faderift | player plot

Entry tags:

player plot | castaways!

WHO: Bastien, Benedict Artemaeus, Eli Ever, Jayce Talis, Lalla Vesperus, Laurent Vesperus, Peter Parker, Victor Vale
WHAT: Carnivale cruise vacation.
WHEN: Justinian 9:49
WHERE: A Sea
NOTES: This is a make-your-own-adventure log. General outline and prompts are below. Everyone is invited to the crystal post here and also free to make their own for other things too.

I. PROLOGUE

So what happens is: the Crossroads collapse.

Before that, the mission goes well. Lord Cardin Popelin and his expatriate Tevinter cousin Novia Traiana and their respective spouses are very charmed by, you know, the charm, and intrigued by the harmless hints of innovative magic-science, and some combination of money and collaboration is likely forthcoming once they've had some time to stew in their charmedness and intriguedness for a few days. And the shortcut that Riftwatch's envoy takes back through the Crossroads to avoid days in wagons or at sea goes as well as it possibly could, too, until the part where the path collapses.

(The cause of this collapse could be anything. A statue knocked in passing. The wrong stone tile stepped on at the wrong time. The last syllable of one Trade word and the first of the next forming a forgotten elven word that triggers a forgotten elven safeguard. There's room for no fewer than four people to be sure it's their fault.)

The pathway collapses, is the bottom line, and it drops them not into the endless twists of the Crossroads' mix-and-match gravity fields, but into one of the Crossroads' rivers. Sometimes these rivers end in waterfalls (or water-rises, depending on where you are). But this one, running through an ancient aqueduct tunnel that forces everyone entirely underwater, ends in an eluvian, forgotten and unlocked, blocked by debris but not so blocked that the sudden pressure of eight human bodies doesn't make the dam burst and deliver them through the mirror and into elsewhere.

II. ASEA

All of that happens quickly. The time they are underwater is brief. Thirty seconds, maybe, give or take the time it takes anyone particularly disoriented by suddenly being in deep open water to make their way (or be dragged) to the surface of the sea.

A sea. A warm one, fortunately, on a relatively calm and sunny day, as bright and cheerful a blue as a sea has ever been. Also fortunate: various pieces of debris, mostly ancient and apparently rot-proof wood, have emerged with them and floated to the surface. Several of these pieces of wood are large and flat enough to support a person or two on their own. Others are portions of logs, or scraps of ancient bookshelves and chairs, and one fully intact still-alive shrub.

That is about it for the good news. The bad news is that the eluvian is now unreachable, the current of water rushing out of it from the Crossroads making it impossible for even the strongest swimmer to go back the way they came. Additional bad news is that they are, again, in the middle of an unknown sea, and judging by the height of the sun, they have a good ten hours before they can attempt to use the stars to do anything. Also, someone might have lungs full of water, and someone else might have been struck by a log somewhere in this process, and—

It'll be fine.

III. ARAFT

At some point, somehow, using some people's genius engineering skills and long strips of some people's clothing, they have managed a raft. It is inarguably better than being in the water. (Is that a shark fin? It is a shark fin. But sharks are mostly harmless.) But it is not better than a lot of other things, such as, for example, being back in the Gallows. Especially considering it goes on for two days—two days during which they have to try to figure out water, something to eat, shelter from the skin-crisping sun, and what to do about the squall that suddenly swells up around them in the evening.

IV. ASHORE

The storm likely gets most of the credit for the fact that they do not have to stay on the raft. When the sky clears and the rain lifts enough for the island to be visible, it is already very close. The waves are rocking them steadily closer, but working out a way to row—or hopping into the water to propel the raft along with kicks, or swimming and leaving Laurent behind to die, whichever—will make it quicker.

The island is an uninhabited speck, easy to walk all the way around in an hour at most. No other islands, specks or otherwise, are visible in the distance from any side of its shore. It's too small to support any large animals, its foliage short and scrubby and grassy rather than tall or tropical. But there's fresh water! There is a cave, hidden in a hillside and awaiting discovery by whomever would like to save everyone else from having to built huts or tents. And there are rabbits who, in the absence of many natural predators (aside from a pair of eagles spotted overhead) and with an abundance of grass to eat, have done what rabbits do and become so numerous it would be hard not to catch one. Everything's coming up Team Castaways, unless/until someone tries some of the berries growing on the island (the rabbits are eating them too!) and discovers they're hallucinogenic.

