ataraxionlogs | EVENT: ARIMA ▒ APRIL 22-23

EVENT: ARIMA ▒ APRIL 22-23

CHARACTERS: Ensemble production!
LOCATION: Arima Mining Colony
WARNINGS: Potential for gambling, drugs, violence, sex work.
SUMMARY: Passengers departing for and arriving by shuttle at the Arima Mining Colony.
NOTES: Covers April 22-23. IC event start commences post-Gunnery announcement. Divided by locations; players are free to indicate which day, and to begin new subthreads wherever they'd like! April 24-26 log here.

You step off of the shuttles into one of the bustling, heavily-guarded docks buried deep within the rock of an asteroid. Everyone seems too wrapped up in their own business to pay much mind to the group pouring out with you, and the mechanical sounds of takeoff, landing, and regular maintenance fill the air with clinks and whirs. As you begin to explore the colony, you find dingy and worn streets filled with a ruckus that's easy to get lost in: pushy merchants, booming, scratchy voices coming from inebriated patrons, and the scurrying footsteps of opportunistic thieves darting through the crowds. The colony no longer seems to profit off its mines, but this waystation for undesirables does have a taste for myriad forms of entertainment.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ He keeps losing count; his hands are shaking too badly, he blinks at the wrong moment; but he can't seem to count past six or seven, every time he tries. And no matter how hard he thinks, the last thing he remembers is his mother, her last breaths, the judgement on the faces of those he remembers as his friends--

Until a quiet, steady voice speaks up from behind him, one unfamiliar to him. Older, male, definitely one of the teachers. ]

... Excuse me, young man? Young man?

[stiles struggles desperately to catch his breath as he turns to face the teacher. there are black spots in his vision, edges hazy, but even so he doesn't think he recognizes the man.

is he one of the newest replacements for yet another dead teacher? stiles tries to cast his mind back to the last person to die in their town. allis---]

Oh god.

[oh god, allison. allison is dead. how could he forget something like that. no wonder his friends were acting like that, he didn't blame them for not wanting to talk to him. he didn't really want to talk to himself either.]

[ As soon as he turns, the man isn't there. In its place is the bloodied body of Allison before him, death-pale, her eyes clouded and unseeing. Her hands reach for him, smearing blood on his shirt; the grip is clumsy, weak, utterly unfeeling. ]

....help....

[stiles screams and scrambles back until he slams against the lockers behind him with a sharp sound. his head rings and his eyes are blind with tears. the thick copper scent of her blood reaches his nose and he gags, falling to his knees.

he takes advantage of his new position and curls in on himself, shaking hands coming up to shield his eyes, except there's blood on his hands now too, wet and sticky and stained with the lives of all the people that died because of him. he can't breathe. he can't breathe.]

It's not real, it's not real. She's not here. It must be a dream.

Oh god please let it be a dream...

Someone call the nurse!

[ Stiles falls to his knees and the apparition's gone. It's the new teacher (Melkor, in garb borrowed from Stiles' memories; jeans, button-down, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, wire-frame glasses perched on his hawkish nose) reaching down to him. ]

Young man... you've had a fit, you've cut your elbow on the lockers. Listen to the sound of my voice, focus on it. Breathe deep, slowly.

Here, take my hand; I'll help you up.

[stiles lets out a long, low whine, heart racing so fast it feels like it's going to burst right out of his chest. he bites on his bottom lip until it bleeds, the sharp burst of taste on his tongue enough to shock a heaving breath out of him.

his right arm aches, a piercing, bone settled feeling of agony. crawling under his skin. he manages to choke out;] --hurts

[face wet with tears and mouth filled with blood, stiles stares down at the blurred fingers in front of him until they solidify into a single hand. stiles takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly as he grasps at the hand.

an anchor. a---]

[ Just an anchor. The touch feels so solid, so warm and utterly real that it dispels any notion in him that this is a dream. The fear, the panic, they are suddenly banished. And rather than haul him up immediately, the calloused hand simply holds his for a moment, letting the touch linger, so that even in a rush, Stiles can count all ten fingers without a waver.

Slowly, he is pulled again to his feet. The stranger smooths his hair automatically, a vaguely paternal gesture, looks him over.

