EVENT: TRUTH BOMB

[faderifting]

WHO: Anyone
WHAT: TRUTH BOMB
WHEN: Bloomingtide 15-17
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: OOC information. Use appropriate content warnings in your subject lines, please.

It’s an ordinary day—so not a very pleasant one. The weather is dreary and muggy, and the day’s lunch is a soup that’s a little too watery and bland. The griffons are being their usual level of noisy and swoopy. The work is its usual level of urgent and difficult.

But in the storage rooms, something wiggles. Then it hums. Then it pops.

Outside of the storage room, there’s no actual sound, no shift in the wind, and no visible sign of a change. But the pop might be felt—like the moment something finally clicks, or two ideas suddenly fit together, except the opposite. In the heads of everyone in the fortress, something is suddenly not connected quite right.

The first sign of what’s gone wrong is that someone immediately stands up and tells the cook how bad the soup is.

A lot of people’s days are about to get exponentially worse.

Comments

[elegiaque]

I'm sure that you imagine there's basis for any other opinion in anything you've said or done or shown me over the past months, ( on this note returning to her sewing, and apparently considering the matter drawing to a close rather than beginning a new line of discussion,

because maker knows she has absolutely no interest in arguing the finer points of it with alexandrie on any day, )

but I haven't the faintest idea what that is, and I can't say it seems like the most pressing thing in front of us at the moment.

[coquettish_trees]

[ A displeased noise. But what point is there in arguing? Despite the public nature of their involvement she and Loki have kept their genuine intimacies largely to themselves, and she's not about to strew them on the floor like so much straw in a vain attempt to win acceptance she won't get. ]

And the most pressing thing?

[elegiaque]

Well,

( extraordinarily dryly, )

I might be mistaken, but I think it's probably Corypheus.

( she doesn't think she's mistaken, it is definitely corypheus. the war. at any given moment, it's corypheus, which doesn't actually mean nothing else ever can be discussed or addressed, but

this is already more than she wants to discuss this particular subject. )

[coquettish_trees]

[ the look Alexandrie returns Gwenaelle is as arid as the latter's tone. ]

I rather thought it was this catastrophic miasma covering the island prompting many of us to speak about things we would largely prefer to keep to ourselves. [ you know, like this, but thanks for listening. ]

It is difficult to combat Corypheus when we are in quarantine. Again. Something is hideously wrong with this island.

[elegiaque]

( genuine surprise, now- )

The what?

( look, she's been in this room on her own and busy, and absolutely nothing she just said needed magic to prompt it. the likelihood of her having noticed already was slim at best. )

[coquettish_trees]

[ For a moment, Alexandrie just looks at her. Then, a small wry smile twitches at the corner of her mouth. ]

You have an exciting repository of crystal messages to listen to whilst you finish that mending.

[elegiaque]

( the small noise of disgust, )

What are you talking about? What's going on now?

( and then, mildly aggrieved, ) I should think it'd do everyone a bit of good to say what they fucking mean for once.

[coquettish_trees]

The cause remains unknown, but all on the island seem to have developed varying degrees of compulsory engagement in saying what they fucking mean for once.

Which I am sure is doing a bit of good for those who do not know dangerous or inconvenient things that might be forcibly divulged where the rank and file might hear them [ say: the Division Heads, any number of spies, (one particular spy), ] or those whose sudden violent abandonment of the small degree of politicking they are capable of does not spark further ill-will for their country, and consequently their family, and consequently me [ say: Thor. ]