Other than that, though. Huge improvement over the open water, not least because—

V. EPILOGUE

—being one static location for several days and nights makes it much simpler for them and their friends back in Kirkwall to pinpoint their location. In the end it is a combination of the constellations and the fact that the rabbits are of a particular Antivan domesticated breed, a beloved pair of which was famously set adrift in a lifeboat by their owner to save their lives when his ship was taken by pirates in the Northern Passage about five years ago, that allows Riftwatch to narrow the search radius enough for griffons to spot their campfire on a tiny island east of Par Vollen and get them out of there.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

I. Asea: LIE down

Gripping a piece of driftwood, with a generous rope of blood streaming from a wound on his scalp, Benedict is stunned (concussed?) into silence and looking about at his comrades with wild uncomprehension. What the fuck just happened? Are they dead? Are they dying?
He turns to the nearest person and tries to say something, but all that comes out is a little confused whimper.

II. Araft: TRY not to cry

It actually started when he panicked over the sight of a shark's fin, something Benedict recognized well enough from the warm waters of the Nocen Sea, but to which he's never been close enough for it to mean anything. His first instinct was, of course, to Mind Blast the shark (as anyone who has ever threatened him physically would know offhand), which propelled their makeshift raft a few feet or so with a lurch and a splash. The shark swam away, and now Benedict is sitting, legs drawn up to his chest, bare arms tucked around bare legs (his sleeves, robe, and lower trouser legs joined the construction effort), and stares at the ripples he just left. Maybe this is something. Is this something?
His face is still bleeding.

III. Ashore: CRY a lot

Never exactly the hopeful type, but at least thankful they've made it to land, Benedict foregoes excessive complaining long enough to try and build a fire. A signal fire? A cook fire? It's a fire, and that's a thing, isn't it? It has to be, because that's all he knows how to do.
Unfortunately, the rain has not made his job easy, and although he has constructed a serviceable pyre (taking way longer than a more outdoorsy person might, but shh), and he is fortunate enough to be able to light it with just his hands, the wood is too damp to catch.

So after all this, and with the notion fully in his mind that he might have endured exile and imprisonment and Marcoulf's weird mouth just to die badly dressed and dessicated on an ugly island, he has to struggle to stop himself from crying. He's failing.

I. Asea

So Peter’s now gotten to sea the Crossroads for himself after hearing about it, so he’ll count that as a win. Of course, to balance out that win, life throws him a curveball. Or several, really, in the fact that their path back collapses suddenly, sending them all down an underwater tunnel and into…the ocean? What Peter assumes is a ocean, at least.

He manages to surface from underwater relatively quickly, though he struggles with some of the clothes he wore for the mission; he’s not used to so much loose fabric, and it drags as he pushes his way above water. He manages to start to tread in place, glancing around to see if anyone else is nearby or if anyone else needs help.

Of course, Peter is preoccupied with trying to find others in the water, he doesn’t notice when a floating piece of log heads his way at a speed that’s impressively fast for its size, and his Peter Tingle seems to short out just as said log hits him square in the face.

He exclaims a mixture of curse words and utter nonsense as he finds himself back underwater, which is, of course, a mistake; he swallows water as he struggles back to the surface. He eventually manages to grab onto the log, which is fortunate, as he’s now dizzy and he thinks his nose might possibly be broken. He’s fairly certain he’s bleeding. Maybe he has a concussion? He’s conscious, at least.

II. Araft

In spite of his injuries, Peter works hard and volunteers part of his clothing to help create a makeshift raft. Keeping busy, he thinks, means he doesn’t have time to dwell on all the anxious thoughts popping up in his head like sea foam. Keeping busy means he can’t think too much about potential Wilsons when volleyballs don’t exist in Thedas. (He’s fairly sure.)

“Is that a shark fin out in the water or am I hallucinating?” He asks out loud at one point. Probably before a good chunk of the way into their second day at sea, in which Peter is burned like a lobster, definitely dehydrated, and possibly seeing things.

III. Ashore

The storm that catches them turns out to actually be kind of a blessing, considering it leads them to an island. A small island, yes, but an island nonetheless. Peter thinks he actually cries when they make it on land; he definitely flops down to hug that sweet, sweet solid ground.

He stays down on the ground for an amount of time that is probably concerning, but considering all they’ve endured so far at sea, he doesn’t give a damn at the moment.

As soon as he spots the berries, he does not hesitate; his growling stomach demands that he stuffs as many into his mouth as will fit.

Which is how Peter ends up “swinging” through the city of the island, scaring the rabbits and potentially injuring himself further in the process. He does the hand motions for his web shooters and everything.

