Burn it down.
Tuesday, 8 November 2016 23:45![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trace_logs
8 November, 2016
The moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (61% full).
For having intended to go back to the city, and having even done so for part of a day, Trace has found himself back at the sept compound in rather short order. The ahroun is not far from the firepit, seated in lotus position, and looking like he's not that far from fully wound up, a lot less calm than usual. Though at least, he seems to be attempting to get it back, but the rage lingers right there at the surface, in the way that his lips peel back from his teeth. And there's a couple empty beer bottles next to him, and a bottle of Johnny Walker red, open. And another bottle unopened nearer the fire pit.
Karin, on the other hand, has barely been to the city since her return, with the exception of her trips to the library. She comes in from the general direction of Edgewood or the Greek House, frowning at the sight of the bottles. "Please make sure to clean those up when you finish," she says as she makes her way over to heck the levels of the supplies kept here. The words are more clipped than usual, though she keeps the bulk of her moon's influence out of her tone, at least.
The supplies are, for the most part, decently stocked, albeit on the side of things that don't require much cooking and more are re-heatable, the basics. And at the moment, there seems to be an abundance of alcohol in comparison to the levels of everything else. Trace nods. "I will," he says, a bit of an edge to his voice. And what might be approaching a slur to the words as well. "Recycling, actually." He glances at the direction that the Fury approached from, and then squares his shoulders a little bit, fidgeting.
Karin seems content with their levels. "Good." She glances down at the bottles, both full and not. "Had someone make a supply run on your behalf, it looks like. Always nice to have people you can count on for that."
Trace nods. "'m not a Guardian anymore, either, as of yesterday," he notes after a long minute, one which seems to be actually successful at pushing back the imminent anger. "Or at least, not as much."
Karin says, "Ah! I knew you were intending to be done soon, but I hadn't realized it would be that soon, though the timing is somewhat unfortunate— it's more challenging for us to be in the city right around now."
Trace tilts his head to one side for a bit, and then slowly nods. "Something like that," he agrees. "I mean, I'll manage one way or the other." He pauses, thinks for a minute, and then picks up the bottle of whisky and tilts it slightly towards the Fury in offering.
There's the sound of a rough but pleasant tenor, a recognizable voice, drifting through the trees and coming closer. "When the lights go on again all over the world. And the boys are home again all over the world. And rain or snow is all that may fall from the skies above. A kiss won't mean "goodbye" but "hello to love"…"
Karin raises a hand to decline. "I'm more fond of wine or mead, myself, but thank you." She obviously hears the approaching voice, because she comments, "It seems we'll soon know if being serenaded helps in that regard."
Trace lifts his shoulders and takes a sip from the bottle himself before setting it back down, and this time putting the cap back on. "Alright, well, 's there if you change your mind. Gaia knows the world's gone even more insane today an' we could all use it…" With one hand, he moves from lotus back to half-lotus as he speaks, and then from there back to simply sitting cross-legged.
"When the lights go on again all over the world. And the ships will sail again all over the world…" The owner of the voice emerges, practically swaggering, minus his usual hat, but plus an unlabeled bottle. Turtle takes a massive swig from it, and continues on after barely managing to swallow. "Then we'll have time for things like wedding rings and free hearts will sing. When the lights go on again all over the world."
Karin's brow furrows. "Today? Did something happen that I haven't heard about? So far as I'm aware, there haven't been any problems on the bawn, the Edgewood reconstruction is still moving along on schedule…was it something in the city, then?" A glance toward Turtle, who she's not actually interacted with, "But it seems our singer may share your approach to problem solving."
Karin's brow furrows. "Today? Did something happen that I haven't heard about? So far as I'm aware, there haven't been any problems on the bawn, the Edgewood reconstruction is still moving along on schedule…was it something in the city, then?" A glance toward Turtle, who she's not actually interacted with, "But it seems our singer may share your approach to problem solving."
The Glass Walker looks over at Thomas, and offers a slight nod of greeting, reclaiming the bottle that was next to him and taking another sip, a fairly long one. "No, he's just a bit ahead of me on that," Trace says, sighing. "Politics happened. Fascism happened." He grimaces and with that comes a moment of almost unbridled anger, pushed back almost before it shows. "Hey there Turtle. Guessing you saw th' news."
Thomas waggles his bottle toward Karin as he steps fully into the clearing. "This don't ever solve problems," he states, "but it does help with keeping sane sometimes." This time, it's more of a sip that he takes. "Hate to break it to you, kid, but Fascism's always happening. Ain't nothing about this country that made it immune. Now, the bright side've that is it don't tend to last forever, however much it hurts in the meantime."
