash is concerned, this is a short trip back to the moon base, only long enough to charge his armor and grab some real food (or as real as it gets with Bender at the culinary helm). He's crossing the quad when he catches sight of Mista, falling over tree roots and scrambling backwards, a horrified expression on his face. Either something is severely wrong - something that literally no one else sees, Wash included - or Wonderland still has its claws in Mista.]

[God dammit.]

[He crosses the quad at a brisk walk, Athena hunching low on his shoulders to keep her perch. It doesn't take him long to get close to Mista.]

Mista? What's wrong?

[She stands. If anyone is watching, she lurches upward with a sharp gasp, and the infinity-turned-inward of the butterflies seethes with the new knowledge of that pain. A devil eats a demon and remembers what viciousness is.

She sort of yelps, and turns ungracefully, and presses the palm that had gone to Crowley's back against a spot over her collarbone between her throat and her chest where there's something like a coal burning. Every butterfly carries the same fleck in the same spot - even Huizi, who divebombs Adrian from the other side with the ferocity of a much larger creature. The swimming depths of her wings are roiling with flame, and she cuts a threadlike fissure through Wonderland behind her, enchantment dragging at an event horizon of spite and apocalypse.]

I'm with you, [she chokes out, pitching up to the kind of scream that Erika is making use of for the first time in seventeen years of life and other assorted states. It is furious.] Alex, I'm here! We're with you, WE'RE STILL RIGHT HERE!

[Her role is defense. The best defense is a good offense. Huizi dives again and again, and Erika's scream is as much encouragement as it is a declaration of livid defiance.

The eldritch blast spam is heartily cosigned.]

Bread is following his dreams of seeing the world! He might be visiting home, or he might still be out there. You'll have to find out if that's true in the upcoming Lunar Interlude!

[Crowley doesn't know about the last price Aziraphale paid, the apathy that had set in. He doesn't know that everything's gone back to normal, except for the fact that he's never been so thankful to not feel spooky.

When the pounding in his chest subsides enough for him to actually register his surroundings, he realizes that there's something warm and soft holding his other hand. His fingers squeeze around it before he looks over.

The sight of a halo of curly white hair bent sleeping over his bed nearly discorporates him again. His heart swells and breaks in two, one side desperately hoping and the other so, so afraid. His fingers squeeze tighter, as his chest squeezes in around his lungs, driving the breath from him.

A month. It was nothing when it was held against the length of the rest of their lives, but they'd been in each other's pockets for eleven years before that, and especially so since they came here, alone and cut off from everything else familiar except for each other. At first he'd introduced himself over and over again, a thousand different ways, hoping maybe one of them would stick just a little, just a foothold that would help him hold on, help him not to lose Aziraphale over and over and over again, but each time he slid off like a bird hitting a window until he'd finally been hurt to badly to try again.

But even that hadn't been the end of it. When he couldn't bear to be around Aziraphale anymore, he'd sent his familiar to take care of him - and she was still there doing so now, coiled in Aziraphale's lap with his other hand resting on her smooth black scales.

Mercury senses her master waking and lifts her head, flicking her tongue to scent him. He shifts in the bed to lift himself up onto one elbow, and she very carefully uncoils herself to slither onto the bed, craning her head up and letting him pet her. She isn't injured, which he's glad to see, and he holds out his arm to let her slither up and over his shoulders. She glances back at Aziraphale before going, all five feet of her draping over her master's shoulders and wrapping around once again like a scaled red and black necklace.

Which only leaves Aziraphale still sleeping. Afraid to move the hand trapped in the angel's, afraid that when Aziraphale wakes up he'll see only the nothing in blue-hazel eyes that's haunted him for what feels like a genuine eternity, the blank lack of recognition that drove him to that suicide mission in the first place.]

...

[In the end, the fear paralyzes him and he lays there, eyes wide and vulnerable and exposed, trying to save as much of this moment as he can in case it blows away like dust as soon as the angel wakes.]

[Okay, so the thing about this is that Lion doesn't even have to stop Mista. It's kind of an instinctive thing: he stumbles his way through the last of the mission, watches the people and the bodies roll in, makes sure Maya and Sayori are okay, learns that Ferran isn't, and—]

[Realizes. That he isn't, either.]

[Instinct sends him for help. Pure physical limitations drop him like a puppet with his strings cut more or less at Lion's feet as they're doing something completely unrelated. His, uh.]

[His breathing doesn't. Sound great? Hm.]

[ To survive, you have to be vigilant. You have to be adept. You have to watch everything and everyone.