Peter squints at Benedict as he floats closer to him on the log that hit him in the face. He is definitely bleeding, yes, he thinks. With determination, Peter aims his log and starts making his way to Benedict, wondering how much of his shirt he can part with to make a makeshift tourniquet.

"Hey!" He calls out, waving to get his attention. Never mind that his nose is possibly broken and he potentially has a concussion of his own. That wound on Benedict looks more horrible than Peter feels, and he worries about him bleeding out.

"Can I make a bandage for that?" He gestures wildly, pointing to Benedict's wound and the blood streaming from it.

This yields a bewildered stare as Benedict's thoughts meander through from wherever they were-- he doesn't remember-- to the person in front of him, who he recalls is not Matthias even though he strongly resembles Matthias, but this means he owes him a level of formality that he no longer owes Matthias.

He thinks for far too long about his answer, then simply replies with an uncertain, "can you?" because he doesn't know. But he'd welcome it, he thinks.

He looks confused, and Peter can't blame him. This entire...well, adventure, he supposes, is confusing, especially after they all fell out into the sea from the Crossroads. Peter nods in response as the man acquiesces to him making a bandage. They might be stranded and he assumes there's a fair share of various injuries to go around, but Peter is determined to be useful and to help out where and when he can.

He reaches for the end of his right sleeve, and pulls. He's grateful, in this moment, for his strength; he doesn't have to resort to using his teeth to tear at the fabric. He pulls apart what he hopes is a good size length of fabric to make use of as a bandage before turning back to the man.

"Do you want me to apply it or would you rather do it yourself?"

He doesn't want to assume, after all.

Victor, even before his first death (it's a whole thing, just go with it), he was never very good with emotions. At least not the soft or brittle ones. That only became worse when he became an EO, where he found his own capacity for emotions levelled out even further, making empathy all the more difficult to access.

That, and he doesn't care to put in the energy for it.

So unfortunately for Benny-boy here, who is taking the whole thing very hard, Victor takes one look at him in his sad, bedraggled, water-wounded, slumping state, and draws in a deep through his nose (hitching on salt-infused airways. gross.) and sighs hard through his mouth in the most put-upon manner he can muster.

"It could be worse. You could be a shark who got magic'd in the face when you're just trying to pick up lunch."

After a second or two processing delay, the nature of the question startles Jayce out of his sunbaked drowsiness. Drawing his legs beneath him, he kneels on hands and knees to cautiously peer along the water's edge. The seconds tick on by with no sign of a fin.

Face scrunching, he says, "It's probably the dehydra--"

An unintelligible, gargled noise of shock, horror and dismay from Jayce's own parched throat kills his sentence. He leans back slowly, warring with his lizard brain urging him to hurry and back the fuck up.

"It's not the dehydration." But yes, his voice is a little higher.

Peter's about to let out a sigh of relief that it's just him hallucinating the shark fin, when the other man lets out that noise that confirms to him that, no, that shark fin is definitely real and they should all probably definitely try and find their way to shore and/or higher ground as soon as possible.

"I didn't realize they had sharks here," Peter says, his own voice cracked and varying in pitch. He glances back at the shark fin, and glances back in the opposite direction.

"Think we'll be lucky enough to find like, an actual boat or an island, or should we start praying?"

Agitated, Jayce swallows and immediately regrets it; his throat somehow feels like tar and sandpaper at the same time. "Do you have any to spare?"

Luck or the favor of whatever deity Peter has in mind, he means.

"Luck? Not really. Especially not recently," Peter replies wryly, still searching to see if he can find some sort of sign of land. Or a boat. Or any sudden, last minute miracle to get them out of this cursed ocean. "You can have my last prayers though."

Unable to find anything in the near distance, Peter curses under his breath. Then he turns back to his companion.

"Did you get hurt when we all got dumped here? Can I help?"

If he keeps busy and keeps helping to the best of his abilities, Peter won't have time to give into the panic slowly rising up his chest like bad indigestion. A flawless plan, he thinks.

i. asea
Victor might be a lanky bastard, but a swimmer's body he does not have. He's also been a land-locked American enough of his life that, sure, he knows how to swim in the most basic sense, but does that mean he's done it much at all since first grade? Has he fuck. He's the sort of person who, if dragged to the beach, would have sat in the shadiest corner available and scowled at the world while despising the heat, the sea air, the salt, and everything else involved.

Bursting up from the water is a very far cry from being a sullen, pale pre-teen at the beach though and somewhere in the mix of spluttering and grasping blindly for something solid there's probably some kind of irony at play if this is his next near-death experience.

Like, come on. Drowning? That's so not his thing.

ii. araft
It's not like Victor is expressly a chatterbox, though he isn't usually as still and quiet as he is while clinging to the debris they've all found themselves on.

