TDM // #1

[oblivium]

TEST DRIVING MEME #1

REBIRTH ALWAYS FOLLOWS DEATH

---

You died. Sort of. You float, sort of, blissfully unaware in a snug cocoon as both your Self and the world beyond slowly align. You're you still, you think, a hazy awareness as your eyes flutter open, and you see... nothing. A viscous substance blurs your vision, faint thrills of panic coiling around your lungs, swelling in your throat; wrapped in an ectoplasmic sheath, you're disoriented at best, frantically wondering where you are and how you wound up here. Whatever here is. Everything’s fuzzy, perception is limited, movement is restricted... and then it dawns on you, glacial down your spine, the nagging certainty that wherever you were before, you no longer exist there.

You're trapped. Your once cozy cocoon quickly becomes your prison, and an overwhelming sense of dread incites you to escape. On your own, you'll tire rapidly, weak still, unadjusted to the Netherworld's configuration. Scream loud enough and someone might come to your aid, though the process will leave you weaker still; as a new Restless, you go from the semi-sensory deprivation of the Shroud into your new existence without warning or preparation, spilling out of your protective husk breathless, confused, and naked. You're free, but at what cost.

Blink. Breathe. Find your footing. When your eyes get used to the twilight-hued ambience, you'll immediately see more Shrouds, everywhere and ripped apart like a vast nest of broken cauls. Through the emerald fog surrounding you, doors. An endless cluster of them, no frames, no jambs. Your name is carved on one of them, and you don't know how or why you know this, but you do. You'll find yourself inherently drawn to yours: maybe it's a pull, a hum, a light, a quiet sound in the static. Instinctively, you know it's safe, and you know that whatever you'll find within, calling out to you, you ought to protect... but before you run and cross the threshold, your focus wanes, and you catch something in the periphery of your vision...

► I. REAP WHAT YOU SOW

a. A CLOAKED FIGURE STANDS BEFORE YOU, EERILY QUIET. It only stares, faceless, towering well over you as you struggle to find your balance on your weakened feet, the air you breathe in scorching your throat. Your senses are annoyingly muddled, and it's enough of a distraction, perhaps, to overlook your state of undress. And then it finally speaks. The Reaper. It's surprisingly polite, its voice a melodious string of low hissing notes as it calmly explains what and where you are; a Restless, citizen of the Netherworld. You were reborn here for reasons unknown, another soul among thousands with seemingly unfinished business, cursed or blessed to roam a world slowly devoured by an entropic force. Hell? Perhaps, if it suits your beliefs, though some do thrive here, and keeping Oblivium at bay is a collective effort.

Around you, others like you break out of their Shrouds, and some walk the land fully dressed, with an ease that unequivocally evokes the passage of time. They've been here for a while, and it shows. You might catch bits of conversations here and there, learn more about your new home and new purpose from eavesdropping. The Reaper that's helped you out of your cocoon is, unfortunately, a poor conversationalist, though it does point its rawboned finger towards the stormy horizon, speaking of an immense city in the far distance that shelters thousands of Restless and offers essential supplies for all. Stygia. It doesn't stay much longer: without preamble, the Reaper vanishes into a plume of indigo smoke, essentially leaving you to fend for yourself. This is your chance to reach and cross the threshold of your very own door, find some clothes, your Tethers, and a device that'll enable you to reach out to anyone willing to listen. Others like you might have answers on the Netherwork-- chattier Reapers, even. Just watch out. The moons above glisten crimson, and Badaliscus roam in especially high numbers across the Shadowlands, aggressive and carriers of plague-like diseases. If you wander, do mind the giant split in the earth as well, surrounded by blackened soil. You can't miss it, strange, guttural noises coming from its depths. A fall into a drop that steep would be deadly, as no light or hope shines at the bottom of the chasm... though l'appel du vide is nearly unbearable. Does it whisper your name?

