etrayalogs | { i have seen the dark universe yawning, where the black planets roll without aim;

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{ i have seen the dark universe yawning, where the black planets roll without aim;

WHO: Vanessa Ives & OPEN
WHEN: Late August, all of September
WHERE: All over Etraya
WHAT: Mostly horror plot shenanigans, but also a placeholder for TDM or Mingle settings and anything else this month.
NOTES\WARNINGS: Tentacles, body horror, potential compulsion, psychic invasion. (More TBA as needed)

[ ooc; Starters below! Write your own (she can be anywhere) or request one of me. You can PM, DM, or find me at

cherto. I am up for whatever. ]

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[ He asks about her friends, but she has never really had many of those. The City perhaps held her greatest collection of friends, but having lost so many, she has been reluctant to trust that far again. Still, there are some here that she can't help but be drawn to. Either to want to protect, or to want to observe. Gorgug may land somewhere in the middle.

Except now that he's in her presence, protection isn't a strong priority. She wants to help, yes, but now that he's near, there's something else that she wants that she can't quite put a name to.

She smiles tensely in response. ]

I have been well, but there are some I know trapped beyond the mirrors, and so I worry. It must be the same for you, seeking help on the matter. Have you been otherwise unmarred by recent events?

[ Unmarred. He can assume its meaning, and it's not the word he gets stuck on--it's the question itself. Has he been anything like unmarred? When before his friends started getting stuck in the mirrors, he was frustrated; and before he was frustrated, he's been exhausted, anxious.

And he really can't think before those, when Adaine's being trapped--when finding a solution for this, bumbling--has a bigger grip on him.

He takes a few seconds to answer, struggling for a smile that doesn't quite turn into one, that's more a tug into a cheek as he says in contrast, ] Yeah, I'm unmarred. I'm about as marred as anyone, so not a lot, I think.

[ He totally thinks he knows what he's saying. ]

As anyone, is it? Hm, I should think that most people here are far more damaged than they would care to let on. If such is the case with you, then you needn't worry for hiding your pain.

[ Vanessa leads him towards the kitchen instead of the parlour, since she has coffee still brewing.

Despite the heavy topic broached, a certain etiquette takes over in some situations, and so she must ask. ]

Would you care for some coffee? Or tea?

[ Huh, he's never thought about that before... never would have thought to call anyone damaged, but Vanessa says it in not an unkind way that Gorgug doesn't take it in a bad way. He only considers it lightly, too, as they walk from the entrance and into the kitchen.

But, questions of drinks. ]

...Do you have hot chocolate? I'm okay if you don't.

[ He can deal, doesn't want to fuss hard, but--he does like hot chocolate... ]

[ While she may be something of a sweet-tooth, he happens to ask for something she has never considered stocking up on before. Truthfully, it wasn't a common treat when she lived in this house in London, but she knows that modern shops have quite a lot that she has yet to discover.

There's something almost apologetic as she shakes her head. ]

I am afraid that is something I don't have. Soon remedied, though, for your next visit.

[ Once in the kitchen, she'll move to where a flame rests beneath a glass carafe, pulling that free to pour into a silver one. He may not want coffee, but she could always use a cup, and it's there should he change his mind. ]

Please, sit.

[ The table in the corner is small, but serviceable. It clearly isn't where residents of this grand house are meant to dine. ]

Tell me of your concerns, and what you hope to achieve for those trapped.

[ His lips twitch into a small smile, even if the drink isn't had--appreciative, for your next visit. Embarrassing, but in a fond way. Gorgug takes a seat as offered, and he drops the straps of the bag that he carries from his shoulder, gripping onto it from the bag itself. Watching Vanessa briefly in her actions, before the question turns this time onto why he's come over. ]

Yeah, okay. --I can show you. [ Which means, give me a second, as he sits the bag carefully onto the table, and digs into his hoodie's pockets for some heavy-duty gloves (or the equivalent found available at the general store around here). Necessary, for when he brings out the plastic slip inside with the glass shards, settles them down so he can next produce....crystal. Crystal in the shape of an iPad, and Vanessa may pick up on its magical properties, unusual.

He sets it down as well, and first messes with the packet with the glinting pieces of mirror, fiddling with the seal awkwardly for a second before getting his hand in. He takes them out, one shard larger than the other--and when sat down, a line can be seen that mimics a crack, a jagged thin black line. ]

Um, so-- this is the broken mirror that's around that people are getting stuck in. [ And a stronger magic, purposeful: a binding, if protective spell placed into it. Whispers that catch on one's ear when they're close enough, and Gorgug thinks about his headphones, but--no. That's rude. ] I brought over a piece I've fixed, and-- I hope I haven't messed it up.

[ It's said bashfully, not too deprecating, but the emotion is there: a worry. Surely, Vanessa will need time to come over and look, and so Gorgug doesn't speak too much more. He instead works on the crystal technology he's brought over, pressing a piece of it, and making appear on the front an interface.

