caveofsapphires | smaller patch of fading sky [ open ]

smaller patch of fading sky [ open ]

WHO: EVERYONE. All PCs thus far will be in this log, through active tagging or implication.
WHAT: THRILLS. SPILLS. Hiking trip toward the Diamond City.
WHERE: The Overworld.
WHEN: Forward-dated to May 1st (Tuesday) through May 7th (Monday).
WARNINGS: May contain violence or other mentions of physical harm. This is not summer camp.
NOTES: More information can be found on the OOC post here. Please read it!

Gathered in the morning haze, Sleepers were brought to the mouth of the Cave with plenty of supplies and equipment. Compasses that would point them toward the City. Backpacks full of clothes and food, medical kits, tents and even weapons. Stun rifles and knives — to fight off any unwanted company, they said. ("Watch out for their bite," Ryan had commented. "Those fuckers are downright feral.") The straight and narrow path would get them there in six days if they kept a good clip. They were sent off just like that. Refusals to leave were met with a wall of guard force officers blocking the entrance back into the cave city. No way to go but forward, unless someone was particularly stalwart about remaining.

From the exterminator's station near the mouth, leaving the Cave was as simple as a short hike upward into the fresh air of the Overworld. Dust and an uncomfortable sort of heat pervaded the atmosphere, light winds stirring up the sand and teasing the meager bits of vegetation that had grown. No matter what direction you looked... it was all wasteland, cracked ground and desolate emptiness. Jutting up from scarred ground were boulders and small spires made entirely of glass and patches of stone; instead of reflecting the harsh sunlight, they seemed to absorb it and only add to the muted loneliness of the atmosphere. As far as the eye could see, there was no life to be found.

With no other option, the Sleepers eventually made their way onward.

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It wasn't that she was unused to bad weather. Borogravia's climate had been a third blizzards and a third torrential rain. What Mal was not used to was sand, and as she ran she winced at the way it stung at her forearms and her face. Sand flew down the back of her shirt and caked in her eyelashes, forcing her to squint helplessly towards a distant crevasse, the only shelter she could see.

By the time she made it to the lip of the crevasse, her skin felt raw all over, and she stumbled inside with a rare lack of composure, gasping for breath and looking curiously at the man who'd entered with her.

He was now feeling glad of the advice he'd received from one of the other Sleepers the day they'd set out on this unpleasant excursion, that he'd kept his face partially wrapped in cloth; he'd been able to avoid the worst of the damage, and while his skin still stung in all areas the sand had been able to reach, it could have been much worse.

He stood leaning with his back against the wall of the crevasse, his own breathing still just a little shallow and rapid from the bad dash to reach cover. After a moment he glanced in her direction, however, pulling the cloth from around his face in order to offer her a small smile.

"You made it, then. It should be safe enough here until the storm passes," however long that will be...

"Ideally, yes," she managed, gingerly rubbing the skin on her face, already sensitive from the sun and now raw from the assault of sand. Edging away from the entrance, she gave up on style entirely and collapsed onto the ground, leaning her head against the stone.

"Of course, given our luck thus far, it'll last days," she added, and let her head loll to the side so she could give him a sardonic grin.

A grin that he returned, small and sharp, and seeing her all-but collapse to the ground he allowed himself to slide against the rock behind him until he was sitting with his back pressed against it. It was a far cry from anything he'd ever experienced before - or at least, ever remembered having experienced before - accustomed as he was to urban living and the relative comforts that came with it. He was tired, every part of him ached, and each day it seemed they were faced with some new difficulty, as she had so aptly pointed out.

"Ah, I wouldn't be surprised. Though if it forced us to stay here and rest a while, I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't welcome it," though there was the small matter of just how long their supplies would last, but right now there was no point in thinking about it.

"A rest would be astonishingly welcome," she agreed. "And some time out of the sun." With a few blinks, she got most of the sand out of her eyelashes, then shook out her shirtfront onto the floor of the crevasse. A small sand dune formed; with a sigh, she pushed it off into a corner.

"I've decided I hate sand," she added conversationally. "And sun. And walking."