Karin says, "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. Or…wait. It's 2016, isn't it? And November. All right, maybe I have some idea."
Trace takes a longer sip this time, and leans back against the log that is behind him and sighs, and then takes a deep breath. "November 8th, to be more precise," he says, and nods, and looks at Turtle. "Then why's this feel like someone stabbed me an' everyone I care about, todo el mundo que he amado," the ahroun slips into Spanish for a moment, "in the gut?" he asks, a little quieter.
"'Cause you're breathin'," Thomas replies seriously as he lowers the bottle. "And still feelin'. It's supposed to feel that way. If'n it doesn't, then maybe it's 'cause something's gone dead inside. But I've seen bullies before. They come'n they go. They hurt a whole hell've a lot've people along the way, and that ain't ever acceptable, but you do what you can, 'cause stopping's not an option."
Karin says, "Well, it seems there's yet one more area I need to catch up on. I think I'll leave the two of you to your shared sentiment, then, rather than intrude on it when I can't truly take part. If you'll both excuse me."
Trace furrows his brows and takes another long sip from the bottle, resting it in his lap afterwards. "Gaia watch," he offers the Fury, chewing on his upper lip for a moment after he does so. "It fuckin' sucks," is the next conclusion that he comes to.
Thomas nods after Karin before his gaze slides back to Trace. "Sure do," he replies, before taking another pull from the rapidly emptying bottle.
Trace lets out a long sigh and turns his bottle over in his hands, and then finally moves, towards the rather dwindled fire in the fire pit. "And th' moon getting bigger on top of it all? Fuck any plans I'd had to get back to the city I guess." Another sip from the bottle, bringing it well below half before the ahroun digs a somewhat rumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offers it towards Thomas. "And how're we supposed to fight evil that's all big and entwined itself in the highest levels anyway? Just. Fuck."
Thomas waves off the offer. "Thanks, but I got my own when I'm feelin' it." He takes a few steps closer and to the side, and settles on one of the log seats. "Ain't that what you always do? You regularly go and war against the force've corruption and decay itself, how's that less scary'n some election?"
Trace pulls out a cigarette for himself, and lights it before proceeding to build up the fire some. "Most of that shit I can kill. With claws," he points out.
"You can kill what it makes," Thomas points out. "But the source? Folk've been arguing about that probably since arguing existed. Mayhap it's just my particular point of view, but big, entwined, powerful evil's nothing new. Not here, not anywhere. Only way that gets fought is folk standing up'n fighting on whatever battlefield's gonna work. It's hard, and messy, and you're gonna lose at times. Maybe even most've the time. But it's the only way to try'n make things a bit better."
Trace pokes at the fire a little bit more before putting the stick that he was using to poke with in, and sits back down where he was, staring up at the canopy of the trees. The ahroun's humming is a little off-key, but recognizable enough, though he mercifully doesn't sing. "Viva la quince brigada, luchamos contra los moros, mercenarios y fascistas, solo es nuestro deseo acabar con el facismo…" A sigh follows. "Yeah."
Thomas's eyebrows lift, but he doesn't directly comment. Instead, he takes another pull from his bottle—the last, it seems—and briefly grimaces. "Prolly should head back afore I can't walk, anyhow."
Trace fidgets with the bottle some more. At least he's doing more fidgeting than drinking now. "'less you were planning on sleeping here, there's always some… sort of space can be made," the ahroun says, "though that's… about where I'm at. See you around. And… yeah."
Thomas waves a hand. "Nah, it ain't much of a walk to the river." Except it really is. He turns though, vaguely west-ish, and starts to trundle off. "Take care've yourself."
Felix's Rage practically enters the compound before he does. Bottles are clearly the accessory of the day, since he seems to be around halfway through a fifth of his own. The bag he's got with him clinks. He's moving nothing like his usual saunter, instead walking at a quick, fierce stalk, shoulders and fingers tense.
Trace has, in the momentary absence of company, finished the bottle he was holding onto and grabbed the next one, and laid back with his head on the log, but his packmate's presence gets him to at least sit up. "Hola, mi amigo," the ahroun offers, the cadence of the words betraying slightly just how drunk he already is. Trace's own Rage is contained for the moment, if much closer to the surface than usual, coiled muscles and lips pulling involuntarily slightly back from his teeth. And it isn't even his moon yet.
