(no subject)

[oblivium]

INHUMAN COURTESY

I. PUSHING UP DAISIES

---

cw: depiction of hanahaki, mention of blood, mild body horror

The Frightful Harvest ended on a bloody, eerie note, but the Respite's most welcome interlude has proven exceptionally fruitful. The sky's darkened again, moons struggling to glow through turbulent clouds, but crops all over Stygia have grown dense and healthy, herbs and plants and flowers aplenty. Normally, it'd be a time to rejoice, even as sleet pours and winds grow bitterly cold -- and it might have been, had greens and stems and petals NOT elected to blossom inside you. Your lungs, specifically.

It's an uncommon side effect of the Harvest, affecting those who foster affection or attraction towards another, triggered only by a stray thought. Almost as if punished by Oblivium for harboring any kind of positive feelings. The worst part is that the object of your desire doesn't even have to be in the Netherworld for you to be afflicted. Over the span of three months, you'll gradually experience various degrees of the "harvest's curse", depending on the source of your feelings:

► PHYSICAL/EMOTIONAL ATTRACTION & REQUITED LOVE
It starts with an itch. Your throat tickles, an odd sensation in your lungs, slightly constricted. Allergies? Not quite. It worsens overtime, and days pass by, perhaps weeks. You cough, a little more every day, a little deeper, and then it happens: petals, stuck to your lips as you wheeze and try to empty your chest. Marigold, carnations, daisies, peonies... Thankfully, for you, it's more of an annoyance, sporadic at best and leaving you exhausted at times, but you're in no immediate danger. Unfortunately, not all Restless share the same luck.

► UNREQUITED LOVE
It doesn't matter whether it is truly unrequited; as long as you think it is, whether you're fully convinced or distantly resigned, you get the whole package. It starts the same way the lesser variation does, gradual, and with unsavory (!) additions: lilies and dark red roses. The first slowly spreads its poison in your body, inducing fevers, skin rashes, blistering in your mouth and stomach aches. The second pricks your throat bloody, making speech difficult and breathing even more so. It spreads throughout Stygia, and if most wound up meeting their end in the past, some speak of a highly hypothetical cure. It's believed that if the object of your affection confesses equally strong feelings for you, the curse should rapidly subside. If this option isn't viable, Doran promises that all Healers in Hale are working extremely hard to find a solution. In the meantime, symptoms can be partially soothed with poultices and spells that you can find in the Marketplace or in Serene. Some merchants might even take pity on you and offer them for free.

if your character has heard of similar diseases in their home world, they're absolutely welcome to share their insight on the netherwork or anywhere else
the evolution of the disease can be as gradual, as fast or as severe as you wish it to be
a mini quest to retrieve ingredients for a cure will be available in december or january
by february, all characters should be cured

II. DO NOT PASS GO

---

cw: mention of blood, torture, branding, violence, forced captivity

Full-swing investigations concerning the Harvest's murders have begun, though the mysterious rider has yet to resurface. The day is young still, but no matter; the Hierarchy firmly believes that the creature was summoned by a group of renegades, fully intent on finding and dismembering the organization. Perhaps even literally.

If you've spilled blood not your own in the previous event, the Hierarchy finds you. Do they know? It doesn't really matter; they've targeted you for reasons they won't divulge, persuaded of your involvement -- and off to the Gallows you go. Each of you receives the same greeting when you arrive, held down by rough hands and branded upon the arm with the letter F. The mark signifies ‘forsaken’, and the painful scar is indelible proof that each of you has betrayed the Hierarchy's hospitality. Writhe and scream and glower as much as you want; next thing you know, something heavy hits you across the head, and you collapse.

When your vision slowly creeps back, your eyes adjust to a dimly lit stone cell. Your feet are secured by iron cuffs tethered by one long chain, and you lie in nothing but filthy, tattered rags. It's dark; the air is bloated and filled with agonizing shrieks. Dead vines scrap the walls of half-crumbled buildings, weather-worn stone pillars surrounded by withered clumps of grass. You may converse with your cellmates: the guards patrolling the Gallows couldn't care less, convinced that no one could possibly escape anyway.