Her response elicited a short ripple of laughter from him and he nodded, reaching for his pack in order to fish out some much needed water; he was accustomed to the relatively temperate climate of Tokyo - no matter what they told him about his former life being a 'dream', he refused to believe it, and his body certainly seemed to agree with him - not a harsh, dry climate like this.

"You're not the only one. This City they're sending us to better be worth the effort," he paused briefly to drink from his flask before turning to observe her again, "so. What's your name?"

She glanced over at him, sizing him up. She'd been introducing herself as Mal, generally, not Maladict or Maladicta - although she wasn't at home, so the names might not mean anything at all. The neutrality of it suited her in this place, she felt.

"That's a loaded question," she said, "isn't it? If you want the name they gave me, it's Milena. My real name is Mal, and you may call me whichever suits." Of course, it would reveal something, which one he chose, and she watched him expectantly.

A loaded question, indeed. He'd refrained from discussing anything about his 'dream' life with anyone, had been busily playing along with what he believed to be the charade they were expected to adhere to; he had no intention of being dragged off to 'memory rehabilitation' and allowing them to implant false memories into him, or whatever it was they happened to do while you were in their custody. They were a long way from such measures now, but he was ever cautious, almost to the point of paranoia, and that wasn't about to change now.

"With the emphasis on real, I see, by which I take it Mal is the name you prefer to go by," and his shoulders shifted in a stiff little shrug thanks to the ache in them from carrying the pack for extended periods of time, "is that the name you've been giving to everyone you speak to, I wonder?"

Mal returned his shrug with an easy one; though she was feeling the pain and stiffness of travel as well, she wouldn't show it if there was any way she could manage not to.

"It's the name I've given for the most part," she said airily. "I see no reason not to, especially not out here. Not that I'm particularly attached to either version of reality; I simply choose to ally myself with the one that I remember."

Glancing up at him curiously, she let a smirk cross her lips and raised her eyebrows. "Now it's your turn, I believe. You have to give me some kind of name, even an invented one, or I'll be forced to think you're rude."

"Which makes perfect sense," his own voice was light, conversational, "and I suppose it's true that it matters a lot less out here, without our every move being scrutinised."

Which wasn't to say he was willing to allow his own guard to drop quite as much; he was forever wary, and he'd prefer that - when they reached this mysterious City they were headed towards, providing they did all make it - there were no opportunities for him to be caught out. The idea of 'memory rehabilitation' held little appeal for him at all.

"Well then. I'd hate for you to think me rude. Toshiyuki Kaneko," and he gave her a small smile before uttering the one small clue he was prepared to give towards his unwillingness to believe the story they'd been given, "I don't think it suits me, particularly."

She raised her eyebrows slightly at his caution. Not that it offended her - she didn't particularly care either way - but it was interesting. "Toshiyuki," she said, familiarizing herself with the sound of the name, then grinned. "Well, you've convinced me that you're the epitome of courtesy with that. I do appreciate it."

Closing her eyes, she let her grin relax into a half-smile and listened rather than watched him. "It's interesting what they pick for us," she said, intentionally pushing him further than he seemed to be comfortable with. "I wonder what the significance of these names might be."

"Toshiyuki means 'happiness' and also 'genius' where I'm from," and he laughed, a quiet rippling sound, "I could think of less-fitting names. But I could also think of a better one."

Which again, was perhaps an elusive answer, neither overtly confirming or denying that the name had been 'picked' for him, and not quite answering the question as she'd intended it. But then, he'd always been mercurial even at the best of times, in a situation like this where there was so much uncertainty and so little solid ground to work with, it was further exacerbated.

"Do you consider yourself happy, or a genius?" She grinned at him. So careful. On the one hand there was a potentially obvious reason for it, but on the other hand the obvious reasons for things were often not the right ones.

"I can think of a better one too," she added cheerfully. "So I'm using it. I want the last name someone calls me to be my proper one, in the event that we die in some calamity or other. For example, can you see the sky right now? I can't. We could very well be doomed."