It is the Galliard's, and he resembles nothing so much as an ambulatory bomb, right now. Felix takes another good drink as he heads across the clearing, and drops down next to his packmate. "Fuck this," he says by way of greeting, half-snarled. "Blow it all up. Burn it all down an' try again."
Trace opens the second bottle, and offers it towards Felix and carefully scoots a little bit closer, regardless of the fact that his packmate already has one. "We'll… get through this. We will." Notably, burning things down isn't rejected as far as plans of action go.
Felix does still have at least a few drinks left in the bottle he's holding, but he accepts the offer nonetheless, taking a drink from THAT one. Then he has bottles in each hand. He glances at them, then offers both toward Trace, presumably so he can take his pick. "What the fuck is wrong with people?" he spits, "This is fuckin'… this is bullshit." Not one for the literary canon, though it might have a small chance if the feeling behind it could be included somehow.
Trace reclaims not the bottle he handed over, but the other one, perhaps deciding that Felix needs the fuller bottle of booze more than he does, and takes a long swig from it once he's done so. "Evil. The corruption runs so rampant that they don't recognise it, that they buy the lies, the…" Trace's words slur ever so slightly, and as happens when he's really angry, he's quieter than usual, volume just a few notches above a whisper. "But we… we fight corruption. And bullshit. 's what Gaia made us for, whatever good it does when we can't. Can't even stop this shit from happening."
"Shoulda fuckin'… fuckin' Spiral Revolution had it right. 'part from the usin' it for Wyrm shit. Obviously," Felix says, taking another good drink from the new bottle. "Rise up an' yank those fuckers down off their fuckin' gilded thrones, asshole's got ACTUAL GILDED THRONES, I saw pictures of his fuckin' place, what the fuck. While we got folks down here starvin', no goddamn roof let alone fuckin' golden ass chairs." He shakes his head, disgustedly. "Fuckin'… tear the whole fuckin' thing down an' start again."
Trace turns this bottle and fidgets with it for a little while before taking another sip. "So we start with the ones we can reach, an' climb the corpses until we get to the top," Trace says, and sets a hand on Felix's shoulder momentarily. "It's fucked up as shit. It isn't anywhere near any understanding of 'sane'. So we'll make do."
Felix nods once, a sharp movement, and eyes the bottle he's now holding, grip tightening and arm tensing a bit— and then relaxing, or at least back to the previous level of tension. "I really wanna kill something right now." Another drink.
The moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (61% full).
For having intended to go back to the city, and having even done so for part of a day, Trace has found himself back at the sept compound in rather short order. The ahroun is not far from the firepit, seated in lotus position, and looking like he's not that far from fully wound up, a lot less calm than usual. Though at least, he seems to be attempting to get it back, but the rage lingers right there at the surface, in the way that his lips peel back from his teeth. And there's a couple empty beer bottles next to him, and a bottle of Johnny Walker red, open. And another bottle unopened nearer the fire pit.
Karin, on the other hand, has barely been to the city since her return, with the exception of her trips to the library. She comes in from the general direction of Edgewood or the Greek House, frowning at the sight of the bottles. "Please make sure to clean those up when you finish," she says as she makes her way over to heck the levels of the supplies kept here. The words are more clipped than usual, though she keeps the bulk of her moon's influence out of her tone, at least.
The supplies are, for the most part, decently stocked, albeit on the side of things that don't require much cooking and more are re-heatable, the basics. And at the moment, there seems to be an abundance of alcohol in comparison to the levels of everything else. Trace nods. "I will," he says, a bit of an edge to his voice. And what might be approaching a slur to the words as well. "Recycling, actually." He glances at the direction that the Fury approached from, and then squares his shoulders a little bit, fidgeting.
Karin seems content with their levels. "Good." She glances down at the bottles, both full and not. "Had someone make a supply run on your behalf, it looks like. Always nice to have people you can count on for that."
Trace nods. "'m not a Guardian anymore, either, as of yesterday," he notes after a long minute, one which seems to be actually successful at pushing back the imminent anger. "Or at least, not as much."
Karin says, "Ah! I knew you were intending to be done soon, but I hadn't realized it would be that soon, though the timing is somewhat unfortunate— it's more challenging for us to be in the city right around now."
Trace tilts his head to one side for a bit, and then slowly nods. "Something like that," he agrees. "I mean, I'll manage one way or the other." He pauses, thinks for a minute, and then picks up the bottle of whisky and tilts it slightly towards the Fury in offering.