His mind is still sloshing around with the waves, not catatonic exactly, but certainly a bit soupy. Coupled with feeling like his insides are coated with salt, it's just not Victor's favourite day.

But unlike most, he can turn down the discomfort for himself considerably, so when he remembers to do that he can still feel the way his breathing rattles, just not feel the burning sensation that comes with it.

And this allows Victor to expand his spacial awareness enough to look around at the surrounding faces and allowing them to come into focus. Some, he just looks at with an unambiguous lack of familiarity. Others, he's seen in passing, but likely avoided in and out of Research. Some, he knows through dubiously intimate and kinda weird means (this could honestly mean so many things). And for one in particular (that fucker knows who he is), Victor takes one look at and says, quite bluntly, "Don't even think about it."

iii. ashore
Somewhere along the line, Victor lost a shoe. For a while, he sort of tries to ignore it causing him a kind of lop-sided gait until the annoyance at the whole thing takes over and he sends the remaining boot hurtling over the sand with a swift kick of his leg. He's not going to be joining any sports clubs anytime soon, but the spirit is there. The spirit of fuck this.

Victor does not, however, embellish that kick with any actual shrieking, though it's written on his face and body that this is fucking bullshit. He did not survive Wrighton Federal Penitentiary, death, Merit, Eli (multiple times), death again, Marcella, EON, Haverty, two metahuman in different universes and a human-meta war, to die on a god forsaken beach.

After a few long, deep breaths that shake his shoulders, Victor turns sharply to face whatever poor bastard is trying to approach him.

"Can you swim?"

If the answer is yes (inferred or directly spoken) he immediately says, "Good. We're going fishing."

If the answer is any kind of equivocation then he rolls his eyes and says, "Fine. Then I hope you like rabbit, because we're going to grab a bunch of them."

iv. asshole
[wildcard time! Something else while stranded? Rescue time? Hit me with your best shot!]

Oh, Eli absolutely knows. And he would certainly prefer to stay away from Victor. (This is a lie, and not a particularly good one.) But as luck, or fate, or whatever, would have it, they're stuck in close proximity.

Eli kicks his way up onto the broken piece of debris. It's big enough for two, maybe two and a half people, bigger than one person — even someone Eli's size — can take up all of. At the moment, he's hardly even trying to, more focused on not fucking drowning. Sure, he can heal himself, but he can also choke on water for awhile. For a good while, apparently, since his healing factor is so slow to repair damage. He's not even sure how to tell what is damaged when everything is so hideously wet.

"You have no idea what I'm thinking about," he tells Victor, narrowing his eyes. Nonsense; Victor could probably guess, couldn't he?

Up to now, Eli has presented such a nice facade to everyone else. But Victor Vale still rubs him a certain way. It's hard to keep up that pretence now. He'd much rather just kick Victor off, or shove him back into the water and watch him struggle, choke, leave him there until he floats back up lifeless. An accident, isn't it?

But fuck, if someone sees that, Eli probably can't lie his way out of it and it could be a pain in the ass. Murdering Victor here will take more stealth than that.

Instead, he does the worst thing he can think of. He offers a hand to Victor, a hand and a smile. He knows Victor has always hated that smile, how fake it is, the mask he wore for other people that Victor was always trying to get him to take off. They're years beyond that now, and this is a different game with different rules. If he can't kill Victor, he can at least piss him off, right?

Maybe enough to kill him and claim self-defence. That would work too.

Especially not recently earns a lopsided shrug of sympathy, followed by a near-mute bark of a laugh. "Think I kinked my neck during that sudden rush--"

--and suddenly quiets, staring with a newfound intensity at Peter, like he might just be the goddamn godsend after all.

"Are you a healer? Like, a magic one?"

That newfound intensity is, in its way, alarming, familiar, and reassuring; Peter can recall several citizens looking at him similarly while he was under the mask of Spider-Man back home, trying to do good and help the little guy. Now, he feels incredibly guilty for the fact that he's about to deflate this guy's hope.

"I'm not a healer and I don't have magic, but I can do some basics," Peter says, trying not to wince at how much of a downgrade his offer sounds like.

"And I can try and find a healer," he adds, glancing around and trying to get a view of the others stuck in the ocean.

The potential of water is one that has often crossed Victor's mind as a method of dealing with Eli. Maybe involving chains and weights. Sure, it would be more like a watery prison than a complete solution, but it's certainly a thought. Honestly, potential methods of dealing with someone who can heal like Eli can starts to feel downright cartoonish after a while.