THINGS YOU MIGHT HEAR OR OBSERVE
► some compare this place to a purgatory
► an old sage has apparently found a "stairway to heaven"
► another restless' acquaintance has recently lost their battle against their shadow and nearly killed them -- probably because they didn't have a soulmate. they now dwell in the labyrinth with other monstrosities
► some restless can be spotted laughing hysterically, or arguing with themselves
► objects never last unless reforged with a soul's essence
► the hierarchy used to send a welcome party for new arrivals but now seem reluctant to leave stygia -- maybe because new arrivals are now a daily thing, sometimes hourly
► no one seems to know what reapers truly are
► ferrymen never speak

THINGS YOU MIGHT STUMBLE UPON
► small fumaroles that emit occasional bursts of molten lava and splatter anyone nearby
► ragged open pits in the ground that spout boiling water and steam at irregular intervals
► six bones arranged in a hexagon on the ground. they appear to have been gnawed upon and bear teeth marks
► scattered rubies; if touched, they'll start shouting and demand that you "unhand them at once, varlet!!", which may attract funny looks or undesired attention
► withered trees, grass, deserted campfires, various debris, bloated corpses, and fog
► mirrors that reflect the back of the person that looks into them
► a mausoleum. the structure appears perfectly normal at first, but examination reveals that there are no doors to allow entry or exit

if you choose to address the netherwork directly as one of your prompts, reapers or any other npc might reply to you. otherwise, feel free to speculate with other characters!
additionally, if you wind up poisoned or injured by a badaliscus, the occasional scaleberry can sometimes be found in the shadowlands, often rotten and scattered around withered trees. you'll find this kind of information in your smartphone's database, but anyone with healing abilities could also come to your aid: just remember that magic in the netherworld is unpredictable.
lastly, if l'appel du vide is too strong for you to resist, and if no one is able to keep you from falling to your death, a reaper will eventually give you a hand, immediately poofing out of existence afterwards.

b. NOT ALL REAPERS ARE AMICABLE. The same cloaked figure unceremoniously yanks you out of your Shroud, a mouthful of mud and ashes as you brutally land on the ground. You feel everything all at once: the acute pain of your rebirth, the pull of your Tethers, the cacophony around you, and the dull voice in the back of your mind. You breathe, and then you don't, shackles around your neck, your wrists, the gravelly soil grazing your skin raw and bloody as you're pulled by your feet. Your screams remain unanswered, though it might catch the attention of a passerby, should they be brave enough to face your tormentor. Now would be a good time to resort to any skill you might have to free yourself, past your confusion and growing agony, lest you be carried to the Forges. It's the only thing it mentions, laughing unhinged as you approach the shores, where a brittle ship awaits you. The good news is that Reapers loathe water: splash it or try to push it overboard, a distraction that should allow you to strike in some way. The bad news is that the Tempest isn't kind to anyone, especially you, and you're sort of shackled. Rest assured that it'll fight back, tooth and claw, a scythe at its disposal as well as blood-curdling shrieks that might deafen or temporarily paralyze you. Scream for help if you've yet to get any: someone is bound to hear.

► II. OF SOULS & SHADOWS

a. WHETHER YOU'VE FAILED TO FREE YOURSELF OR MANAGED TO BOARD A FRIENDLIER SHIP, you won't escape the storm, a tempest within a tempest.

Grey clouds boil across the sky in a bruise-colored wall, forked lightning and thunder booming overhead. The clouds open, a black and green funnel growing down towards you. As it swirls closer, you see faces, staring out from within and screaming. Gale force winds whip the sails of your ship, debris flying through the air: glass, wood, metal. The ship sways, and you sway with it, the groans of your vessel as it's tossed about in rough waters almost deafening. It's terrifying. If you were being transported to the Forges, the Reaper quickly abandons you, leaving you to your demise. If you were lucky enough to board a safer ship, pay attention. You're holding on for dear unlife as sheets of rain slap against your face, blown off-balance by heavy gusts of wind, but you see them in the raging waves, Restless just like you, shackled and helpless in the storm. You have a choice, your first dilemma: focus your energies on saving yourself and anyone else aboard your ship, or take the wheel and navigate through the winds, screams and flotsam in order to try and rescue them. Coils of rope are available, tarps, barrels and buckets.

b. WHATEVER YOU CHOOSE OR WHEREVER YOU ARE, your Shadow might take this very ill-timed opportunity to make itself known -- if it hasn't already. You're scared, torn, tired, and maybe a little hysterical -- it knows. It's in your head. Literally. It's you, and it's not, a growing onslaught of inappropriate thoughts, impulsive and intrusive as it makes an attempt to figure you and itself out. It's never been sentient before, perhaps even unsure of its purpose for a time. And then, as you struggle against the storm, it speaks:

Enjoying your first taste of sea-salt horrors? You can feel it, can't you. The pull. It's eating at you, subtly, but it's there. You can’t run. You can’t get away from me either, because I’m you, and I’m just as much a part of you as all the noble ideals you hold. All the awful thoughts you ever entertained, all the things you were ashamed of or couldn't bring yourself to say, and all the lies you told... that’s what I am, and you can’t make me go away. You can’t outlive me. I’m going to remind you of all the terrible things you did or wanted to do, and I’m going to get you to do more of them, because you’re still you and you still have all those nasty little urges floating around. Only now I’m here to highlight the opportunities you have to indulge. Don't be shy. If you won't speak your mind, I'll do it for you. If you ever considered redemption, think again. Fight me or silence me if you wish, it doesn't matter. Even if you succeed. I may go dormant for a while, but I'll always come back stronger. I'm your Shadow, and Oblivium awaits us.