► Ironically, a magical barrier around the Gallows prevents magical/spiritual abilities from functioning. However, characters who roam free still can absolutely sneak in! Be careful not to get caught, though!
► Loud disagreements might attract unwanted attention. A single guard will come, and if he finds nothing else amiss, will threaten them to be quiet. A second violation earns the offender a rap on their bare feet with a club. A third violation will cause the offender to be gagged. Note that in order to beat or gag the offender, the guard must first open the cell.
► If you share affinities with Gargoyles, incapacitating a guard in any way will draw the attention of one. It'll show you to the gates where you'll be able to escape, taking care of sentries on your way. You should probably keep a low-profile from then on, and avoid showing-off your brand.
► A secret passage may be found through a mausoleum nearby; an arrow of flaking red paint marks the entrance. Or is it blood? Inside, it's nearly pitch-black. Perhaps, if you're lucky, your vision extends as far as 30 feet in front of you, but occasionally, the darkness is broken by clinging phosphorescent fungi or crawling luminescent creatures, and from out of the silence echo sounds of dripping water. You're underground, and Abysmals can be encountered here if you're too loud. You should also watch out for cave-ins, but as you get farther away from the general region of the Gallows, your magical abilities gradually come back.
► Eventually, a long, broken staircase will lead you to Hale. If you're injured, you'll be sent to the main infirmary; characters with healing abilities or knowledge are super welcome to help!

Luckily for you, there are so many prisoners it's a difficult task for the Hierarchy to always keep track of all of them. Your brand, however, is a dead giveaway, so you might as well try and find a way to get rid of it; you might hear through the grapevines that the dead skin of Badaliscus can be used as bandages, and overtime, the brand will fully heal and disappear.


III. TO THE RESCUE

---

As you attempt to escape, or perhaps once you’ve successfully snuck in, you come across a terrifying spectacle: in front of you, impaled through the shoulder by a spear, a weary humanoid figure covered in blood. The body is being restrained by additional shackles on each arm and leg, which are linked to chains anchored within the walls. There's a guard nearby, armed to the teeth… and still you decide to free them.

The guard’s magic is just as useless as yours, and while impressive in size, dexterity definitely isn’t his main strength. He hits hard — with brass knuckles, a chain mace, and a sturdy shield — and his stamina almost seems endless, but it’s not. Keep evading, and he’ll eventually tire enough to topple over. It’s also possible to have him chase you around if you don’t go too far, which would allow someone else to grab the spear. Once he’s too exhausted to go on, you can either kill him or chain him to the wall. The keys are in his boots, and you’ll find a bottle of water as well as a small vial of ointment in a satchel on the ground, where he previously stood.

The prisoner is a young man, perhaps in his mid-20s. Once freed from his shackles, he immediately keels over, though he’s not unconscious. He thanks you with a deep and raw voice, begging for water. You can tend to his wounds if you’re able—the ointment quickly soothes—and when he finally stands again, he asks you a question: “I’m a stranger to you, and you could have died. Yet, you chose to free me, unaware of my past. Of my crimes. Of my virtues. Why?”

Regardless of your answer, he smiles, a private understanding that turns the stretch of his lips enigmatic. There’s a bubbling chuckle in his throat, very hoarse, and then he hisses, touching where you’ve helped him apply the ointment on his body. “You know what they say. If it stings...” He looks at you, deliberately pausing there and staring bold into your eyes. “... then it must be working.”

It might feel like there’s more to what he’s trying to say, though it’s pointless to ask: he bows, and then he slowly inches away from you. “Until we meet again.” White and thick tendrils of smoke envelop him, seemingly coming out of nowhere, and then just like that, he’s gone.

so you’ve chosen to free him, which in turn has generated a future plot point that’ll occur some time in february. some of you WILL see him again.
what he says to you is a clue.
you can answer his question OOCly right here. it’ll have some bearing on the way your character will be approached re: future plot point.
if you've voted no and would still like to participate, you could always allow your character to be convinced or reluctantly dragged by another!

ooc note

► As always, check out the Notice Board if you'd like additional prompts! Older quests from previous months are always available as well. You'll also find the Calendar right here.
► You'll find already answered questions just here, and if you'd like to ask new ones, ask them here!
► For fun's sake and similarly to the puck adventure, you may play it out in different groups or on your own, and still obtain the same results as everyone else whether your characters threaded together!