An especially aggressive wave juts against Victor, sending him rolling back in the water with a curse choked out beneath the water before he comes scrambling back up again, limbs heavy from clothing not made for swimming and exhaustion borne of limbs unaccustomed to moving in water.

It's as he's coming back around that he sees what feels like more salt in a wound than from the ocean surrounding them--Eli's dumb college photoshoot smile and his hand outstretched.

There's a risk in taking anything from Eli, even something as simple as a grasp. That outward reach could turn into many things--a broken wrist for Victor, a second hand at his throat, a cold death from being held inches beneath the waves. Sure, Eli might typically want to be seen as the shining hero, but how strongly would that measure up against the opportunity to just end Victor there and then.

Ugh. In the context of being stranded in the middle of the sea, trying to play survivalist chess just feels kind of exhausting in Victor's mind as he gives out a growling sigh (mostly eaten by the sounds of the waves) and reaches out for Eli in turn to hoist himself up onto the wood alongside him.

Yeah, yeah, congratuations, Cardale--Victor is thoroughly irritated by the whole thing. And bedraggled.

"Shame your god doesn't do repeat performances or go on tour--a parting of the sea would go down a real treat right about now."

Eli's smile twists just a little as he pulls Victor onto the broken piece of wood. Is this victory? Not especially, but he knows that he's grating on Victor just by doing it. He's petty enough that it counts as a win. Now they can be miserable as hell together. He has no idea which one of them will crack first and shove the other back into the water, but he still has no idea that Victor has done a dance he hasn't. Eli's burning desire to kill Victor might be stronger than Victor's desire to kill him.

"God abandoned us here, Victor," Eli says, tone serious. Does he believe that? Well, it's not like he's saying it for Victor's sake. He knows Victor doesn't believe in god. Eli still does. He can't do anything else, even here in this strange land with magic and monsters.

God doesn't talk to him. But neither does Victor. It does feel like abandonment; for once something he says is true. Gross.

He squeezes water out of a sleeve, uselessly, for want of something else to do.

"Shame you can't turn off the cold," he says back, venomous because he's Eli. Not that Victor would do him any favours. He wouldn't ask him to. He just can't leave off on something too honest, too close to a real feeling.

There is a lot Victor has not said to Eli. Skills he's learnt and not shown him, experiences he's had, further confirmations that Eli's desire to cling to dogma like a safety blanket only hinders him rather than helps him.

There is a version of Eli's face that Victor can see in his minds-eye that he could share parts of these thoughts with, and even then not all of them. It was only at a final hour he showed Eli he could grasp hold of nerves, never told him about the glittering blue vials he had stashed in a pocket, never fully shared some of the things Victor had lived since long leaving their world behind.

Maybe god hadn't abandoned them there, but Victor has certainly felt something lost along the way. Truthfully though, loss is perhaps the most intimate and consistent thing he and Eli share irrespective of everything else.

It remains hard to look Eli in the face, but not for the reasons the other EO might suspect, and precisely because it's difficult to look at him, Victor forces his gaze to stay firmly in place as he snorts unkindly.

"You could always trade Him in for the Maker. It's all pretty much the same thing in the end. You can even join a new book club here!"

It's all fairly low-hanging fruit, but they're both as petty as the other.

As if to test out his response, Benedict shifts his weight on the driftwood and promptly splashes himself in the face. Preferring instead to not have that happen again, he nods mutely and cranes his neck forward, indicating that Peter should feel free to put it on him.

Startled from his moping, Benedict glances over his shoulder to see who dares address him so-- and it's That Guy, which normally wouldn't be a problem, but he's not sure he's up for any manner of verbal spar just now.

"I'm sure the shark's fine," he mumbles, snapping his fingers several times to create a spark, and holding the flame fruitlessly to the wood, when he abruptly remembers something.
"When you take away a person's fear of pain," he recites with an air of uncertainty, cutting his eyes to his companion, "you take away their fear of death. And then they're immortal."

On loss, they would agree. Loss of something intangible they had, inside of themselves, inside of each other. Though Eli is not always sure he ever had the thing he thinks he lost when he came back (a soul, unbroken), there was still something always missing in the after. How many things is Victor missing now, after and after and after? Too many to be allowed to live, he thinks, holding on to that as if that's the answer that matters.

But he still pulled Victor out of the water. He can tell himself it's about keeping up appearances, but it's always more complex than that. The ocean taking Victor from him is unsatisfying. No one should get to kill Victor but him, not even god or this Maker.

His smile finally fades.

"It's not the same thing," he says, icy. It's a nerve and he knows Victor knew it would be, but he can't pretend otherwise.