He's got that file on the mirror magic in here somewhere... ]

[ Just in case he should change his mind, she'll place a cup of coffee nearby for him, with plenty of cream and sugar as one might enjoy their hot chocolate. With her own cup still in hand, she remains standing, lingering at his side to peer down at the shards.

She has never been fond of mirrors, for many reasons. She may not appreciate seeing her own reflection, but there is even more to them than that. They can be abused via witchcraft, and so seems to be the case here, though it is a sort Vanessa hasn't seen before. Normally one can only travel through mirrors with intent.

To be drawn unwillingly into another realm is new. She can hear the whispers, just as she did out amongst the wreckage.

Curiously, her attention turns to what he is fidgeting with. ]

Have you encountered cursed mirrors before? Repairing it in full may not lead to the outcome that you hope for.

[ It might not, and her saying so isn't disappointing in itself, but he smiles like a grimace to himself to consider it: he's hardly got hope for this, barely knows what he's doing. If anything. He's reaching, and while Gorgug spares a glance at the coffee cup near him (he meant to say thanks, but fumbles in his own awkwardness where he doesn't speak quick enough, then keeps delaying), he stops fidgeting with the crystal screen in his hands. ]

Probably... I, I don't know anything about this stuff at all. And I think-- I'm probably not doing anything except making it easy for the clown parts to come out. [ A beat, and that does make him glance up at Vanessa, pointing to the shards. ] Clowns try and get out. They did that back on the ship, too.

[ As for his crystal screen, he's got in set on the equivalent of a modern day desktop screen, and it takes tapping an icon to bring up the file he wants. There's a language it reads that Gorgug himself doesn't know, and here's the key moment: if Vanessa can at all understand it.

...if it's a real language at all. It hasn't gone lost on Gorgug that this might be an error of one world's magic trying to translate another's, but even so: ]

This was the reading my computer got when I tried scanning the mirror's magic. Does it look like something you know?

[ Or even something she could know, with a spell? ]

[ Mention of the clowns has her lips pressing tight with distaste, recalling their bizarre state upon the ship. Leaning over, she sets down her own cup so as to lean and attempt to read what is on the screen.

She can only look for but a moment before her eyes glaze over and her skin pales further. It isn't the same as a television, but she still struggles to look at any screen that can project, ever since the torture brought in during her time in the City.

Beyond the whispers, she can now hear that scratching.

Unable to finish her attempt at reading, Vanessa looks sharply away and straightens with a stiffness. She wouldn't have been able to decipher it, anyway, that much is clear. It isn't Latin or Verbis Diablo. Even still, the magic it suggests does trigger a sense in her, even beyond her repressed fear. ]

I have never seen such a language, but the magic still speaks through it. It is meant to guard something within. I doubt it speaks of those drawn inside, or the clowns. They may act as soldiers.

Should you be able to break through this spell, you may free something else entirely. This is dangerous.

[ This is dangerous. It could be dangerous. Gorgug knows well the ways magic can be dangerous, and he does take her words to heart: he's uncertain. About what the right choice is, or perhaps, who the right person is to be looking into this. Because what if there is something else in there that could come out, cause problems from messing with the shards in attempting to get to the people trapped inside?

It has him quiet for a small moment, where he's trying to battle against that doubt. Maybe not winning over it, when he says, in a softer tone than he just used. ]

...I have to find a way to get my friends out. And the other people. [ But mainly, his friends--them being in there is what holds more feeling behind the words, an emotion not spoken, but present from him. The reason for his anxiety; the reason he doesn't want to drop this idea of continuing.

Join them, the shards whisper, and Gorgug tighten his hands into fists. ]

Maybe...there's someone with better magic who can deal with whatever else could be idea. We just need to find a way to get them out. Back into their bodies.

[ Right? He's trying, now, to sound hopeful. ]

[ There is a moment where she considers offering some of that better magic he wonders at. She might be able to project into that other realm, to discover something that might help, but there is a rare hesitance keeping her silent on the matter.

Fear of only further endangering others. Fear of failure.

She swallows thickly, and a slender hand settles gently over his shoulder. The whisper almost softens the rasp in her voice. The depression is not something she normally lingers in—the call of hopelessness. ]

And if you can't?

[ Why doesn't she say 'we'? Something in her shifts that language, just as the invisible tendrils tug at these fears of his. ]

[ And if he can't? Gorgug can't think about that, except--he does, without even considering the lack of we. It's a dose of anxiety to think of Adaine trapped in that way, soul separated from her body, and Rosie as well. And it's been one thing after another, with the space station crashing into Etraya in the first place, and how that couldn't be saved because of the way this stupid place functions. They left it out there. They could have done something.

And from there, his emotions twist from that anxiety into a flickering heat, an anger that blossoms boldly inside him than his nerves. If it wasn't for this place, we wouldn't be having this problem to begin with.