Comments

joel miller | the last of us

[healthkit]

[ god ok lets try this again, properly this time ... ]

open prompt + wildcard — ;

[healthkit]

●●● do not pass go — ;

[ While spilling blood comes as absolutely no surprise to a severe post-apocalyptic survivor like Joel, getting arrested and detained for it is a new experience. Back home, the matter of ensuring one's survival and killing to stay alive for one more lousy day was an intrinsically understood concept. Prisons were for off-shoot societies, and maybe cults.

In this afterlife, he’s had to learn to survive in other ways. Other less violent ways, even. But the instinct to protect himself at all costs hasn’t quite had the time or circumstance to be smoothed down from its jagged edges, so. He can’t remember what exactly he’d killed or why but it lands him in a cell with some of his fellow Restless, branded with a crudely placed F across the skin of his arm, the heavy iron cuff around his ankle keeping him quite literally rooted to the ground. Doesn't stop him from pacing across the small space when he can before finally settling into one corner of his cell to look past the bars at his fellow cellmates.

At you, perhaps. ]

So what’re you in for?

[ Even on his good days, it’s hard for Joel to come by a joke, but here he is, cracking something like one. Maybe it comes from a place of being pissed off enough, and feeling well and truly trapped. Maybe it's a way to form an alliance. Or maybe he wants to start a fight, get you in on the ruse and provoke the guards to approach and open their cells.

Any chance to escape, right? ]

●●● wildcard — ;

[ if none of the above sparks any inspiration, feel free to leave your own starter below (or use the bits you like)! send me a PM or plotting comment to hash out any details. ]

a wild spectre appeared!

[lapses]

[ while everyone was busy escaping the gallows and/or releasing a sussy prisoner, vincent and joel went on an investigative journey after they recovered their belongings.

reasonably, they would not have much of a reason to return here, so it was the perfect opportunity to poke around and see what they will find as a result. they walked past rusty mining cart rails, inspected pentagrams drawn in blood and found a trapdoor that led nowhere in particular.

it was beginning to feel like they won't find anything useful when the rattling of cages can be heard at a distance. vincent meets the other man's gaze before he silently signals for them to proceed further. he didn't know what to expect. perhaps, more prisoners? if so, then they would have a choice to make.

but what comes into view instead exceeds his expectations. they were grotesque looking creatures with ash grey skin and obscure features. he never saw one until now, but he has heard similar descriptors of them in the past. ] Spectres. [ he murmured quietly, withdrawing a short blade from his sheath. ]

old men used stab! is it super effective?

[healthkit]

[ These two are really beginning to form quite the pair of investigators, often found piecing together clues in the aftermath when everyone else has left the scene (or are in the process of, in this particular case). Joel keeps himself on high alert in case any stray guard might round the corner and catch sight of them, but it seems they're on their own for now. Small blessings.

Past the rotting wood and abandoned mining cart rails, away from broken tombstones and a collection of suspicious looking half-melted candles, he can hear the rattling of cages too, and beyond that the tortured hissing and screeching of whatever it is residing behind those bars.

Said in an equally low voice: ]

Well, the quiet had to run out some time.

[ 'Spectres', Vincent had called them, and now that Joel's getting a good look at them from here, the name does seem to suit. He tries to recall some of the information they were offered in one of them files the Hierarchy had compiled. They were old Restless, taken over by their Shadow, and they were weak against light. Wouldn't do them any good; any light source would give their position away immediately.

Joel, too, pulls a crude looking knife from its equally crude looking sheath. He'd have much preferred a shotgun in a situation like this but he'll have to make do with what he's got, especially if it's got a short shelf-life.

He grabs a loose hunk of stone in his other hand too. Joel doesn't fight by any rules and it's best to be prepared. ]

Think they'd still be useful without heads?

critical hit! it's super effective!