There's the sound of a rough but pleasant tenor, a recognizable voice, drifting through the trees and coming closer. "When the lights go on again all over the world. And the boys are home again all over the world. And rain or snow is all that may fall from the skies above. A kiss won't mean "goodbye" but "hello to love"…"
Karin raises a hand to decline. "I'm more fond of wine or mead, myself, but thank you." She obviously hears the approaching voice, because she comments, "It seems we'll soon know if being serenaded helps in that regard."
Trace lifts his shoulders and takes a sip from the bottle himself before setting it back down, and this time putting the cap back on. "Alright, well, 's there if you change your mind. Gaia knows the world's gone even more insane today an' we could all use it…" With one hand, he moves from lotus back to half-lotus as he speaks, and then from there back to simply sitting cross-legged.
"When the lights go on again all over the world. And the ships will sail again all over the world…" The owner of the voice emerges, practically swaggering, minus his usual hat, but plus an unlabeled bottle. Turtle takes a massive swig from it, and continues on after barely managing to swallow. "Then we'll have time for things like wedding rings and free hearts will sing. When the lights go on again all over the world."
Karin's brow furrows. "Today? Did something happen that I haven't heard about? So far as I'm aware, there haven't been any problems on the bawn, the Edgewood reconstruction is still moving along on schedule…was it something in the city, then?" A glance toward Turtle, who she's not actually interacted with, "But it seems our singer may share your approach to problem solving."
Karin's brow furrows. "Today? Did something happen that I haven't heard about? So far as I'm aware, there haven't been any problems on the bawn, the Edgewood reconstruction is still moving along on schedule…was it something in the city, then?" A glance toward Turtle, who she's not actually interacted with, "But it seems our singer may share your approach to problem solving."
The Glass Walker looks over at Thomas, and offers a slight nod of greeting, reclaiming the bottle that was next to him and taking another sip, a fairly long one. "No, he's just a bit ahead of me on that," Trace says, sighing. "Politics happened. Fascism happened." He grimaces and with that comes a moment of almost unbridled anger, pushed back almost before it shows. "Hey there Turtle. Guessing you saw th' news."
Thomas waggles his bottle toward Karin as he steps fully into the clearing. "This don't ever solve problems," he states, "but it does help with keeping sane sometimes." This time, it's more of a sip that he takes. "Hate to break it to you, kid, but Fascism's always happening. Ain't nothing about this country that made it immune. Now, the bright side've that is it don't tend to last forever, however much it hurts in the meantime."
Karin says, "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. Or…wait. It's 2016, isn't it? And November. All right, maybe I have some idea."
Trace takes a longer sip this time, and leans back against the log that is behind him and sighs, and then takes a deep breath. "November 8th, to be more precise," he says, and nods, and looks at Turtle. "Then why's this feel like someone stabbed me an' everyone I care about, todo el mundo que he amado," the ahroun slips into Spanish for a moment, "in the gut?" he asks, a little quieter.
"'Cause you're breathin'," Thomas replies seriously as he lowers the bottle. "And still feelin'. It's supposed to feel that way. If'n it doesn't, then maybe it's 'cause something's gone dead inside. But I've seen bullies before. They come'n they go. They hurt a whole hell've a lot've people along the way, and that ain't ever acceptable, but you do what you can, 'cause stopping's not an option."
Karin says, "Well, it seems there's yet one more area I need to catch up on. I think I'll leave the two of you to your shared sentiment, then, rather than intrude on it when I can't truly take part. If you'll both excuse me."
Trace furrows his brows and takes another long sip from the bottle, resting it in his lap afterwards. "Gaia watch," he offers the Fury, chewing on his upper lip for a moment after he does so. "It fuckin' sucks," is the next conclusion that he comes to.
Thomas nods after Karin before his gaze slides back to Trace. "Sure do," he replies, before taking another pull from the rapidly emptying bottle.
Trace lets out a long sigh and turns his bottle over in his hands, and then finally moves, towards the rather dwindled fire in the fire pit. "And th' moon getting bigger on top of it all? Fuck any plans I'd had to get back to the city I guess." Another sip from the bottle, bringing it well below half before the ahroun digs a somewhat rumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offers it towards Thomas. "And how're we supposed to fight evil that's all big and entwined itself in the highest levels anyway? Just. Fuck."
Thomas waves off the offer. "Thanks, but I got my own when I'm feelin' it." He takes a few steps closer and to the side, and settles on one of the log seats. "Ain't that what you always do? You regularly go and war against the force've corruption and decay itself, how's that less scary'n some election?"
Trace pulls out a cigarette for himself, and lights it before proceeding to build up the fire some. "Most of that shit I can kill. With claws," he points out.
