#aevum ic

[avataroftheswarm]

Hundreds of tiny lights flicker here and there, among the grass and brush, dancing and bobbing about in little dances designed to attract a mate. Everything about them was attractive, the dance, the pulse of light, the way they signaled 'look at me, I glow but I'm not eaten yet, I'm fast and strong'. Silly little bugs floating around on the wind, no idea that the twinkling stars above have been invaded by a strange predator that mirrors their little dances.

Above the little fireflies and their mating dance, tiny green dots flicker and pulse along to their own mimicry. The larvae didn't often venture away from the bigger Worms in the small swarm, but it felt like a good night for it. The heat had been oppressive for weeks and would be for weeks to come, but they sensed that wouldn't last. Soon, perhaps weeks, perhaps months, the summer heat would start to slip away and be replaced with cooling. Steadily, the cold would seep back in again and they would retreat indoors or into overly large coats in an attempt to regulate their swarm's temperature.

Such seemed the cycle of this place, one which had broken on their home long ago and replaced with something new and altogether more delicate.

But the cold is not yet here, and the fireflies agree that tonight is one for dancing and living. The swarm might mate and create eggs and more larvae of their own, were they not seemingly frozen in time, paused in their growth despite all other functions being normal. Strange, but such was the way of this place.

It was easier to simply accept this as the truth of the world and not look further. Like the larvae danced in the air and thought of nothing at all.

The older Worms, their guardians and caretakers, had already ensured there was nothing to worry and think about in their little glade. Now they flew above, composing a song to the humming of the swarm and the fireflies and the rhymes of humans.

Twinkle twinkle, little Worm, keep your guard and gazes firm Watch the skies and watch the ground, least by hunters you be found Build the nest and build the Hive, feed them all and let them thrive Keep the young and eat the old, take them back into the fold Watch the balance, keep it strong, or your watching won't be long Twinkle twinkle little Worm, keep your guard and gazes firm.

Maybe they’ll sing it for Jiao-Jiao later, or perhaps Vash. Or maybe they’ll just keep it for themselves and only share when they return home to the Hive and all the others. When they tell them all about this place far away, where green things still grow and water still crashes on the shore and the breeze smells like life beyond them. Good tales for the Hive to hear, fanciful descriptions of worlds beyond their own. Maybe one day the swarm will get to leave their home properly and explore these places with the humans who have grown up with them. Maybe not.

For now, the older Worms circle, snatching curious beetles and bats out of the sky, using them to replenish the energy it takes to dance across the skies. Maybe no one else is here to appreciate the display, but they are, and that’s all that matters.

[bluestringpuppeteer]

「𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔤!」- Within their mailbox, the intended recipient would discover a small black box about the size of a cell phone. There was a note attached to the top, folded and taped closed.

Something bad is going to happen soon, I've felt it for a while now. Keep these close. Use them if you have to. - Vash

If the box was opened, that person would discover what lie within. Bullets. Three each, all giving off a faint glow. A nigh nuclear sort of power radiated from within the little lines that raced over the surface of their tips. - Bullets that would produce black holes, imbued with Vash's very own power.

It hadn't been long since the strange issue with their memories and the rewriting of their stories and things had gone right back to normal.

Almost.

There were only two occupants of Legato's home now and the psychic... didn't know what to do with himself. There's an aching emptiness behind his breastbone, one he's sure Badou (thank fucking God for Badou) had noticed. Besides that, there's the deep, black, void buried inside him, the one Vash had cracked open and widened, where the Revenant gnaws at the edges. He's kept it covered, hastily repaired with what few positive relationships he has here, but it's there. Waiting for him to misstep and fall in.

There is no one from home here for Legato. Not anymore. Knives is gone, Zazie is not his, Wolfwood naturally wants nothing to do with him. And Vash...

Legato stares at the little box in his hand. He can feel the hum of Vash's power, he'd never need a note to know exactly who this was from. The edges of the hole are brittle and sharp as he carefully tucks the box away, setting out to acquire a new magazine just for them.

Something bad indeed, if Vash was entrusting him with this.