Deaded things slam into you, spat out of the tornado. The sight snaps you out of your daze, but you don't have time to ponder whether this eerie interlude was real. It won't speak again, never directly. You'll know it's there, viscerally, as your Self and Shadow struggle to come to grips with this new antagonistic yet symbiotic relationship. If you've never been kind to yourself before, learn how to, because it won't be.

Luckily, this whole ordeal may have left somewhat of a positive mark on you: Sparks. Two of them. It's a light buzz in the back of your mind, a tickle beneath your skin as nether magic courses through your veins, an inherent part of you now. The knowledge of what is happening to you is abstract at best, but it's there, and if necessary, you'll know how to use your newfound abilities:

a. Teleportation, allowing you to vanish into thin air and relocate anywhere you wish, the same way a Reaper would. Usable 4 times.
b. Mind-reading, albeit a bit murky. Think of it as a weak signal reception. Pry some information about the Netherworld out of an NPC's mind, or try to find out what a friend think of you. Lasts 12 hours.

► III. THE ETERNAL CITY

IF YOU'VE ELECTED TO REACH STYGIA INSTEAD OF MATERIALIZING BACK INTO YOUR HOME IN THE SHADOWLANDS, you'll be welcomed by fishermen in the Harbors, and most of them seem... well, a little annoyed, honestly. Additional mouths to feed, and all that. Stygia has been at max capacity for decades, and resources aren't always easily obtained. But they were like you, once -- freshly undead, overwhelmed -- and if they sigh and glower as you pass by, quick to dismiss you, you'll soon be guided towards what seems to be a Notice Board, a map of Stygia pinned just below. Make yourself useful, you're told. If you hope to survive here, better start by earning your keep!

If you're injured, you're out of luck. Hale is currently off-limits -- a collapse, apparently -- but poultices can be found in the Marketplace, bandages, etc. The only problem is... you have no coin, and not much to barter with. Pick a job from the Notice Board if you're willing, or find shelter in Serene: most people there will welcome you into their homes, so long as you don't overstay said welcome. Alternatively, if you ask around, a fellow Restless might be able to help you. Steal if you wish, though be warned that there might be consequences.

Meanwhile, if the thought of returning to the Shadowlands is a little overwhelming for now, you will come across empty buildings and houses all over Stygia, most of them in varying states of repair. They're yours for the taking, if you don't mind cob-webs or shattered windows, but all you have is time now, and a little renovation can go a long way!

As you explore your new environment, you might start experiencing odd and subtle changes...

---

ooc note

► Welcome to Nightfell's very first TDM! All threads can be considered game canon and may be used as samples if you choose to apply.
► Check out the Notice Board for additional prompts!
► For your convenience: Bestiary, Glossary, Setting.
► If you still have questions regarding the game in general, please refer to the FAQ. For questions specific to the TDM, ask them below!
► We hope you enjoy your first experience in Nightfell!

Comments

[fessus]

[ A click of his tongue is drowned out by another wave crashing against creaking wood, throwing him back against the rough wall and into a stumble down the last few steps. Shit.

If forced to choose between caution and action he already knows which he'll side with, and it's that knowledge that has him plunging forward into rapidly rising water. What was once just two feet is now fast approaching three, and they're now two men who are incredibly short of time. ]

Okay, okay– [ Fabric plasters itself to his legs as he struggles to wade through the unnaturally thick water, cursing himself and every second of this mess they've found themselves in as his feet catch on something hard and he all but falls against the teen he's trying to save, a hand roughly clapping onto his shoulder. ]

Jonas? Just hold on, okay, we're gonna' get the hell out of here... [ That sword has seemed to vanish from sight as both hands are plunged into the water to try to feel for the chain that has Jonas tethered to the wall, teeth grit when he realizes what his next move is forced to be. A deep breath heralds his sudden plunge beneath the surface, fingers following links until they reach the wooden board that's bulged out and splintered around the chain. His fist against the wood does nothing, nor does a rough yank at metal, so while the prospect of using magic is unappealing – it's been such a heavy drain on him since his arrival, it feels – he's left without a choice.