[lapses]

[ he normally wouldn't go out of his way to attack a caged creature, but he just happened to be in need of a few spectres.

items that aren't soulforged deteriorate in this world, which puts his metallic left arm in quite the predicament. vincent had planned to hunt for some alone prior to his capture, so it's rather fortuitous that the gallows have provided him with what he needs. ]

Don't know. [ he would rather not take the risk though. ]

We can leave some of it intact. [ they don't necessarily have to slice the head clean off. just enough to guarantee that it's dead. ] Get ready. [ he glances over at joel as he approaches the door to the cage, prepared to unlock it.

maybe all of this could be avoided if either of them had a longer blade, but it doesn't seem like it. ]

jailhouse rock;

[zangetsu]

（ ichigo is laying flat on his back, arms cushioned behind his head nearby. that accent... can't be anything but texan, can it? his dad used to watch old subtitled john wayne movies growing up, and there was a very terrible, terrible time in his life where every return from school was greeted with a howdy, pardner that he has tried desperately to block out.

(now, he realizes it's more that his dad was actually around during that era. maybe he visited? who knows.)

he hefts himself halfway up, giving the man a bit of a Look. ）

Pretty sure I just pissed off the wrong asshole. You?

[healthkit]

Yeah.

[ He lets the word drag out a little — emphasizing that Texan drawl of his — before he shakes his head, meeting the kid's eyes for a moment before looking away. He idly scratches at the scruff of his chin, mouth quirked. ]

Mighta done the same thing. [ And he certainly didn't make it easier for himself either when he tried to resist arrest, but they got him anyway. Didn't help when they took his belongings away and outnumbered him too. ] Doesn't seem to take much.

[zangetsu]

（ he thumbs across the brand, his jaw set stubbornly. it's not the pain that irritates him, it's the mark. ）

Yeah, well. Nothing we can do now but wait.

（ he lets that settle in the silence between them, and after a long moment: ）

Kurosaki. My name.

（ ... surname, technically. ）

wildcarding a starter as promised, sorry for the delay!!

[mercedis]

[ Hours have gone by, he thinks. It's impossible to tell time in the darkness, but it's been impossible to tell time since getting to this place; the sunlight comes and goes, night swings into day and back again, and here, in some musty, dirty jail cell, he thinks it's likely the middle of the night. His body aches, clenches and tightens with exhaustion, and despite it all, his arms remain locked against his chest, crossed to force the filthy fabric of the tattered shirt they'd slung onto him against the shape of his torso.

Rather than submit to the pain or discomfort of sitting, crouching, or even stretching out into some makeshift bed, he stays vigilant, a silent shape near one edge of the bars, tracing his eyes over the same corridor and the same stairs and the same images in the darkness. His legs, casual, cross at the ankle, shifting his weight from one to the other when he feels that pang of exhaustion.

Have to have a plan, he hears, a cheery, distant voice in the back of his head that he doesn't recognize. What's the plan, Cloud?

For a moment, his eyes squint, a jerk of pain through his head; and then, like a wave passing over the shore, his lashes lift again, and he continues to stare.

The easiest thing would be to get his hands on one of the guards, but they don't come by often, as though content to let their charges starve in their cells. They emerge when they bring fresh meat, and come barreling in when cellmates are quarreling; that's likely his ticket out, and if he can go, then the rest of the cell might be able to overrun the guards if he takes off first. That means, then: an accomplice, but who?

Slowly, his gaze shifts, ticking around the cell; the blue-green glow of the mako is almost eerie in the dark, and while the rest of the cellmates seem to have given themselves up to sleep, there's one particular stranger that doesn't seem keen on resting, either.

So he tries it. ]

...Need your help, if we're going to get ourselves out of here. [ --is how he breeches the silence, curt and clipped. ] You good at taking a fist to the face?

no worries!

[healthkit]

[ Eyebrows rise, maybe at the request or maybe in reaction to the sudden dissonance in sound, so starkly contrasted with the eerie silence of their cell block at night.

Wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten into a purposeful scuffle by way of distraction, and it appears that it won't be his last either. He's noticed the way fights in these cells have played out, the way the guards only open these doors to throw a newcomer in or to break up the violence.

It's a simple enough plan, but as no one else has tried it so far ... ]

Yeah. [ He rolls a shoulder, and straightens his spine, his interest piqued. He spares a glance towards the length of the hall, not a goddamned soul to be found aside from the ones rotting behind bars but he knows they ain't far off.

