stresstokens (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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etrayalogs2024-11-02 05:18 pm
stresstokens) wrote in etrayalogs2024-11-02 05:18 pm
[ OPEN ] recuperation & reconciliation
WHO: riz gukgak & YOU!!
WHEN: post-fear event onwards!
WHERE: throughout etraya (shops & diners, hospital, training grounds)
WHAT: in the wake of the fear event, riz gets to work on getting stronger, smarter, and trying to be a better friend (outcome: undecided). I'm down for anything! if you'd like something different, feel free to take up the wildcard or ping me on discord/plurk!
NOTES\WARNINGS: discussions of violence & paranoia
a. around town.
[ Riz is not doing well.
Riz is, it must be said, rarely doing well. He's the sort of kid who never learned to relax; no matter what, he always seems to be worried about something, the indefatigable machine that simply sprints from place to place, problem to problem, existing on a diet of convenience foods and coffee when left to his own devices, rarely sleeping. To some, he seems no worse than normal; the deep purple shadows underneath his eyes and the propensity to get startled easily and the tell-tale tremble of his hands from too much caffeine just being a part of what makes Riz, Riz. The only other oddity is the fact that he seems to shy away from his own reflection; whether it's a mirror, a pane of glass, or even a metal napkin receptacle, it gets covered up, avoided, or otherwise pushed out of sight.
But he's doing what he does best, which is pretending none of it exists in the first place. Perhaps you catch him late at night at the coffee shop, whiling away the wee hours of the morning with a cup of coffee approximately as large as his head, scribbling wildly in a thick notebook, his square spectacles sliding steadily down his nose. He startles when someone else comes in, jolting in his seat and knocking his cup askew -- possibly spilling it all over your shoes. ] Shit -- sorry, sorry! I wasn't expecting anyone here!
[ Or maybe you run into him during the daytime, at the grocery store shoving an absolutely obscene amount of beef into a shopping cart far bigger than he is, at the clothing store hunting down clothes for himself in the petit section (or childrens section but, well, beggars can't be choosers), or scarfing down food at an alarming rate in the diner. He's a man about town -- and a man who doesn't particularly want to be home too much right now.
Or perhaps you run into him somewhere else entirely, wandering around Bangsan Market, fingers drumming on his elaborately tattooed forearms. ] Okay. Let's say, hypothetically speaking, you just had the worst month ever. What kinda gift would cheer you up...?
[ Or are all gifts meaningless when you don't have to spend any money on them? Hm. Troubling. Very troubling. ]
b. first-aid refreshers.
[ In the wake of everything that's happened and with no handy Cleric nearby, Riz has made the decision to freshen up on his first-aid skills. You can spot him at the hospital loading an obscene amount of materials into his briefcase, which appears to be able to hold endless amounts of supplies; gauze, bandages, needles and thread, antiseptic and antibiotics, and ice packs and heat packs all make their way in.
Otherwise? He's in a public place like the diner, with an enormous tome on first-aid in front of him that he's frowning at in-between applying his expertise to a suturing practice kit he has laid in front of him, his nimble fingers hooking the needle steadfastly through silicone skin. If he notices he has an audience, he might glance up with a sheepish sort of smile, the knitting of his brows off-setting the row of razor-sharp teeth. ] I figure I should get some practice in while I still can. [ He glances down at the wound kits in front of him with a frown. ] I still haven't got the wound packing quite right, I don't think.
c. training.
[ First-aid training is one thing. Riz is dexterous and nimble and has a great attention to detail, all things that have led to him being a dab hand at figuring out how to deal with battlefield injuries. The physical part of the equation is something else, and something he's decided to dedicate himself to, his own exhaustion be damned.
His gunwork is fine. Great, even. He hits his marks with the consistency and precision they require. It's everything else that he's lacking in. Which is how you might spot him doing laps around a field, in a rare showing of having changed out of his usual stuffy suit-and-tie number, and... honestly, not doing that great. When he finally stops, hands braced on his knees and taking a swig out of a bottle of water, he looks like he might keel over.
Otherwise, you might find him on the training grounds, staring dubiously at the weights (he picks one up with both hands, slams it back down again, dubiously walking down the rack as the weights get smaller, and smaller, and smaller...) and looking over at the rest of the gym as though it contains any answers for him. Strength isn't his strong suit, he knows, but maybe he could be stronger? Or, perhaps, you see him with his rapier out, doing the same drills he'd been taught all those months ago at Aguefort Academy. If you pop in and look interested, he may well flag you down and ask, ] Hey, you here to train too?
d. friendship tour.