"You can kill what it makes," Thomas points out. "But the source? Folk've been arguing about that probably since arguing existed. Mayhap it's just my particular point of view, but big, entwined, powerful evil's nothing new. Not here, not anywhere. Only way that gets fought is folk standing up'n fighting on whatever battlefield's gonna work. It's hard, and messy, and you're gonna lose at times. Maybe even most've the time. But it's the only way to try'n make things a bit better."
Trace pokes at the fire a little bit more before putting the stick that he was using to poke with in, and sits back down where he was, staring up at the canopy of the trees. The ahroun's humming is a little off-key, but recognizable enough, though he mercifully doesn't sing. "Viva la quince brigada, luchamos contra los moros, mercenarios y fascistas, solo es nuestro deseo acabar con el facismo…" A sigh follows. "Yeah."
Thomas's eyebrows lift, but he doesn't directly comment. Instead, he takes another pull from his bottle—the last, it seems—and briefly grimaces. "Prolly should head back afore I can't walk, anyhow."
Trace fidgets with the bottle some more. At least he's doing more fidgeting than drinking now. "'less you were planning on sleeping here, there's always some… sort of space can be made," the ahroun says, "though that's… about where I'm at. See you around. And… yeah."
Thomas waves a hand. "Nah, it ain't much of a walk to the river." Except it really is. He turns though, vaguely west-ish, and starts to trundle off. "Take care've yourself."
Felix's Rage practically enters the compound before he does. Bottles are clearly the accessory of the day, since he seems to be around halfway through a fifth of his own. The bag he's got with him clinks. He's moving nothing like his usual saunter, instead walking at a quick, fierce stalk, shoulders and fingers tense.
Trace has, in the momentary absence of company, finished the bottle he was holding onto and grabbed the next one, and laid back with his head on the log, but his packmate's presence gets him to at least sit up. "Hola, mi amigo," the ahroun offers, the cadence of the words betraying slightly just how drunk he already is. Trace's own Rage is contained for the moment, if much closer to the surface than usual, coiled muscles and lips pulling involuntarily slightly back from his teeth. And it isn't even his moon yet.
It is the Galliard's, and he resembles nothing so much as an ambulatory bomb, right now. Felix takes another good drink as he heads across the clearing, and drops down next to his packmate. "Fuck this," he says by way of greeting, half-snarled. "Blow it all up. Burn it all down an' try again."
Trace opens the second bottle, and offers it towards Felix and carefully scoots a little bit closer, regardless of the fact that his packmate already has one. "We'll… get through this. We will." Notably, burning things down isn't rejected as far as plans of action go.
Felix does still have at least a few drinks left in the bottle he's holding, but he accepts the offer nonetheless, taking a drink from THAT one. Then he has bottles in each hand. He glances at them, then offers both toward Trace, presumably so he can take his pick. "What the fuck is wrong with people?" he spits, "This is fuckin'… this is bullshit." Not one for the literary canon, though it might have a small chance if the feeling behind it could be included somehow.
Trace reclaims not the bottle he handed over, but the other one, perhaps deciding that Felix needs the fuller bottle of booze more than he does, and takes a long swig from it once he's done so. "Evil. The corruption runs so rampant that they don't recognise it, that they buy the lies, the…" Trace's words slur ever so slightly, and as happens when he's really angry, he's quieter than usual, volume just a few notches above a whisper. "But we… we fight corruption. And bullshit. 's what Gaia made us for, whatever good it does when we can't. Can't even stop this shit from happening."
"Shoulda fuckin'… fuckin' Spiral Revolution had it right. 'part from the usin' it for Wyrm shit. Obviously," Felix says, taking another good drink from the new bottle. "Rise up an' yank those fuckers down off their fuckin' gilded thrones, asshole's got ACTUAL GILDED THRONES, I saw pictures of his fuckin' place, what the fuck. While we got folks down here starvin', no goddamn roof let alone fuckin' golden ass chairs." He shakes his head, disgustedly. "Fuckin'… tear the whole fuckin' thing down an' start again."
Trace turns this bottle and fidgets with it for a little while before taking another sip. "So we start with the ones we can reach, an' climb the corpses until we get to the top," Trace says, and sets a hand on Felix's shoulder momentarily. "It's fucked up as shit. It isn't anywhere near any understanding of 'sane'. So we'll make do."
Felix nods once, a sharp movement, and eyes the bottle he's now holding, grip tightening and arm tensing a bit— and then relaxing, or at least back to the previous level of tension. "I really wanna kill something right now." Another drink.