A soft light beneath the surface of the water marks the ice magic that envelops metal and renders it more brittle, and a sudden brighter flash is the follow-up that actually works: a dagger summoned right against the chilled block, piercing through the chain and not a moment too soon.

He gasps when he surfaces with a fumbled grab at Jonas's equally heavy, water-laden clothing, doing what he can to yank him up to his feet. ]

Shit, come on, I've got you–

[coherer]

(jonas takes harsher breaths the closer the water gets to his jaw, red eyes squeezing shut on noctis first "okay." it's impossible not to sob his relief when finally he realizes he's getting help and that the sword in the stranger's hand won't be pointed at him but nowhere as it disappears entirely. there's a trick there that he might ask about when they're safe and dry, which leaves jonas with the impression "tomorrow," or "the next day," or "never." his teeth begin to chatter before ice even begins to bloom beneath his neck.)

Careful, (jonas warns, hacking on seawater, but he doesn't criticize noctis' fall for his own sake despite being momentarily submerged. if noctis hits his head or hurts himself, they'll both be screwed.

several painstaking seconds pass without a word.

he tries his bonds, still trapped. he tries to twist, but only encounters what feels like another hole in the ship's hull. the freezing water beyond the ocean's thermocline must finally be flooding up into the hold, and, in his hysteria, he thinks unhelpfully of the titanic. jonas is certain that if the sinking doesn't kill them then hypothermia will; the temperature doesn't stop dropping at a few degrees, it takes a sharp plunge until he can no longer bear to keep still. ice burns at the raw skin of his throat, forcing him to kick out blindly at anything that'll get him free until a sudden and agonizing strike does it for him.)

I-Is it—

(hands grab at him, and noctis doesn't need to expend much effort to get jonas out of the water. he may stagger against the storage wall with the other restless and take down several empty barrels that border it, but he rises fast to escape the next wave that would've overtaken his face.)

I'm out. Jesus, I can't believe it. I didn't think anyone would— (his fingers scrape into the wet fabric of noctis' shirt, taking liberal amounts into tight fists. panicked, jonas is unable to calm down when his body shakes at the experience, huffing heavily over his shoulder.) Thank you. Thank you, thank you.

[fessus]

[ The body that he helps hoist up stretches out to be a good few inches taller than his own but that doesn't dissuade him in supporting it, the immediate trauma response of fingers clutching desperately back at him not one he expects consciously but his own hands remain at Jonas's sides. The ship is unsteady and the person he's found is unsteadier, and there's something unnaturally calming about the panic of someone else.

The voice, the anxiety, the sense in the back of his mind is waning in the face of those "thank you"s. ]

You're okay. You're not hurt anywhere, right?

[ Blood ekes out of his own superficial wounds in tiny rivulets, and out of a deeper puncture high up his right arm, but it's ignorable for now. What they're facing is the very real life-threatening possibility of capsizing, and what's worse is he has no idea how far they are from shore. ]

Listen, thank me when we're out of this. You're good to stand, which means I need your help. Jonas, right?

Jonas, do you know anything about boats? [ A hand is drawn back from him to wipe at his own face, flicking water into the pool beneath them as he squints back up at the mouth of the stairs through which he can still see the storm raging. ]

[coherer]

(that noctis gives him time to calm down is no small favour when the ship is wobbling like a slowing top; jonas greedily indulges. it's only when a question is asked, giving him something to focus on, that he begins to unwind from a warm body, head ducking to look downward at his own.)

No, I'm—well, yeah, I am, and my neck hurts like a— (instead of swearing, his right after such a horrible day, jonas simply sighs.) But I can ignore it. Like, seriously, the worst of it's from a while ago.

Let's move.

(that task is a little more complex than he anticipated, dehydrated from the amount of ocean he's swallowed, but it doesn't stop him. jonas, having felt far worse, still has the strength to shunt long legs forward through the three-foot-deep water, and it's carry him to and up the stairs. he talks while they climb.)

I know that the stern is the back of the ship, and the starboard side is the righthand side. (his answer is wry as the hatch door above them is battered open with a thrown shoulder. pulling himself out into the wind to kneel to fish down the hole for noctis, jonas' manacles clatter with the effort.) How'd you find a way out of these? Did you... break them like you did mine?

[fessus]

[ "Like a bitch?" Noctis supplies inwardly, but he leaves him to his self-censoring. It feels like the least he can do.