Softly, ]

You know, I had panic attacks and night terrors all the way through college? Deep breaths again. You're alright. You're safe. Everything's okay.

[stiles' hearbeat steadies. his breathing comes more easily. he counts the fingers on both hands twice and comes up with the same answer both times.

this isn't a dream. allison isn't really here. he just had a panic attack in the school hallways. he's bleeding and hurt, and still silently crying, but he's not going crazy. he's here and this is real.

he makes a soft, broken sound and leans into the soothing touch. his dad tries, but every hug between them is awkward and an unspoken reminder of his mother and what they lost. nothing is ever this easy between them. he sways on his feet. closes his eyes and counts his breaths.]

Why did they stop? The-- the attacks? [how does he make them stop]

[ The unfamiliar figure tugs him in close, turning their bodies like he's trying to protect Stiles from the view of others. He smells warm, earthy-- alpine cologne and the salt of clean sweat; and he exhales a shaky, self-conscious puff of laughter that seems at odds with his meticulous appearance and strong figure. ]

Medication, therapy, practice. Tenacity counts for a lot, I guess.

[ He leans back, tugging a rumpled green paisley pocket square from his back pocket, offering it wordlessly. ]

You okay to walk?

[stiles moves with the direction easily, taking the comfort he can from the situation. this is the most steady he's felt in awhile, the most safe.

he takes a deep breath and the overwhelming scent of earth and leaves (of basement and dust and bone) startles him into tightening his grip on the man's hand for a moment before the smell eases into something more generously masculine and firm.

the answer doesn't exactly surprise him, though he would have liked to discover that there was some kind of shortcut through it all.]

Well I've definitely got all of those.

[stiles takes the proffered pocket square--seriously? who wears pocket squares anymore-- and wipes the tears from his face and the blood from his lip. he nods shakily.]

Y-yeah. I think so.

[ The scene changes as soon as he's moving; suddenly they're outside, the season's changed. It's snowing lightly, the grey of the sky and earth all blurring together; it feels like it's been ages. Stiles' temples ache, it's hard to remember anything, and he has to focus on what the teacher beside him is saying.

Michael. He's bundled up in a black peacoat, wool scarf tucked thickly around his neck, his dark hair smoothed neatly away from his face. ]

-- not that it matters, I suppose. Anyway, you have the key to my office, if you have another episode and need a safe place.

Where are you applying to college, anyway?

[ His grave voice has a hopeful bent to it; and if he struggles, Stiles has vague recollections that he'd been asked this before. There's a jangle as Michael digs in his pocket for his keys. ]

[his feet drag through the snow, kicking up little tufts of white powder with each step. the healing scab on his elbow from the cut catches on his jacket and tugs painfully.

stiles shivers deeper into his coat and tries to push past all of the distractions and focus on what his teacher is saying.]

... yeah. [he nods, suddenly feeling the weight of the key in his front pocket. when did he get that again?]

I don't--

[stiles' head pounds. it's a reasonable question for a teacher to ask, with him in his junior year. so reasonable in fact that he must have answered this once already...]

I'm not sure. I was thinking of staying close, you know, for my dad. But there's a lot of good colleges on the east coast and--

[and the east coast isn't here.]

[ A nearby sedan beeps as he approaches it, and the instructor glances over at Stiles. Smiles, wanly. ]

You know... you've got your whole life stretched out ahead of you, Stiles. And I don't know that this town is doing much good for you.

If you need a letter of recommendation, though, just let me know.

[ Then a slow frown. Stiles can feel the edges of his vision begin to blur. Thinly, as if he's hearing it through water, he hears the familiar figure speak again. ]

Stiles, are you alright....?

[ By the time the question is out, the world has gone utterly dark. Stiles is on the Tranquility again, staring down a long and empty hallway, the strange, futuristic paneling clawed, scratched with horrific images of eyes and blood.