All it'll take is something to grab their attention. Maybe they oughta wake the rest of their cellmates up too while they're at it. Stir up a crowd. ] Reckon I could take a good hit or two.

[mercedis]

[ At the very least, then, there's the two of them--if they make enough noise or scrounge up enough trouble, the rest of the cell might wake, and the cell next to them; it's hard to say how many people will realize they're making a show of it, but in the end, he knows he can't be too concerned about everyone else. He can make opportunities, maybe, but he's never been the type to go out looking to save the world; it's more been a begrudging sort of reluctance to do what his path has taken him down.

Slowly, he lifts his shoulder off the wall, taking a few steps away from the bars with one last fleeting glance. No one's around yet, but he knows that the sound will carry along the stone; that's good enough for him anyway.

Funnily enough, he can't remember ever looking for a fight before--his head aches at the thought of remembering his training, but he hadn't really had trouble getting along with anyone. (Right?) So it's a bit awkward, the way that he stretches out an arm into the space between them, enough to touch the stranger at the shoulder and then, stiffly, take him by the collar of his ratted shirt instead. ]

What's your name? [ He doesn't need to ask, but he figures it might make the argument--and subsequent fight--sound more believable. ] ...Mine's Cloud. If you need it.

[ His fingers loosen, slightly, and then tighten; his other hand closes into a fist. ]

...I can take anything you got, so don't hold back, yeah? Once they get in here, you take the guard down. I'll keep the door open.

●●● do not pass go — ;

[dreamlords]

[ even if he knows that it's a joke, morpheus' lip still curls a bit. it really doesn't matter what he's in for, the simple fact of being in is enough.

he hates it. and he doesn't think making small talk is the right move either. he wants out of here before another century passes. but, he knows that he cannot force it so he eases back a bit and glances over. ]

Jaywalking.

[ that's his attempt at humor. you've brought it out of him, joel. ]

[healthkit]

[ Proudest goddamned moment of his life, honestly. Joel's mouth twitches and he nods, leaning his head back against the rough stonework of the wall at his back.

His voice is a rueful murmur when he says: ]

Goddamned traffic police.

[ Truthfully he hasn't seen a 'traffic cop' in twenty-some years now, let alone a properly paved road that hadn't been overgrown with weeds and grass, it's almost a shock to reminisce about something so mundane. ]

[dreamlords]

They're terrible.

[ police officers of any kind don't really bother him because he doesn't let them but he plays along with a shake of his head. ]

I had no idea their methods had gotten so grim. My bad luck.

post-prison wildcard!

[aflowers]

[ By Gaia, she hates the Gallows. As if the guards on constant patrol weren't bad enough, the horrific, constant sound of screaming is enough to make her hair stand on end, an uncomfortable churning in her gut as she's forced to find yet another place to hide.

The prison itself was worse, of course, but being out of that part of the place right now only serves to make her feel sick with guilt. No matter how hard she's searched, she hasn't been able to come across Cloud— which of course was her entire purpose for putting herself in such a dangerous position in the first place. He's trapped here, possibly hurt, and if she can't find him—

It's the sight of a grizzled-looking man hurrying in her direction that shakes her from her thoughts. By the way he moves, he's on the run— it is, after all, the kind of look she knows well. His clothes mark him as being straight from the same prison into which she's been trying to break— and there's no doubt that the hope that settles in her chest is incredibly selfish, but she can't really help it, either, the way she perks up and looks toward him, hoping beyond hope that he has something, anything to tell her. ]

Hey... um, hi. Excuse me? [ It's not easy to get his attention when she's trying to lay low, but she does her best, raising her voice just enough and waving at him. ] Over here!

[ At the very least, she has some honeyed water and some snacks she can offer him. Whether he can help her or not. ]

perfect 😌

[healthkit]

[ It's Joel's first instinct to ignore anyone and anything that may try to grab his attention while he's on the run. Hell, even in the Harbours when everything's gone back to some semblance of peaceful, he's more inclined on keeping to himself and remaining detached and uninvolved. It's safer that way. It ensures he gets to live another day longer, whatever that might mean.