He keeps a close eye on this unknown new companion as he climbs up to air but away from shelter, wincing into a particularly wild gale once he's taking a strong hand and re-exposing himself to the elements. ]

What? [ It takes a moment for the sounds coming out of Jonas's mouth to reform into words in his own mind, wisely choosing to take a firm hold of the teen's upper arm to roughly guide him over to the mast. It serves as a pitiful shield, sure, but the nicks all over its surface prove it to be a resilient one. ]

I didn't end up in them in the first place! [ He shouts over a swell that dies down in the next moment, leaving him free to speak again without the added strain to his vocal chords. ]

This damn place... I was on a boat to the city, or at least I think I was. It started to sink, so I went for this one. Guess it was good luck for one of us.

Do you know where we're headed? Feeling like the answer is "nowhere good"...

[coherer]

(debris is in his eyes before long, rubbed at aggressively as he's pulled with a harried grunt to the centre of the ship. jonas has been treated like a ragdoll by this guy twice now, but can't find it in him to complain when he's being kept close. if his safety is being monitored, then he'll return the favour.)

You swam all the way over here— (resilient, jonas thinks, shaking his head) —thinking it was better than just grabbing a plank and floating to Stygia... well, maybe you're right about me being the lucky one, but not for long. We're still sailing for that!

(with one arm hooking the mast, jonas' opposite raises to point. the spires of the structures on one of three immediately visible islands pierce the sky, and staring at it too long drives an instinctual fear between his ribs. his breaths shorten, turning his face away, back to noctis whose humanity is more familiar to him than anything else in this godforsaken place.)

The Reaper called it "The Forge." Before it bailed, it told us we were going to be sold there and... and I don't know. Like you said, it's "nowhere good." So, you coming on board—we can't land there, man.

We've gotta try to move this thing.

[fessus]

[ Black bangs he's overly accustomed to primping and preening are slicked to his face as he turns his head to follow the line of Jonas's arm, jutting jagged towers visible through the mist they loom over. The Forge... why is that familiar? Didn't he hear something about forged items here, or a smithy? Teeth grit as he takes a moment to reorient himself with a pause and a back pressed to that mast, legs locked in a heavy lean to keep himself from being battered back down by the choppy waters. ]

I didn't–

Whatever, we can talk about the details later. You wanna' move this thing? Because I hope there's a plan that goes with that idea. [ Were he to get off of this boat the same way he got off the last one, that'd still be leaving Jonas here stranded. That's officially no longer an option.

He takes a deep breath to prepare himself for wind that he knows will stifle his inhales before he's pushing forward again, this time guarding his face with his arms as he approaches the bow. Reaching the edge provides him with a disorienting view of the churning waters below, unable to gauge just how fast they're moving when their surroundings feel just as amorphous and wild. ]

I can try to do something but I don't know if it's gonna' work! Even if it did, where the hell are we redirecting to?!

[coherer]

(for a man without a plan, noctis sure is intent on taking the lead. that suits jonas just fine, barely able to think as they're blasted by the next wave the bow takes a nosedive into. he throws his hands forward on instinct to shove them both forward into the rush of seawater that drags their legs backward and nearly slips with the effort.)

How the hell should I know?! (he shouts into the gale, uncertain if his voice is even making it through to noctis. it's almost impossible for him to hear unless he turns his head into the current.) There, there, there—anywhere! Anywhere else! Out!

(standing against the taffrail, the g-force of their accelerated crash down makes it feel like they're not on a ship but a mechanical bull. bucked violently with a shout, jonas lands painfully on his knees and against the backs of noctis' legs with a blind reach out for a wooden rung.) God! oh, God, I'm— (what his fingers find there is deliverance in the form of a rough rope which is traced out and unwound quickly in panicked yanks, doing what's asked of self-respecting passengers on any vessel: first, jonas secures himself around his waist with a hard pull at the knot.

third, the other end is tied off to the ship. second, jonas still owes noctis for saving his life and lashes him down in a few sharp tugs.)

Whatever you can do, do it! What's the worst that could happen? We die?

[fessus]

[ Noctis does not consider himself a natural leader, and neither, he suspects, would his retinue. His duties are brought to him as reminders and are typically performed out of sight of his future – current – subjects, with none of the stalwart gravitas that his father had naturally exuded. But in a situation like this?

There's no speech to give and no delicate political dance to perform, there's just a massive imminent threat and a scared teenager that he knows he has to protect just as surely as he needs to protect himself. And if he's honest with himself? He has no idea what the hell to do and has every reason to be just as afraid, with only action always successfully distracting him from those self-destructive thoughts.