He blinks, looks away, slides whatever mask he thinks makes sense back onto his face. No one is watching them, so it doesn't matter. He doesn't have one he wears for Victor other than to grate; Victor has never been a good enough mirror for that. But he has practise being whatever it is he's decided he's going to be this week, even if all that amounts to right now is not a drowned man. The others are off trying not to drown too.

One of the worse parts of Eli (as if there were better parts) imagines them all floating around them, dead, leaving only he and Victor alive in an ocean of bodies. Wouldn't that be fucking fitting? The only two people who can't seem to just stay dead, piling up more corpses even when they didn't do it on purpose.

He lets that go and reaches for another piece of wood that floats by, hauling it up and dropping it between them. He waits for another. As far as he knows, he can just exist here, undying but miserable, forever. Victor can't. These other people can't. If the Rifters stage a rescue and Eli is the only one who lives, that will look suspicious, which means…he has to help, somehow. What an annoying thing that is.

He knows not to look away from Victor for that long, though, so he looks back to check before reaching for another uneven piece of wood.

I. ASEA

Eli is a good swimmer, because he's good at most athletic pursuits, skills acquired during his years of doing the best he could to convince other people he was a normal human being. It's not his strongest sport; trying to hide his scars made swimming contentious. But even if he weren't a strong swimmer, he's just hard to kill. His lungs will reject water — slower here in Thedas, but still — and he won't drown. He only swallows a little anyway so he doesn't have to worry about the toll of it, the cost of his healing factor. It's just really fucking annoying.

It's also really fucking annoying that he has to continue his cultivated I'm a good person routine out here in the ocean. The whole time he's been here, he's been helpful, outgoing, gregarious. It's all utter bullshit but he's so good at it, almost seamless unless you really know what to look for. Most people who aren't Victor Vale don't. And out here in the panic it won't matter too much anyway. There are more important things to worry about.

Even bedraggled and annoyed, Eli is pretty strong. He's not superhuman, just a regular level jock type, but strong, high stamina, whatever. He'll grab on to some floating piece of debris with one arm and reach for someone in need of assistance with another. His smile is all golden boy charm. You can trust him! Really! At least today. For now. Probably.

"I got you. Hold on to this. You won't go under."

He'll stay as long as he needs to, just to make sure.

II. ARAFT

Handwave assuming that Eli helped build the raft (also feel free to assume introductions happened here if you like). Afterwards, there's not much to do but sit here and wait, right?

"I've heard that if you punch a shark in the nose, it will leave you alone," he says, glancing at someone looking nervous about that fin out there. It's playful; there's a smile involved. How he reacts next is utterly dependent on the response he gets, but no one needs to know that.

The storm comes, because of fucking course it does. Back to having to play nicer than he feels like playing. The winds are strong, but Eli is fairly solid, offering an arm or catching someone before they can roll off in a strong wind.

"Careful. If you fall now, we might not find you until it's too late."

He doesn't actually care, of course, but he'll make a show of it.

III. ASHORE

Eli was definitely team "row to shore," same as he used some debris when he was stuck with just Victor to row them along. Once again, feel free to hand wave that there was an introduction during that process, or once they finally made land.

Afterwards:

He is extremely not squeamish, so he'll be preparing rabbits and/or fish to cook. The cooking part isn't so much his forte, so please take over that duty. He'll even offer an apologetic look about it! [ note: no graphic animal death talk in threads, please. ]

One night, he sits outside the cave for a little bit in the dead of night, looking up at the stars. He doesn't really need to sleep, though he can again. It's not his favourite experience, in fact, so he avoids it. This is a habit back at the Gallows, too, so this "insomnia" might be something your character has noticed about him. Either way, find him here awake.

IV. ADRIFT

[ the wildcard prompt! If you want something else, toss me a starter. If you want to plot or need something more tailored, hmu at boywonder o7 ]

Peter nods as the other man cranes his neck forward, moving to get closer to him so as to be able to apply the bandage.

"Let me know if I wrap this too tight," he says, leaning forward and beginning the process of applying the makeshift bandage. He moves slowly and carefully, not wanting to injure him further.

Peter's been trying to keep busy, swimming over to people who look like they might need help and trying to offer what assistance he can. He's managed to patch himself up a bit as well, though his shirt is bearing the brunt of that particularly responsibility, given that his right sleeve is several inches shorter than it was prior to this whole adventure. He likes to think that, with all the fabric wrapped around his face, particularly his nose, he looks like a pirate.

When he hears someone else talking to him, Peter turns. He smiles at the offer of help.