But this ain't his Earth, and it sure as hell (for some meaning of the word) ain't the United States that has hardened him over the last two decades. So he has to make a conscious effort to slow his pace, look for the source of the voice, suss out whether the young woman means him any harm, and eventually ... relent. He hasn't got anything on him except for the ugly black branding on his skin and the rough-hewn fabric of his prisoner's jumpsuit he's sporting; he isn't exactly anyone's ideal mark for a mugging. ]

You all right, miss? [ She doesn't look like she'd gotten caught up in all of the chaos with the Reapers and the hierarchy, which ... all right, makes her a little suspicious.

He gestures back towards the way he'd come. ] If you hadn't noticed, we're a bit short on time.

Re: perfect 😌

[aflowers]

[ It's not just the prisoner's jumpsuit and the brand that give him away; even without them, she'd recognize the look on his face and the hurried movements,. And as it is, he's right— time is not a resource of which they have a lot right now; if he is indeed on the run she's sure it won't be long before he's followed, and from the time she's spent in the cramped hallways of the prison herself, she's come to learn that they're hardly limited in number.

She hasn't really given a lot of thought to the fact that her not being caught up in this mess may mark her as suspicious. Not yet.

Aerith nods in answer to his words, but also holds out the flask she's been carrying. If she had her Materia, she could heal the black brand on his skin... but this will have to do for now. ]

You were a prisoner, right? You're probably thirsty. ...Hungry, too. [ A reach into a pocket has her surfacing with a couple of strips of jerky— not much, but something to soothe an aching stomach, if he has one. ] It's not much, but... maybe it'll help.

[ She has questions, of course— it's probably written all over her face, the sickening hope— but she's at least polite enough to give him a moment or two first. ]

closed to lumine —;

[healthkit]

[ It’ll be their second noticeboard trip together, and Joel’s first trip into the Hinterlands. He’s a little more prepared than he was the last time, having saved his reward earnings from their last task to purchase a decent enough weapon. It’s already showing some wear and likely won’t last for more than another quest or two at best, but it’s a hell of a lot better than the literal sticks and stones he’d used to defend himself against the harpy.

So, you know, he’ll take it.

Disregarding the locals’ warnings that a journey into the Hinterlands is considered a one-way trip, Joel still exercises caution and accepts Lumine’s offer to act as guide. No way to claim a two-hundred coin reward if he gets stuck in the Hinterlands, right? And Lumine has proven herself to be a formidable partner, which wrestles with his innate need to be the overprotective father despite himself, and tell her she’s better off staying in a safer place. It ain’t up to him, though; none of it is, not in a place like this. Ellie had already shown him what she was capable of back home, and now being here … he’s seeing it in others too.

He lets out a breath, readjusts the strap of the satchel he picked up to carry a pair of protective gloves and that weapon of his, and glances in Lumine’s direction. ]

All right. You ready for this?

[unalign]

[ when aripi called for her attendance again, lumine had assumed the blacksmith wanted to fetch another star fragment for her. not that it's impossible, but those little elemental creatures didn't seem too keen on any further retrieval of their treasure. and having gone to the hinterlands twice before and having also met them twice, it doesn't seem like they'll be accepting of further stories from her.

of course, she could be mistaken. they seem to be very fond of heroic tales, even if they're embellished ones.

so color her surprised when the task is just for a guide through the area, considering her familiarity and the success of her last two endeavors. if she's going to be paid for it, sure, why not. and it helps too that the person she's accompanying is a familiar face.

she offers him a smile and a slight nod. ]

As I'll ever be. The path to the star is pretty straightforward, just a little further off from civilization.

[ a beat: ] Do you have a way to transport it? It's very hot to the touch.

[healthkit]

All right, good.

[ Joel nods. After everything they've been put through so far, all of the settling in and the soul-stuff, a straightforward task sounds like a real gift. But despite that bit of reassurance he wouldn't be surprised if he had to prepare for worse anyway; wouldn't be the first time. It also explains the weapons and few other miscellaneous rations he's managed to scrape by, either by purchasing or ransacking abandoned areas. Nothing fancy, of course, but then he's never had fancy anyway — so the barest of things, so long as they work, are fine by him. ]

Got a set of gloves. [ They're thick and insulated and still might not be enough, but he'd been assured they'd do the job. And these cost him something too. ] Figured we'd fashion the rest of what we'll need at the site.