Legato doesn't allow himself to think about how many more 'something bad's he can suffer through before it all ends up too much, before the floor splinters away and the void inside him consumes him whole. He's beginning to find it rather difficult to care.

[drunkelreporter]

Roberto sets his hands on his hips and smiles. The place is just like he'd wanted it to be, though small. That was fine, there was plenty of time and room to grow, once his little newspaper had proven it's worth.

Now all there was left to do was find a couple of reporters and get to work.

"Heh. Guess you can't become my boss now, Newbie," he tells his empty office with a grin. "I got the fancy chair before you did. Maybe if you do show up, I'll give you a raise for old time's sake." He chuckles and closes the door behind him. No use sitting in an office when he had news to find. Can't write stories without finding them first.

[ttauriwanderer]

Breathe in, breathe out, meditate and sift through his fears and wishes and set them gently back into their places in his subconscious. They are not here and now, they hold no sway over the present. Moving forward is what's important now, so he heads back to the guild to keep working.

Deidara needs his help, Ito can only handle so much of the shinobi's depression alone, and he's sure there's plenty of others that need help after an experience in Sonare. There's people he needs to check on and the only way to do that is to get out there and get to it.

Even if he's a little distracted interacting with the little spirits that flit around here and there now.

[chaoticclaybomber]

Deidara might, possibly, maybe, be flying around throwing bombs around. Maybe. Probably. That maniacal laugh might belong to a blond flying around on a white clay bird.

[drunkelreporter]

What a tiny little innocuous thing, a derringer. Barely the size of his palm, tiny little bullets, hardly able to do damage at all. It sits on his bedside table when he pulls himself up in the morning, innocent and tiny.

Last he'd remembered the thing, he'd been holding out the bloody gun to Meryl as he breathed out his last breaths, his arm finally falling with the clatter of the gun on the floor of the elevator. He'd only barely absorbed that part, with everything fading out to black.

He's not sure how he feels about having it again now, when by all rights it should be with Meryl. He gave it to her when he clearly wouldn't need it again. But Roberto picks it up and weighs it in his palm, unsurprised to find a handful of bullets next to it. The smallest bullet was enough to turn the tide of a fight, the mere fact of being armed sometimes enough to discourage one entirely. He'd pulled off more narrow escapes with this gun then he could rightfully count.

It felt right in his palm again, even if it shouldn't be there.

Habitually he checks and clears the chambers, clicks the safety on. He'd need to clean and service it before anything else.

There was still blood smudged on the handle and barrel, wet and sticky. Roberto stares at the red smudges left behind on his hands with a blank expression before turning and heading down to the kitchen. He was going to need a stiff drink before he got started on this, if he wanted to deal with the phantom pain of a nail dug into his side and the memory of slowly going cold as his blood painted the ground.

Maybe he should call Astarion. He feels like it's going to be a long, hazy sort of day that he spends more drunk than not anyway. Probably better to have someone around to make sure he doesn't overdo it.

[drunkelreporter]

Roberto makes his way through the silent streets, gold and silver mist swirling around his feet and parting as he passes through. Everything is strange and wispy, dream-like. He’s not overly fond of it all, but he can make out the vague shapes of others in the mist, people moving here and there, darting figures in the fog. There are larger shapes, big monstrous things that swim through the air like a Grand Worm through the sand. Roberto is fairly sure they’re fish of some kind, only no fish he’s seen in pictures or in the ponds in the parks has looked like those things do. He’s steered clear of them so far, more interested in feeling out the situation rather than jumping in feet first.

A trip through a strange pass with a little pink fire guiding him was odd enough, but now he had a hand carved wooden mask, a simple thing with only the impression of a nose, mouth, his mustache on it with a crystal from the wisp embedded in the forehead. It was weird and mystical, and it didn’t make any sense, no matter how he tried to figure it. Not until he had fallen asleep with it in his hand and woke up somewhere that was the Isle but not quite.

Now it was settled over his face as he skulks through the streets, a familiar and not derringer in his hands. He’d been startled when the weapon had appeared, but it fit too well to be anything but his. Fingers settled into well-worn grooves, nails traced over small scratches in the metal. It’s the one he passed to Meryl and yet not, made of something that isn’t real but is. Roberto stops thinking about it, focusing instead on the shapes in the mist, the bright bubble of magenta he’d been making his way to looming closer. But just as the bubble is closer, so too is the looming form of one of the monsters.