Usually.

You're a fool, Noctis Lucis Caelum, and you can't survive out here on your own. What have you ever done for yourself? How long will you be the protected?

Ropes are drawn tight around his body, cutting into hipbones numbed by the beating of rain against his frame as that dagger suddenly reappears in a wash of blue, refracted light. Its tip cuts into the ship's railing as he stabs it downward to keep himself pulled against it, gaze cutting back to Jonas only for a hurried nod. ]

Okay, I get it already! [ Frustration rolls off of him but it's blunted by a very real swell of gratitude for the rope, one misdirected and the other afforded to just the person it should be. Fuck... is this going to work? Is there any other option they have? Jonas is absolutely right, and it's with that knowledge that his free hand lifts and a glass bottle crystallizes within it, so similar to the blade he's holding tight to but the eerie blue-tinged glow remains. It emanates from the flask that he's suddenly gripping hard enough that it seems it might crack, waiting out the stomach-churning seconds in which the ship crests another wave and begins to dip. ] Stay with me, Jonas – just hold on!

[ It's only when the boat crashes back down hard and starts to level that a strong arm is flinging that spell forward, ice suddenly erupting from the flask's point of contact with the surface of the water like an explosion of sub-zero. The temperature around them plummets as the whorl of ice pulses not once, not twice, but three times, trapping the hull and halting their forward momentum with an impact that nearly pitches him right over the side. ]

[coherer]

(it's as though being rebirthed opened his third eye. from the moment he could stand and walk, lost, through the shadowlands—before that, the hour he woke his stepsister up after tearing reality open—jonas has encountered supernatural nightmares and miracles, and now, standing on the bow of a ship navigating a storm of screams and dead bodies, he witnesses another.

a dagger and flask form from glass and light. thrown at the ocean, three eruptions result from it shattering; ice freezes rain into flakes and beads of hail pelt the deck. their feet leave it altogether at the ship's sudden halting, the next crest of the approaching tidal wave not made of water anymore but of solid ice. jonas is certain that it'll look like it's always been there, this grey mountain at the heart of the storm. this was a sight god wanted him to see—the next parting of the red sea—but his vision blackens when the rope snaps taut around his waist.

for a long time, he's unable to breathe. lying on his belly, his diaphragm refuses any effort to expand and contract, but on slamming his fist into frozen wooden boards, jonas forces in a hiccough.

stay down, he's encouraged. play dead. let him leave alone. you'll regret becoming a burden.

the moment jonas notices the warm fog of his laboured exhales, he shoves down at the deck and sobs into his first bend to get to his feet. burden or not, it's less selfish to try. if it feels like something crucial has been damaged in his own chest and stomach, then noctis might be in a similar position—or worse.)

You alright? (he croaks, having lost track of noctis in the creation of a new landscape ahead of them. one hand is folded with its forearm across his middle, so the other is the one assigned to check on him.)

You did something... incredible. I just—I've never seen... (after a low gasp, jonas shakes his head.) This is unbelievable...

[fessus]

[ He recovers first.

It isn't the first time he's felt the negative effects of his own magic, the chill of ice crawling up his spine or the shocks of lightning coursing through his system. For that much? He's well-prepared. It's the impact, however much he attempts to minimize it, that stuns his body the most, thrown against a splintered railing with a force that tears his sleeve and scrapes up a previously uninjured arm. Hell, he's sure he would've tumbled right over the side and onto the new sheet of ice below had it not been for Jonas's forward-thinking, rope tight enough around his waist that he can already picture mottling skin.

But his family heritage comes with more than just a long name and elemental magic, and it's with a harsh cough of seawater and a resultant shiver that he fully sits up, body already starting to heal itself of any particularly grievous injuries. Surface level cuts and scrapes may remain but his composure is regained fast, slumping back hard against the ship's now slightly raised bow as his eyes go back to Jonas. ]

Yeah... Yeah, fine here.

I dunno, I'd say it's less crazy than wherever we ended up. [ It's half to himself but it's also the first thing said between them that feels conversational, and in that way it's deeply therapeutic. ] Pretty sure it'll hold, but that just means we bought time.

... what about you, you alright? You sound– [ Noctis pauses, deciding against his own self-censorship. ] –like shit.

[coherer]

(the comment is assurance for jonas, still worried that noctis might be injured or have water in his lungs. "secondary drowning," isn't that what it's called?

he shakes his head, coming to a wobbly rest on a knee in front of him.)