[unalign]

[ there's not much to worry about, really. the hinterlands were mostly quiet when she's gone there a few times, though, given how the lands and its residents are so unpredictable, it pays to be careful anyway. that, and she can most probably protect both of them—that is, if her powers cooperate like it usually do every now and then. ]

The gloves we used the first time around worked, so I'm sure we'll be fine.

[ and if not, then they can always make do, like what he's said. she hasn't tried if her anemo abilities are enough to carry it, but that's also something she can test out later.

she gestures at him over her shoulder. ]

Let's go. The quicker we reach the star, the better.

closed to bruno —;

[healthkit]

[ What should have been a quick hunting trip outside of the Harbour and into the Barrens and beyond becomes a little more complicated the moment Joel starts coughing up marigold blossoms and peony blooms, the myriad of gold and violet and pinkish petals falling into his hands and between his fingers in a wet, floral mess. Even a drink of water to parch his dry throat only serves to be a brief respite from another coughing fit, the kind that leaves one breathless and sore, eyes watering and muscles tensing tight.

It ain’t like anything he’s ever felt before but it’s not the cordyceps, that much he’s goddamned sure of. After hacking up a full garden bouquet of flowers and scaring off any smaller game, Joel is starting to wonder whether he’d prefer that goddamned fungus to this (no, not really), and exhausted from the effort to keep himself on his feet, he finally seeks some place safe enough to rest. Some place, he hopes, where he can gather his bearings and then head back to the Harbours.

Today is not gonna be his day to hunt.

It’s after a brief resting of his eyes (and lighter, sporadic coughing fits) that he hears the crack! of a dry twig or something, and it’s got Joel on high alert. Flowers be damned, he ain’t going out like this, and he’ll fight whatever ogre or goblin that comes his way. He won’t die easy.

It’s a man that emerges past the rough-hewn stone of the ruins Joel has chosen to use as his resting spot. And he’s a familiar face at that. ]

Shit. [ It’s a struggle, but he does make an attempt to get back to his feet, hiding his knife away. His insides feel hollow and raw and somehow still too full at the same time. ] Wasn’t expectin’ anyone to come by here.

[fallingsand]

[ Bruno freezes the moment he passes into plain view and realizes someone is sitting right over there. It's always startling to run into someone else out here, even if he does know there's definitely more than just himself living here. Even so, the surprise remains, panic rises for a second and... then fades. He knows this guy, the guy who'd been poking around those creepy bones. ]

Oh, w-well, I just. I live near here, that's all.

[ Yes, near here, amongst what, from here, looks to be a whole lot of ruins and rubble. Bruno pulls his ruana close around himself and takes a tentative step closer to Joel, looking at him curiously.

He doesn't look too well, does he? ]

What about you? What are you doing out here?

[healthkit]

[ Well, not looking 'too well' would be an understatement. He hasn't felt this amount of shit in some time. Not since that goddamned rebar went right through him like he was the stuck pig, and he'd blacked out to ... this place.

He has trouble standing straight, a hand at his chest as though it's the only thing steadying his insides. And maybe, at this moment, it is. ]

Huntin'. [ is what he manages to utter before he feels another wave of nausea overcome him, that fullness threatening to drag itself up his throat in a burst of flowers. He swallows it down with a fair amount of determination because the feeling of it is so goddamned miserable — but throwing it up somehow feels worse. Leaves him feeling cold and sweaty and weak for a few minutes, like getting the flu. ]

Just needed to sit down and rest for a bit. Get my bearings.

[fallingsand]

[ That Joel has trouble standing straight at all has Bruno taking another step, two more, three, and then crossing the short distance between them. He reaches out to try and help steady him. It may be an unwelcome intrusion into the man's personal space, but worry overwhelms common sense this time around. ]

Hey, don't. Don't push yourself too hard. If you're... [ Sick but he won't say it. Instead, he says, ] Tired, my place isn't too far off. It'd be safer to rest there.