"Appreciate it, but I think I'm good!" He says, gesturing to the same log he's been clinging to for the past...God, has it been hours now? Or just minutes?

"Are you okay, though? Do you need help?"

It elicits a wince when the wound is touched, but Benedict is dazed and upset enough that even a little bit of care being given to him is a comfort.

"It's fine," he mumbles, letting Peter do his work, and waiting until after the bandage is on to speak again.

"What the fuck just happened."

"Fuck you," comes the frantic reply, despite the ostensible kindness of the observation-- Benedict is sensible enough to know that if he falls overboard, the search party who care to look for him will be vastly outnumbered by those who don't give a shit. Maybe just Bastien.

"I hate this," he helpfully observes as the raft pitches again, and grips the edge of it with white knuckles, "fuck. I hate this." He's rewarded with a burst of water to the face.

Peter pulls back as he finishes, hoping that the bandage will stay in place. He likes to think his time as Spider-Man and patching himself up means his first aid skills aren't entirely lacking.

"I think life just kicked us all in the face," he says, shaking his head and then immediately regretting doing so at the sudden, sharp pain in his nose. He winces but manages to compose himself. "And then laughed at us along the way."

"But in a more literal sense," he continues, "I think...we just fell into the ocean from the Crossroads."

Eli affects a look of concern seeing Peter all wrapped up in…whatever is going on there. Injury, maybe? Eli hasn't gotten injured himself, though if he had he wouldn't be worried about it. Slower to heal is annoying as shit but he still heals. Someday this will probably be more than annoying as shit but today he's just wet and a little scraped up.

But Peter smiles, so he smiles back. Peter seems young, but probably not too much younger than Eli looks. He got used to dealing with college age kids for a decade, pretending to be one of them because he didn't age and it got him what he needed at the time. He's not outright lying about his age or anything here, but if there's some misconception that they're peers, how is that Eli's fault?

"As long as you're sure," he says, still concerned because that's what this situation should call for, especially with younger people. Everyone is always so worried about people they think are young.

He has his own ripped up piece of wood. The clothing here is heavy, which makes some of this treading water business more tiring than it has any business being, he'll admit that.

"I'm managing," he says, which is an understatement. "Hell of an unplanned trip, huh?"

Eli takes that fuck you in stride. This is a pretty shitty situation all around, after all. It's not like he wants to be here either. At least he's got some space between him and Victor now, though they might all still tip into the ocean and drown. Or in Eli's case, just…suffer endlessly, if he can't actually drown. That's worse, in fact! He would also like to avoid that.

Eli turns his head in time to avoid actually swallowing any of the water that crashes against them, but it's still unpleasant.

"You and me both," he answers, also holding on to the edge of the raft. "Surely even out here there must be some land we can wash up on."

Though he doesn't say what he's thinking. In this weird place full of magic, maybe that Eluvian just took them somewhere else strange, where there is no land to be had. Then what? He has no idea.

He receives a grunt of acknowledgment, but Benedict is clearly less of a 'joke through the pain' type. He prefers to suffer, thank you.

"Fuck," he exclaims, "I didn't see what happened to the Eluvian." There's an edge of panic to the words; hopefully this doesn't mean the Eluvian is gone?

"We don't even know where out here is," Benedict miserably observes, "we could--" (another wave to the face, causing him to stop and sputter and toss his hair to clear it from his eyes,) "--wash up on Seheron, or Par Vollen, and then we're truly fucked."

"Oh," he says, visibly deflating as Peter had anticipated, though not, perhaps, for the reason he might think. "Don't worry about it." Then, his shoulders shake with a noiseless chuckle; he waves his hand before clasping it over the leather cuff around his opposite wrist. Try and find a healer -- here!

"Wasn't asking for me, but I guess that could change at any moment." This wry statement is accompanied by a cant of his head toward the ocean -- specifically, toward the possibility of interaction with a shark.

Peter nods, managing a self-deprecating smile. "I think I got off easy, considering we fell through into the ocean." And Peter wonders if there are any side effects from falling out of the Crossroads the way they did, and if he should be worried about when those effects might set in. Like indigestion. Or motion sickness. Or worse. Probably better to try and not dwell on those super fun possibilities just yet.

"Yeah, quite the detour we took," he replies wryly. "Hopefully we'll be able to find land soon. Or like, at least a boat."

Peter's starting to get thirsty, and tired; he knows better than to drink the water he's currently swimming in, but at this rate, he's fighting against his lesser instincts in order to avoid making that mistake. He already swallowed enough of the stuff when they all first fell into the sea in the first place.