She'd find multiple reasons, if there was any way of getting him to talk. The obvious, in as much as he'd prefer not to be caught out and have his memories altered and his 'dream' life slowly eroded away to nothing, but also the deeper reasons, the fact that he'd rarely been open and honest about his own identity even without the added complications of their current situation. Still, he returned her grin with a lazy one of his own.

"It's hard to say. I only have my memory to base my conclusions on after all," and they were supposedly unreliable, despite that he didn't believe that for a moment, "still, I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't like to believe I'm both those things."

And he winked, before turning his gaze upwards to the sky she had so recently indicated, seeing nothing but a wall of brownish-grey as the sandstorm continued to whip and rage above them. It was true; from their current perspective it showed no signs of abating.

"It's a fair point. Who knows whether we'll make it there or not, or whether there really is a there for us to get to?"

Mal made a noncommittal noise. "Well, plenty of people would like to think they're clever, but genius, well, that's taking it a bit far. I don't know that I've met a genius before." She made no effort to conceal the fact that she was mocking him. He didn't seem to mind, anyway.

"And even if there is a 'there'," she continued, "it could well be a trap, or something. It all seems almost ridiculously sinister. So I'll be Mal, thank you, and you can be quote-unquote Toshiyuki, and we'll see who's more satisfied on their deathbed."

He just laughed and shrugged off the mocking comment in a way that seemed entirely good-natured; providing everything he recalled about his former life was true - and as yet he saw no reason to believe it wasn't despite what they'd been told - he knew himself to possess intelligence that statistically counted as genius-level, if one were to put much stock in standardised tests. Which he did, but he felt no need to enlighten her. "There's always a first time for everything, but hey, maybe you're right."

And he nodded; who really knew what they were heading towards, after all? Some of the Workers he'd spoken to hadn't seemed particularly keen on the Sleepers, and all of them had been both secretive and unforthcoming. Even if they hadn't been sent out into the wilderness to die, there was always the possibility that whatever waited for them would be even less savoury than what they were experiences right now. Still; he was a man well-accustomed to going by an alias, and if he were to die without a single person here knowing his real name, it would make little difference to him.

"I guess we'll just have to hope it won't come to that, hmm?" and his lips once again curled in a smile.

"Isn't death supposed to come to all of us eventually?" Shrugging, Mal focused on the storm outside with a neutral expression. It was a strange thing to have to shrug off effective immortality at the instruction of a collection of drones and mysteries. Vampires could die, of course, but they required very special circumstances to do so, and Mal had always hoped that she'd avoid both wooden stakes and beheading for hundreds of years. Now she was allegedly faced with death in perhaps fifty years and a body that tired far more quickly than she felt it should. It was irritating.

"But hope," she continued, "that we can certainly do, if you find that a worthwhile exercise."

He'd have been interested to hear of the past she believed belonged to her, had he known; mortality - or at least, the idea of ceasing to exist - was the one thing he'd like to be able to transcend, to be certain that he could go on watching humans indefinitely. Not that it mattered now, perhaps, with everyone here rendered mortal, but it would have been interesting to hear that such a thing was possible, at least.

"Eventually, sure. But personally I'd like to go on living for a little longer," at least until he'd ascertained exactly what was going on here, preferably finding a way back to his own life in the process, if such a thing was even possible. He wasn't prepared to give up on the possibility that it was, just yet. "And hope can be worthwhile enough, on occasion. Though I've always preferred to deal in facts and certainties myself. Unfortunately it doesn't seem as though that option is available to us, right now."

"Facts and certainties do seem to be in short supply," she agreed, making a face. "Unfortunately enough, most people consider hope to be a first resort, even though it's so . . . " She wrinkled her nose. "Unrealistic."

She was acting a bit more cynical than she actually was, but she had no real desire to talk about all the inspiring people she'd met in recent years and how they'd given her hope, just a touch of it, for what that was worth. It was no more likely that she'd tell him that than that she'd tell Polly that she was actually very clever, or that she'd let blood touch her lips again. Cynicism looked better on her than optimism anyway.

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smaller patch of fading sky [ open ]

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sorry D: that was a ridiculous delay