All this, feelings that take place in a matter of seconds. ]

I will, [ Gorgug answers, heat in his words, but none of it directed at Vanessa. He hadn't flinched at her touch, and he doesn't move away from it now. ] I'll make this place help, or, if I can't, then I'll keep trying as long as I have to. I don't care about anything else they want me to do.

[ The heat grows, like a flame finding fuel in a particularly agreeable substance. It's not determination, not hope, but something wilder in that; igniting more noticeably inside Gorgug than what even manages to slip through on his tongue.

Because he's used to keeping a lid on this emotion, a tight control on it; and even now, unconsciously, he's breathing in a slower way to deal with it to produce less oxygen to the flame. You shouldn't go into rages inside a posh lady's house, or anyone's house. That's not good manners.

Hopefully, there's no good flammable substances to provoke it further. ]

[ She doesn't fear the fire. It has both harmed and nurtured her in the past, as with all things dangerous. Pain is never safe.

Vanessa's hand will slip from his shoulder, but instead of moving away, her touch tips at his chin to guide his gaze towards her. If anything, her fingers are unusually cool, as though she remains chilled to the bone. ]

You burn from failures past, don't you?

[ There is empathy in her voice, even as her gaze hypnotizes. ]

[ He hasn't been looking at her because of their placements, her standing to the side of him, and him not deciding to crane his neck. But with her touch, he does, and he meets her eyes with white pupils on black; lips slightly parted, the long, drawn breaths he's trying to keep to.

But he sees beyond eyes, or perhaps sees reflected in them himself: deeper in, guided by the question. Past failures. It's him standing in his barbarian classroom with his teacher, being told, 'You're still just that kid who when I said what do you do when you get mad, you started singing a song,' with the backdrop of disapproval, a refusal to let Gorgug take the easier approach to the artificer classes that even bring him to Vanessa today. Late nights spent in his room, in his and his parents' lab space, isolating himself from family and even friends to get through the multiple pieces of coursework due, always due.

A slightly younger him standing in a forest of endless night, where the trees run red with blood, and the foliage falls and slices through a hand transparent. A hand belonging to a ghost, recently dead and sentenced to a hell.

Because he died at fourteen, fresh to a new school with no friends, and what bigger failure is there than that? ]

I...don't want to be stupid, [ he admits, his breath quickening, hands closing into fists against the table top. Not even the whispers reaching his ears; he hears indignation instead. ] I protect people. I'm good at what I'm do. I'm not a loser anymore.

[ Because he was the loser, growing up. A half-orc raised by gnomes, lanky instead of muscular, his tusks slower to grow in than most. A push-over, never quite right, never fitting in--never what people expected of him. A target because he was always taught to be kind. Because he never really wanted to be mean.

He's not that boy anymore. He won't let himself be that boy anymore. ]

No?

[ She has seen so much death, both young and old, human and monster, and so she should be jaded, but every little cut revealed is a new mark on her heart. She sighs with his words, and lifts her hand to gently brush back his hair in an almost motherly gesture.

Outsiders. They will always be outsiders, won't they? The world is cruel. Even those who claim to mean well don't truly know.

It is too easy to see his pain as her own. ]

It must hurt to carry that sort of pressure. Eternal duality. For others to fail to see what you are capable of, to force you to fit into only one role. It is easy to take their belief and think that the only way. Only hurt, or only help. It can seem impossible to feel whole, and take both your anger and your wits and combine them into what could be your greatest strength.

Even I don't know how.

[ Still hovering at his side, Vanessa's arms encircle him, continuing to brush back his head while leaning down to whisper near his ear. Unseen at this angle, there are dark tendrils snaking with her whispers, shadows that tickle at his ear like a cool breath. ]

But even if you could do so, would they accept you even then? How many do you have to save to be seen? By them? By yourself?

[ It's a peculiar kind of sedative, the effect that her words have on his body. The whispers from the glass have become muted to his ears, the surrounding environment in it; his body malleable to Vanessa's touch, allowing her to come as close as she wants without even a glance. Too focused, he is, on her words, and how they graze against his anger, his indignation; trying to be more than just the half-orc pre-destined to be the caricature of his species, or so his adopted parent's family believed. A child that will grow up to know only rage--and Gorgug knows that rage now, a cool furnace that finds substance in the face of his obstacles.

He can be more. Can. But would anyone understand? Would anyone care if he did? And even if this is for him, would he stand for his achievements being ignored? Though he wants to tell himself it wouldn't matter if nobody but himself recognised his success, his anger born originally on the ashes of always being taken for granted, for being bullied, wrong, a joke--

It answers differently. ]

I'll make them, [ comes his reply, thoughts of his friends, of the mirrors, the reason he came here lost in the face of a decision equipped with gasoline. Either they'll accept him, or he'll make them regret it. The world can't keep hurting him when all he does is try his best, saves it, puts his body and mind on the line for it, and he receives shit for it in return.

Doesn't he deserve the validation? To be treated like a normal person?

His parents told him to be kind, but never a pushover. ]

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{ i have seen the dark universe yawning, where the black planets roll without aim;

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