There's nothing... "less" about any of this. (it makes sense in his head, which is more important than finding understanding in noctis. maybe denial is how he copes, and jonas snorts, as that pairs very poorly with his own pessimism for the main course.) And to answer your question, man, I feel like shit. And I'll feel even worse in another hour, and in another hour after that.

So, whatever. That's—I'm already getting used to it. I'm fine, too.

(an ear-splitting crack is a bad omen, interrupting their reprieve. the towering mast, bent back by open sails still catching the vicious wind, snaps as easily as a toothpick might under the pressure of an insistent thumb. they aren't in its path, but it doesn't bode well for the rest of the vessel when it inevitably hammers into the side and sweeps everyone and everything not bolted down with it. that has to have left a hole.

the hold is flooding.

there's truth in what jonas said, because, this time, he doesn't panic. the noise makes him jump out of his skin, but the awesome sight of such a large object crashing into stormy water acts more as an encouragement to check their ropes and knots.)

We've gotta get off this boat. If I lower you onto the ice down there... what then? Can you—do you have any more magic bombs?

[fessus]

[ A very small part of him wants to find humor – the kind tinged with a sort of wild hysteria – in Jonas's reassurance of his own future agony. Instead he's breathing out a rough exhale before he rolls to the side to grasp at the bow's railing, dragging himself up onto his feet before his bones decide they're better off at rest.

Paling fingers tug only haphazardly at the rope hanging low on his hips, eyes cast down to the fresh iceberg below still wreathed in visible clouds of frigid air that are only stirred into a greater frenzy by the tempest around them. It'll be cold, achingly so, but...

His attention snaps back to Jonas when the sound of wood splintering rattles his skull and in a heartbeat he's moving, arm hovering flat against a pair of broad shoulders and across the teen's collar as he slides next to him with a rough but cautious push back. The instinct to protect is automatic, and apologized for only with a brief glance of acknowledgement before his arm's quickly lowered. Jonas, of course, is right, and that's where their focus should be. ]

Ahh... I... Sure, I have more magic, but we're gonna' be better off if I lower you down first. I can get down there no problem, so if you can't you're gonna' need some help. [ A hand reaches behind his back to lessen the shock of watching another spell materialize, brought back around between them now holding a second flask – but this one glows red and emanates heat. ]

Here. Hold this for a minute; it might help you dry off before we jump down. You hit that ice wet and it'll be ten times worse.

[coherer]

(aggressive, jonas thinks. he minds himself with a hitch of his shoulder when noctis reaches out to him to prevent him from toppling over. it's appreciated and he's grateful, of course, for both the side-hug and the magic flask that feels like a hot shower of radiation for his hands, but...

is this safe? these things explode, don't they?)

Uh, thanks.

... You don't mind if I ask you how you're going to go about that, do you? I'm doing the body math here and it doesn't check out; I'm bigger than you. (later, he'll have time to reflect on how big of an asshole his initial observation of noctis makes him sound. born in another world—one that lacks any special ability beyond telling others "mercury is in retrograde" and expecting them to hum knowingly—jonas can't see past their difference in size. given the situation and how dire it is, he doesn't expect either of them is going to give a shit after getting off the ship.

hurt feelings are better than becoming flotsam just because they put their faith in an overinflated ego.

and then jonas speaks.)

I've got no idea how I'll get down, but I think if we fashion a rope ladder or, like, some kind of pulley system— (cradling the grenade to his chest like it's a swaddled baby, a panicked brain works overtime to come up with a plan.) Just... Just give me a minute to... to noodle this over for a sec.

(😑)

[fessus]

[ A shiver overtakes him and it takes all the willpower he has – a monumental amount, despite what his jokingly cynical compatriots might have to say about it – not to magically shelve this particular jacket for a fresh one. It'd be a reprieve but a brief one, not eager to have all his clothes soaked before they even reach the shore.

Which they will. They will, no problem. ]

Are you seriously asking me that? [ A question that means to sound exasperated is drained of any real anger or frustration, replaced by a weariness that feels a little more fair and justified as he comes to understand the situation they're in. Jonas is clearly unaccustomed to magic, Lucian or otherwise, or else he's naïve. Neither option makes it easy to sustain any real offense over his comment. ]

You're bigger than me but I know what I'm doing. Okay? I made the platform in the first place, which is way harder than– just...