A reaction like that? It's definitely cause for alarm.

However, despite his normal panicked response, Alex is...softer, with all this. He kneels before Mista and reaches out, letting his hand hover above his forearm without touching it just yet. ]

Mist. [ Gentle. Encouraging. ] Mist, you with me?

[It's hard to leave Shadowdale behind. The thing is that he knows he wasn't the only one who wanted to see it come back to life. They all did. Some of the rest of them more than him, probably; he's an optimist, but only technically. And Ferran . . .]

[It's hard to read him right now. But, you know. Death takes shit out of you. Ghost towns have some kind of draw anyway. This whole place is the skeleton of Wonderland, in its way.]

[Still. They gotta go.]

Hey.

[Reflection visible in the window Ferran's looking into, careful to keep from sneaking up on him as much as possible.]

You looking for something? Or just looking?

[Here's the thing.]

[Michael . . . doesn't need help. That's obvious. He might not even want it. But his eyes are on the body in his arms, not on the woods around them, and while the likelihood of attack is low—]

[No, there's no point in even thinking that. After everything they've been through, it's barely even paranoia. Mista shrugs, shifting his newly repaired arm, and catches up to Michael's long strides. Hand on his crossbow, eyes on the horizon.]

[They don't have to talk. It's not like anybody's having fun here.]

Regarding handling the relic: good job. Thank you for taking that on.

Edited 2019-10-09 04:05 (UTC)

[ It doesn't take long. Aziraphale is still new to sleeping, and isn't very good at it even under normal circumstances. Crowley's hand squeezing his is enough to make his eyelashes flutter, and Mercury slithering off his lap does the rest, the angel drifting slowly upwards towards consciousness without the solid weight of the snake there on his lap.

He wakes gradually, and then all at once, raising his head and blinking sleepily just once before his eyes shoot open wide. Had Crowley thought to use his one (1) brain cell, he would have realized that of course Aziraphale remembers him now. Why else would he be here at all?

Either way, he doesn't have to worry. There's no lack of recognition in Aziraphale's eyes. What there is is joy, and relief, and then a wave of overwhelming, crushing guilt. ]

Crowley!

[ He gapes for a moment, and then fumbles to clasp Crowley's hand in both of his, lower lip trembling. ]

I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, my dear, where do I even begin?

There's a little bit of a pause as she passes along these messages. Niel isn't able to respond directly, but she sends along the following in return:

Niel says thank you to both of them for being his friends. He hasn't had real friends in a very long time, and Honoka and Kokichi were the first people ever that he felt he could be really honest with. Except for his mom, maybe. And it . . . meant a lot to have two people like that helping him in the end.

Who didn't hate him, even though he hurt them.

There's another moment of quiet, as though she's asking if there's anything else at all Niel wants to say.

And then she says, "Oh," and laughs, and tells Alex, "He says to tell them he loves them, and he's doing okay."

That's all.

Is there anything else she can do for you today, Alex?

[He's seen the same thing all over the Moon Base, people experiencing stages of severe post-trauma, vestiges of Wonderland written clearly on the hands, bodies and minds of every single Reclaimer here. Can't fault anyone for going through what they need to go through to accept how things ended, just as much as he can barely comprehend huge chunks of last month just missing from his life when the debt system came to claim Ryuji for having his gem turn a deep blood red.

The place had eaten up his negativity by the truck load, and Ryuji had kept feeding it like his entire mood was a buffet for Relic to gorge upon.

But it's Alex who looks like he's going through the worst of things. How can life resume at the Moon Base after all that had happened? It's bullshit. It's unfair. It's a mean, cruel joke to come back to classes at the Academy as if life was supposed to just resume as normal.

It might be the second, third, or even fourth day of resuming life at Academy as Ryuji notices the guy living on a tightwire of paranoia and emotion, and he doesn't really know how to reach out. He's never been great at this sort of thing- but somewhere in the hallway when it doesn't feel like he's going to jump out of his skin for saying hello, the blond kid gives him a short wave and tries.]

Hey. Kinda feels unreal bein' back here on the Moon Base, huh?

[He scratches the back of his head.]

You alright, man?

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Page 3 of 71

Field Mission 5: Il Prigioniero, Part 3

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CTA: Mirror Smashing (closed)

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guido mista | ota

cta: save the civvies.

before - lets kick this off

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III

spicy. also i don't have icons for this really.

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a

iii

shadowdale.

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contextless inbox invasion some number of days after it all wraps up. username hudie

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ii!