[ The last task on his to-do list is the hardest one of them all: trying to get better at being a friend, and not just some mechanism made for solving mysteries. It's clear that his brain has been failing him these days, which leaves one more option: trying to become a better friend.
If you're one of Riz's friends or acquaintances, whether he runs into you by chance or he texts you directly, Riz is going to be approaching you to check up on you. It's time to talk. About feelings. Not his own, obviously, but he's checking in on you -- with maybe some food to help ease the blow, or an offer to just get wonderfully, fabulously drunk. They deserve it. ]
e. wildcard!
[ hit me up for anything! you can find me on the discord or on plurk @ wisdombitch xoxoxo ]
WHEN: post-fear event onwards!
WHERE: throughout etraya (shops & diners, hospital, training grounds)
WHAT: in the wake of the fear event, riz gets to work on getting stronger, smarter, and trying to be a better friend (outcome: undecided). I'm down for anything! if you'd like something different, feel free to take up the wildcard or ping me on discord/plurk!
NOTES\WARNINGS: discussions of violence & paranoia
a. around town.
[ Riz is not doing well.
Riz is, it must be said, rarely doing well. He's the sort of kid who never learned to relax; no matter what, he always seems to be worried about something, the indefatigable machine that simply sprints from place to place, problem to problem, existing on a diet of convenience foods and coffee when left to his own devices, rarely sleeping. To some, he seems no worse than normal; the deep purple shadows underneath his eyes and the propensity to get startled easily and the tell-tale tremble of his hands from too much caffeine just being a part of what makes Riz, Riz. The only other oddity is the fact that he seems to shy away from his own reflection; whether it's a mirror, a pane of glass, or even a metal napkin receptacle, it gets covered up, avoided, or otherwise pushed out of sight.
But he's doing what he does best, which is pretending none of it exists in the first place. Perhaps you catch him late at night at the coffee shop, whiling away the wee hours of the morning with a cup of coffee approximately as large as his head, scribbling wildly in a thick notebook, his square spectacles sliding steadily down his nose. He startles when someone else comes in, jolting in his seat and knocking his cup askew -- possibly spilling it all over your shoes. ] Shit -- sorry, sorry! I wasn't expecting anyone here!
[ Or maybe you run into him during the daytime, at the grocery store shoving an absolutely obscene amount of beef into a shopping cart far bigger than he is, at the clothing store hunting down clothes for himself in the petit section (or childrens section but, well, beggars can't be choosers), or scarfing down food at an alarming rate in the diner. He's a man about town -- and a man who doesn't particularly want to be home too much right now.
Or perhaps you run into him somewhere else entirely, wandering around Bangsan Market, fingers drumming on his elaborately tattooed forearms. ] Okay. Let's say, hypothetically speaking, you just had the worst month ever. What kinda gift would cheer you up...?
[ Or are all gifts meaningless when you don't have to spend any money on them? Hm. Troubling. Very troubling. ]
b. first-aid refreshers.
[ In the wake of everything that's happened and with no handy Cleric nearby, Riz has made the decision to freshen up on his first-aid skills. You can spot him at the hospital loading an obscene amount of materials into his briefcase, which appears to be able to hold endless amounts of supplies; gauze, bandages, needles and thread, antiseptic and antibiotics, and ice packs and heat packs all make their way in.
Otherwise? He's in a public place like the diner, with an enormous tome on first-aid in front of him that he's frowning at in-between applying his expertise to a suturing practice kit he has laid in front of him, his nimble fingers hooking the needle steadfastly through silicone skin. If he notices he has an audience, he might glance up with a sheepish sort of smile, the knitting of his brows off-setting the row of razor-sharp teeth. ] I figure I should get some practice in while I still can. [ He glances down at the wound kits in front of him with a frown. ] I still haven't got the wound packing quite right, I don't think.
c. training.
[ First-aid training is one thing. Riz is dexterous and nimble and has a great attention to detail, all things that have led to him being a dab hand at figuring out how to deal with battlefield injuries. The physical part of the equation is something else, and something he's decided to dedicate himself to, his own exhaustion be damned.
His gunwork is fine. Great, even. He hits his marks with the consistency and precision they require. It's everything else that he's lacking in. Which is how you might spot him doing laps around a field, in a rare showing of having changed out of his usual stuffy suit-and-tie number, and... honestly, not doing that great. When he finally stops, hands braced on his knees and taking a swig out of a bottle of water, he looks like he might keel over.