"I'm Peter by the way," he says, figuring he should introduce himself at least. "At least it's not boring?"

Still trying to find the bright side.

"The Eluvian? Was that the..." Peter scrunches up his face, including his nose, as he thinks, which is a mistake, but it's fine. He's had worse. "The mirror?"

He feels bad, hearing the edge of panic in the other man's voice. "Would it have fallen through with us, maybe?"

Which means it might be floating around somewhere, or, probably more likely, he thinks, it's at the bottom of this particular sea.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm definitely worried," Peter tries making a joke, tries glossing over the situation that they're currently in to make it seem not as entirely bad as it currently is. And, yeah, trying to find a healer out here in the middle of the ocean...even Peter's optimism can't really explain that particular hope.

As he gestures with his head towards the ocean, Peter suddenly has a new fear. "So like, are the sharks here, uh. Are they different? Or are they just sharks?"

He's thinking of sharks with bigger teeth, and maybe sharks that now also shoot out venom.

"I hope they're just sharks." His nose wrinkles. "If they... If they weren't, wouldn't they have done something by now? Like the seamonster attacks..."

This reasoning is not entirely logical, but he is also dehydrated, hungry, sunburnt and tired -- a very different sort of exhaustion than sleep deprivation secondary to enthusiastic nerding.

"I mean, I would hope so," Peter says, which really isn't helpful, but he's trying to cling to that shard of optimism, that shard that is no bigger than the sliver of green in his hand. "I think it's likely that there would be more information on monster sharks available and I haven't seen any in the library, so there's hope, I think."

Of course, Peter's only really browsed through the library in the Gallows; his focus of study has primarily been the history of Thedas to help establish himself here.

Peter thinks for a moment before an idea takes shape in his thoughts. "Hey, you know, if we find enough debris floating around, we might be able to make some kind of raft or boat."

"Worse than dying from lack of water, you think?" Eli asks, also failing to dodge another spray of it. He's not actually worried about dying on this raft, but these other places…he's been through torture and would really prefer not to do that again. He knows only a little about Seheron and Par Vollen, enough to know they sure as hell don't want to wind up there, but there's only so much information a person can absorb in three months.

"You and me both," Eli says, though his reasoning is a little skewed. He doesn't want people to know about his healing factor if he can help it; even slowed down and strange, it still works. He's much more comfortable if people just think he's a regular person.

Having to deal with things like thirst again are inconvenient, but whatever.

"Eli," he says with a smile. "You're right about that. And here I was beginning to think nothing exciting would happen outside of monsters existing."

Eli's sense of humour isn't very good at the best of times, but he's excellent at playing off of others. Peter's trying to stay light and maybe optimistic about this situation? Sure, he can work with that.

Peter laughs. Hey, if he has to be stranded in the ocean, at least he isn't alone. And at least he has someone to talk to, someone who seems nice.

"Well, whatever caused us to fall through the Crossroads clearly took that personally," he says, still joking.

He'd been so eager to see the Crossroads, ever since he first heard about them. It seems fitting that his first venture to the Crossroads ended up with him and his group dumped into the ocean.

"Nice to meet you, Eli," he continues. "In spite of the circumstances."

"Fuck," Bene exclaims, realizing what that would mean for anyone trying to walk into it from the other end, "...I hope not."

He floats there for a moment, lips pursed, glancing about and trying not to panic when he sees nothing on the horizon.

"We might die," he observes, working hard to keep the quaver out of his voice.

Sitting hunched and drenched and miserable, Benedict's eyes go distant as he considers the question. Would being captured by Qunari be worse than fatal dehydration?
After a long pause, he concludes: "yes."

Oh no, Peter thinks as the other man curses. Did he just bring up a terrible possibility? He hopes not, but, then again, this entire situation seems to redefine the concept of 'terrible.' Surely things can only go up from here? (He hopes.)

And there is that, Peter realizes. They all could definitely die. But dwelling on possibly dying isn't going to help right now. Peter frowns, glancing around. There's bits and pieces of debris floating around them, and he wonders if they might make use of said debris.

"Well, if we can't find land just yet, do you think we might be able to like, make a makeshift raft, or something?" Peter suggests. "Even if it's just a bunch of logs tied together. There has to be something we can do."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

player plot | castaways!

Benedict OTA

Peter Parker | OTA

I.

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Victor Vale ☠ OTA

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Eli Ever | ota

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II. (storm)

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BABY SPIDER you deserve so much better than Eli's attention :')))

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Just more of his Parker Luck coming into play!

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arises, reborn

I'm alive again!!

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