The Fifteen Strangers Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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15strangers2020-02-09 12:08 pm
strangerpeople) wrote in 15strangers2020-02-09 12:08 pm
W̧E̷E̡̕K ͡3̴
She offered you something you hadn't ever expected: hope.
"I think I've pinpointed where this blight has come from, and how it became so virulent. You were among the first whose crop was infected-I wish to speak to you personally about it."
You meet in a car, and drive to an isolated road. She will not take any chance to speak publicly about it-not yet. She doesn't want to release the information until she is certain. But she felt honor-bound to explain to you, given your own importance in her research. You hadn't known she had sampled your dead and dying grapes, but she did.
"This blight..." She opens a folder, showing you the photos. "Started with a gopher, several years ago. I know, it sounds insane. This disease should only affect certain animal species. But one day, it jumped into vines...the original gopher died a long time ago. But not before it had eaten an entire cluster of grapes in one swallow. It ended up scratching itself on the trellis of the grapevine as it choked to death. Its blood, its body decayed, and helped to water and fertilize that strain of grapes the next year or so, and...well, the seeds from those buds that resulted were sent out to every farm in the area. Then, to every farm in the country, different regions..."
That sounded insane. This woman's theory sounded utterly bonkers. But you can't dismiss it out of hand-you have no better answer.
Before you can say anything more, the woman's phone rings. She answers, and you see her face turn white. You don't have to guess why.
Before, the theoretical gopher had infected the grapes with the blight.
Now, the blight had claimed its first human victim.
-
[The morning hurts. It hurts to know that, even dead, there was that final, terrible moment for the Embarrassing and the Nagging. It must hurt more to know that this will continue, and that there is something out there that is invested in ensuring each and every last one of the Strangers are, if not dead, than broken.
And then, there is IT. IT is the enemy, it seems. But...what is IT? Is IT the one truly responsible? How?
As you try to think on it, you remember your truths, and suddenly, you realize, another has changed:
[That you would. Can you? You know that, whatever your answer, you must find a way to the truth. The alternative is too horrible to even contemplate-if it is even possible to be comprehended. After all-if what you saw is what happens to the dead and condemned, what will become of the living at the hands of the terrible, unknown IT who is your jailer?
Hope that you do not have to find out. Hope there is an answer in the new floor that has opened up in the Building. Otherwise...otherwise you really are doomed.
There are 13 strangers in this place.]
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No wonder you knew what to do, damn it, I should have asked -
King, get the - get Arthur off him?
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[He’s not yelling, more still panicking as he plucks Arthur off of Caleb’s face as careful as he can. He doesn’t want him breaking either, but he’s also not sure where he can put him for now, so...he’ll put them on himself and pray that this isn’t another big mistake in his life.]
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Caleb will feel King’s paws tighten around his arm, only barely holding back on digging his claws in. And anyone close enough might hear him say something.]
Stop it, stop it...
[And it’s only when it’s over does he actually take a breath, having unknowingly held back as it went on. He expected bad things from that, but...that was new. And so surprising, he can’t help but mutter something else.]
Charles...Meg...
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[Arthur relives it, every time. So feeling the takeover like that, twice, in quick succession, does a number on him. It's not a good time.
He is aware enough to not try and turn back while still on the corgi's face, after last time. But maybe he'll just. Quietly recover as a pair of glasses for the moment.]
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He’s quick to get the glasses off his face, and sets them on them down, on a chair, so they can’t break.]
I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-I wasn’t expecting...I’m so sorry, Arthur.
[He needs to stop doing this...]
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It's okay.... I've had worse. Lots worse.
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But! Now is not the time to panic! (Completely). Right now he needs to comfort, and...possibly offer a shoulder.]
That’s...still not good, and I’m sorry you have to go through that so much. If...if you ever need to, I’m willing to go through that again, so you don’t have to be alone.
[He’s said and thought it before, and he’ll say and think it again a million times; a kid shouldn’t have to go through this kind of stuff. Not now, and not ever.]
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[There aren't many visions he'd adamantly refuse to share. Under the right circumstances, he'd show off even the private secrets of others - only under specific scenarios, only if it was required. But a few? He'll take to his grave.]
Dying doesn't get any easier the second, or third.....or twelfth time.
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You...you went thru dying...twelve times?
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[Franciscus, Jun, Jun, Jun, Arachne, Maka, Vita, Akira, Akira, Nanaki, Kurama, Kurama. Akko was a knockout blow, not the kill, so sge makes half.
It will happen again.]
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To Hell with whatever awkwardness it'll bring. King's hugging Arthur, even if it means dragging another chair closer and standing on it. And he tries to be soothing again as he talks.]
I'm so sorry that you've been through that. You...you shouldn't have to do that. And if you can control it...please come get me beforehand. I know you don't want anyone else going through that, but...no one should go through something like that alone once, let alone twelve and a half times.
[He'd rather go through dying a million times than hear a kid having to go through it once.]
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[But he'll do this, as many times as he has to. Because if it helps, and he can bear it, then it wouldn't be right not to. That wouldn't be justice, would it?]
Honestly it's been happening at random more often since I got here.
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[Some words to live by.]
Well, if there's any you can control, please come get me. I may not have gone through it before, but I think I can handle it.
[He's been through near death before. May as well go all the way this time, right?]
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[He's on the floor. There's people around him, which is mortifying. His skin is as unbroken as it usually is. There's someone holding his arms, which is distressing, but he forces his gaze to flick up. The sound of that voice so like his so close to him makes him blink and suck in a hard breath, his face flushing bright red.]
... I... apologize...
[Frumpkin trots over and leans against Caleb's forehead, and the tension eases out of him a bit more.]
[... And then there's a tiny 'prrt!'
... Did you just fart in my face, Frumpkin?
[Frumpkin says nothing, but looks very smug.]
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cw: memories of dealing with a disoriented slowly-dying parent & a traumatized spouse
[Jonathan cuts himself off, shaking his head. Caleb's aware enough to apologize, he still knows where he is. He's not feverish. He's not fighting him. This is Caleb, he's skinny and redheaded and not the old man.
And he - Jonathan - is not maybetwelve and scared. He's not, he's too tall to be. He's eighteen and he's worried, not scared. They're on the floor, both of them, in a little gray box of a house, he knows where he is too. He tries to breathe steadily, tries to calm down, and manages it about as well as his voice double has.
He can't even really laugh at the cat's sense of comedic timing, the noise he makes is more of a cough.]
You okay for me to let go, or... I am really bad at this, but...
...d'you need a hug?
[That's what you do when someone panics that badly and then comes back, right, not just when it's your wife?]
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[He doesn't lean in for a hug, but he does lean against him for support in sitting up. It's almost like leaning against Beau and he huffs, doing his best to smile a bit.]
You've got some guns on you. Pretty impressive.