Otherwise, you might find him on the training grounds, staring dubiously at the weights (he picks one up with both hands, slams it back down again, dubiously walking down the rack as the weights get smaller, and smaller, and smaller...) and looking over at the rest of the gym as though it contains any answers for him. Strength isn't his strong suit, he knows, but maybe he could be stronger? Or, perhaps, you see him with his rapier out, doing the same drills he'd been taught all those months ago at Aguefort Academy. If you pop in and look interested, he may well flag you down and ask, ] Hey, you here to train too?
d. friendship tour.
[ The last task on his to-do list is the hardest one of them all: trying to get better at being a friend, and not just some mechanism made for solving mysteries. It's clear that his brain has been failing him these days, which leaves one more option: trying to become a better friend.
If you're one of Riz's friends or acquaintances, whether he runs into you by chance or he texts you directly, Riz is going to be approaching you to check up on you. It's time to talk. About feelings. Not his own, obviously, but he's checking in on you -- with maybe some food to help ease the blow, or an offer to just get wonderfully, fabulously drunk. They deserve it. ]
e. wildcard!
[ hit me up for anything! you can find me on the discord or on plurk @ wisdombitch xoxoxo ]
no subject
Not all of it, obviously. He's not that creepy, or so he likes to think. But he knows enough about Krouse's schedule around the communal apartment, monitoring the doors and who's coming in and out to know around when Krouse will reliably go to satisfy his nicotine addiction, what brand of cigarettes he smokes (the smell is distinctive, at least to a Goblin's nose), and about how long he'll spend doing it. He hadn't really picked up on it on purpose; it's just what Riz does. He keeps track, he keeps notes, he picks people apart until he can understand them on an atomic level even if he'll never understand them on an emotional one.
In this case, his knowledge is coming in handy. See, he wants to check up on Krouse. Their last meeting had been... less than ideal to say the least, Krouse's protective shell peeled away to reveal what had been underneath it the whole time, and Riz was worried about him. Incredibly rightfully so; only someone completely heartless or completely foolish wouldn't be worried about him. But he knew equally as well that he's the last person in the world Krouse wanted to see right now, that his texts would go unanswered, his calls straight to voicemail.
So he does what he always does in social situations in which the other person doesn't really want to see him: he doesn't give them a choice in the matter. They get to deal with him if they like it or not. In his case, the answer is usually not (at least outside of his party), but he can work with that. Where Krouse only looks a little surprised to see him, Riz looks complete unsurprised, only a brief flick of his ear revealing that he'd heard Krouse coming. ]
This is your brand, right? [ He hits the bottom of the package against the heel of his palm so that a single cigarette pops out (he thinks it looks cool; he'd practiced), and holds it out towards Krouse. ] I hear it helps with stress relief. [ His mouth curls at the side, wry and a little fond. He doesn't grace the implicit question with an answer: because you're my friend, you dumbass. ] Maybe I should take it up too.
no subject
This is where I should give you a speech about it being a filthy habit you shouldn't ever start.
[ He pulls his lighter from his pocket and flicks it as he puts the filter to his mouth, dragging in a slow, even breath to light the cherry evenly. He lets the lighter click off and exhales just as slowly, smoke curling in the air as he tips his head back. ]
But that's not why you should skip it. The stress relief wears off quick. Then you just keep doing it. [ He shrugs. ] Or go ahead. It's your life.
[ The protective shell is back in place, more or less, except for how it's fractured around his eyes. He manages to avoid eye contact with Riz without staring at the ground or something over his shoulder, small flicks of his attention from the cigarette to Riz's ear to his hands without settling. ]
Thanks. [ He says, quietly, his voice tucked in at the edges. ] How've you been?
no subject
He idly eyes the plume of smoke drifting out of Krouse's mouth. It looks cool. Even after knowing all the shit about Krouse that he didn't know before, he still think it looks cool, despite himself. Like some grungy teen from some esoteric movie he watched as a kid, where everyone was miserable and half the cast died at the end, but it still excited something in him. ]
But they're not cheap, so I guess I probably shouldn't. [ It's a little tempting, though. He could go for even some mild stress relief right about now. Hell, he's been tempted to procure some alcohol and get everyone just to drink themselves silly, as though that will somehow cure what ails them. ]
I'm okay. [ He shrugs. ] Shit's sucked, but what're you gonna do about it? I'm more concerned about everything the others went through.
[ Like Gorgug. It feels like a betrayal to say his name out loud, right off the bat, but everyone saw what happened to him back there. Krouse knows Riz loves Gorgug. Some things don't have to be said.
But Gorgug's not the only person he's worried about. ]
If I asked you the same, would you tell me the truth?