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

[hassaran]

I get to call it something else because at least I'm trying to do good. You've no right to judge how I do that when you'll barely even bother to wrap your mind around the concept!

[ She can snap as hard as he can. ]

And you've no idea what I look at because I can't talk to you about it, can I? if I did have doubts, why would I trust you with them? We already can't discuss my work at all without you deciding I'm just some poor sad puppet who needs to embrace the freedom of indiscriminate crime. And I will never do that. So either change or go, Darras. Find it in yourself to understand, or go, but I am not having this same tired argument ever again.

[staysail]

And if I had any doubts, any thoughts on any part of this, why would I share 'em with you? Because you'd not see it with any nuance. Because it's good or it's evil, and no room for the in between. Indiscriminate crime. Call it by a different name, it's just shades away from what you do. But you get the pass on it, and I don't.

All right.

[He takes a step backwards, away from her, his hands open and empty.]

You want me gone? I'm gone. See how far this all gets, without men like me. Or maybe I'll hang about yet and find it in myself to understand how it is you can stand there with all that judgement for me. We'll see, won't we.

[And he drops his hands to his sides at that, heavily, and turns to stride off, back toward the stairs by which he'd gotten here in the first place.]