[ He's back on his feet now, back swiftly turned on Jonas in order that he might reapproach the edge of the deck and briefly inspect those ropes that so far have held fast. ]

I'm gonna' cut your rope and lower you down, then I'm gonna' go down after you, okay? And if you don't trust that I can do it, I'll lift you up here first to prove it. Happy?

[coherer]

(noctis is able to stay calm when questioned. his ward, however, isn't.)

Do I know you? (jonas demands, voice easily cutting through the wind when raised.) Yeah, I'm asking you! Don't act like I know everything you're capable of, I'm—what the hell am I supposed to—

(the panting breaths have returned, and jonas seals them off with two hands over his mouth. they're forced to slow through his nose, and the fight in him seems to be strained out with them. it's never been this difficult to string a thought together, in his head or aloud.

while noctis follows the rope to its end, jonas takes the moment of downtime to calm himself down until his next words, less incendiary, come out wobbling.)

I don't. I don't trust you, so please just pick me up. Get it over with and I'll be... "happy." I'll defer to your expertise after that or... whatever you want. God.

[fessus]

[ The reaction his words trigger is unexpected but it shouldn't be. Jonas is angry, just like him. Jonas is... scared, just like him. Teeth clench around the latter realization, willing to acknowledge it for himself but the voices in his head certainly aren't.

Noctis, Noctis, all alone... Ready to turn selfish and weak the second no one's looking. What, do you think this stupid angry teenager will tell on you? At least he's honest.

He feels sick to his stomach, blaming the bruising that's only half-healed, when he roughly takes a knee back at Jonas's side. ]

Oi... [ His voice is sharp, more gravelly than usual as he swallows the taste of salt. What would Gladio say? Isn't he always the one getting the advice? ] I get it... you don't know me, I don't know you, so let's cut the assumptions. Me and you both, because even if you don't trust me I'm gonna' need you to for however long it takes us to get out of this.

[ They're pragmatic words, not comforting words, and they make Noctis feel even less steady emotionally than he already had. Whatever else he wants to say is blocked by insecurity, and all he can do is clap a hand on Jonas's shoulder. ]

I'm going to pick you up over my shoulder, you got it? No surprises, just make sure you hold onto that flask. [ Dropping it, he assumes, would be harmless without its magic being activated first, but there's no need to test that theory.

He ducks low, moves telegraphed as clearly by his body language as they were by his voice, as one arm locks tight around Jonas's waist and his shoulder is slotted beneath his chest. The other hand finds his leg as he draws back, not only able to handle his weight but able to lift him up as he stands back to his full height, no shake or give in muscle. ]

–you good? I'm putting you back down! [ His voice is raised to call out over another sharp gust of wind that has him cautiously tightening his grip on Jonas to keep him secure, even slower to ease his feet back down onto the deck than he was to lift him up. ]

[coherer]

(jonas doesn't shrug the hand off of his shoulder, but his eyes, narrow and raw from crying, hold the overwhelming intent to. pragmatism has never worked on him, often the one offering the pessimistic view or the "out there" solution. he's always emotionally charged even when he seems mellow; why can't noctis understand that? why can't anyone?

is it their responsibility to? was it alex's? was it your parents'?)

Fine, (he says, a sudden wind current drowning out an already quiet agreement. the backs of his hands were wet against his mouth, but his fingers and palms, locked around the fire flask, are dry and warm.

it's held tighter and higher up as noctis hooks him securely around the middle and forces his feet to leave the deck. there's no muscle strain jonas can feel that would indicate that noctis flagging under the weight of his body. even as he's set down, he's still manoeuvred carefully, the control with which noctis wields his own strength frankly incredible. he's envious. you're jealous.

feet find their place, inherently clumsy on his own but surprisingly difficult to knock over when acted by someone or something else.) Okay, I'm— (the apology sticks, stubborn, and jonas abandons it with a squeeze around the explosive. there's no time for that now, even though the chances or having an opportunity later look slim as he casts a look down at the black sea.)

Thank you. I... I get it, you know what you're doing! I'm gonna go to the side and hang on for dear life till you're good to start lowering me, alright?

(rock-climbing is a new thing in his life. edwards island was full of walls to scale, dangerous but necessary. rappelling is an entirely different aspect of it that makes him want to throw up, leaning across the taffrail to stare down at the ice he's meant to land on. jonas stuffs the flask deep into his jacket pocket so that the heat spreads from his hip, and throws a leg over to straddle the side.

this is the only way? this?)

Fuck, fuck, fuck... ready!

[fessus]

[ handwaved with all my love ]