Roberto would rather not get into a fight with one of these things. They look like nightmares themselves, all teeth and tentacles and bones, and frankly he’d rather be anywhere else. He’d rather be at home, curled up on the couch with a drink, his kitten, and probably a vampire. But he needs to be out here, helping out however he can. The kids would be, if they were here. Thor is, he’s sure of it. Older Vash absolutely is. He’s caught sight of others here and there and Roberto can’t sit by and watch other people help. He’s done enough of that, he kept doing that too long even when traveling with the kids. He got jaded and cynical, and alright, he may have died for defending Meryl, but it was the only thing he could do.

He’s lost too much to keep letting himself lose now.

The reporter tightens his grip on his tiny pistol, circling the strange glowing bubble as best as he can with the growths of moss over and around it. He’s not the only one here, one of the monsters floating closer as Roberto eyes the bubble, and he crouches behind a larger root, checking his ammo. What he wouldn’t give for Vash or Wolfwood next to him, but right now, it’s only him and his derringer.

A deep breath, in, out, and he steps out from his cover, gun aimed at the thing’s head as it closes in hungrily on the bubble of helpless sleepers. Roberto’s always been a defender, as much as he’s tried to deny it. It’s time he remembered that.

[ttauriwanderer]

God Steven was tired. This was, what, his third round now? He'd blipped, as the locals called an Echo dying and coming back again, twice in this whole outbreak. It wasn't fun either time but they both taught him valuable lessons: one, that he apparently didn't die here which opened up a lot of options he hadn't wanted to test before; two, that the moss was most deadly when you gave into the fear and let it consume you rather then standing up to it.

The second death gave him enough data to be fairly confident that he could last through a second infection without it killing him but man did it suck. It weighed at his limbs and clouded his mind but he was not going to let it get the best of him. No, he had too much to do to let it stop him now.

Especially as things got even worse then they'd been before.

Steven might not be able to see whatever was roaming around, but he could feel the disturbance. Now he wished more then ever that he could reach the Astral, see what was invisibly and intangibly surrounding the largest concentrations of pollen haze from the moss. It felt like a threat, like there was something hovering, waiting for him to fall asleep to hunt him and devour him whole.

It's not until he falls asleep at night and dreams his nightmare again that he confirms there is something there.

The same nightmare, the same fears. He knows them, accepts their possibility, plausibility even. He steels himself again and brushes them away, only to find himself... somewhere else. On the Isle but not and staring down a horrifying entity full of teeth and bones, something about it's aura giving him chills and freezing him to the spot. Its jaws open, tentacles closing in on him and he lashes out in self defense. Every strike passes harmlessly through it, the thing more ghost then living entity and it's hungry maw closes around him--

Steven stumbles out of the crystal tower dazed and alarmed. There were things hunting them all, there was something here but in their dreams and-

There's a flickering pink glow, a pale fire in a vague ball shape waiting for him down the path. It flits off and comes back, bobbing around for attention and flitting away again. Now isn't that familiar. Lux did the same thing when it wanted his attention, though it would talk at him excitedly at the same time. There's no malice that he can tell, not from this little light in the midst of the darkness around them, so Steven steels himself... and follows.

If nothing else, maybe he'll find what he needs to help these people who aren't coming back from their cocooned sleep.

He'd only read briefly about the Passage of Masks, a place that people went to search for enlightenment and self-realization, and had written it off as another sort of pilgrimage place that every culture seemed to have, usually some place hard to reach that granted knowledge of the self or something. Interesting but hardly relevant. As he follows the wisp past the arch covered in masks, having passed many other wisps bobbing about trying to get the attention of Echoes and leading them along, he's no longer sure. There's others traversing the path ahead and behind him but they all seem so far away, distanced in a way that he can only assume means that whatever is here is only for the individual walking it.

Okay. The wisps think this is important enough to get them all out here, he'll walk this path. He'll conquer it in his own way and he'll find what he needs to help everyone he can.