He is utterly alone, so much so that the sound of his own breathing bounces off the metal surfaces that surround him. ]

[the sound of his breathing is deafening in the stillness. the hallway looks like the scene of a crime. like any tuesday night back home in beacon hills. except wasn't he just there? everything blurs in his mind like a watercolor painting ran under the faucet.

the sound of his breathing in his ears grows quicker and more belabored as he tries to remember where he last fell asleep. reason would suggest that tranquility is the dream. the concept of being kidnapped in space was ridiculous, even taking into consideration the last year back home. but when he brings a hand up run through his hair, the scab on his elbow tugs painfully against the fabric of his shirt.

the solid weight of the key still rests in his pants pocket, and despite the stillness of the hallway stiles can't help but think that he isn't really alone.]

[ The sense of being watched grows overwhelming. Terrifyingly so; as if someone or something is moving ever-closer, just at the corners of his vision, though every time he turns there is nothing.

And suddenly, a sharp pain 'round his ankle, shooting up his leg, down his foot.

The toothed jaws of a trap. ]

[stiles screams, the sound tearing out of his throat like a jagged claw. he drops to the ground on his hands and knees, invisible (impossible) twigs and stones digging into the soft skin of his palms and forming a dozen tiny cuts and scrapes that start oozing blood onto the smooth floor of the hallway.

he cries messy tears, tries to curl his entire body around the biting pain in his ankle. metal teeth grate against his bone and he whines high and tight through his nose, clawing pointlessly at the steel trap to try and free himself.

he knows this. he knows how to disengage these traps, he did it for lydia. but he just can't seem to concentrate, his focus skating along the edge of pain and making his fingers shake against the mechanism.]

Help me... [stiles moans, helpless and low, whole body shivering through the shock]

Please, help....

[ There's no help; just the metal digging into him, the blood, the utterly crippling agony and his own voice bouncing off the walls.

His hands don't seem to obey him at all; slipping and sliding against the blood, against the metal. He can't even count his own fingers. ]

This is a dream, this is a dream.

[stiles repeats the mantra to himself over and over, the only small comfort he can find in the moment. it doesn't feel like a dream. it feels like he's dying. his body is going into shock, his vision going grey around the edges, fingers going cold and body going numb.

it doesn't hurt anymore. stiles wonders if this is how allison felt when she died. at least she'd had scott to hold her in those last moments. there's nobody here. just stiles and the empty echo of his breathing on the walls.

his breathing slows...]

[ When his breathing slows, his eyes seem to crack open, watching the ceiling of his own room. Nothing's amiss; it's all utterly normal.

He has vague recollections of the key; a sense that he's taken to wearing pocketed boxers just to keep it with him. Focusing on it's even better than the finger trick. Five ridges, a cool steady weight, and the reminder that it leads to a safe place.

It's storming outside, and the rain patters quietly against the window. ]

[sleeping has become hardly restful as of late, merely necessary. so the knowledge that he can reach into his pocket at any time and feel for that key to reassure himself that he's awake, even when his vision is blurring too much for him to successfully count, adds a little bit of stability to what would otherwise be a cacophony of his mind.

he can't remember the last time that a teacher actually went out of their way for any kid are beacon high, let alone himself, so it frustrates him that he can't quite seem to remember the teacher's name, as he stares at the stains on his ceiling and plays his own little version of the rorschach test.

this is a butterfly, that is a flower, the teacher's name wasn't matthew it was m--]

[ The stain begins to grow. To darken. In moments it has become blood red, and drips. Slowly. One dot falls upon Stiles' brow, still-warm. ]

[stiles can't bring himself to believe it at first. brings a hand up to his forehead, wipes at the drop, and brings his hand up to his face to stare at the smear of red on his fingertips. his hands start to shake and his body grows cold.

when he forces himself to look up at the ceiling again he finds that he's staring not at the ceiling of his bedroom window, but of the basement at the eichen house.

he's not in his bed, but on the dusty sofa. just in the periphery of his vision, the symbol 己 is scratched roughly on the stone wall. the sound of shuffling, dragging footsteps reaches stiles' ears.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

EVENT: ARIMA ▒ APRIL 22-23

/cries

/pats on the back

Re: /pats on the back

had to add the bloody hands icon whoops

D: WHY U DO DIS

THIS IS SO GOOD

ahhhh, glad you think so!

i love this so much i want to cry

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject