eyemind | event } that was easy

WHO: All y’all who feel like playin’.
WHAT: MARKER TAG
WHERE: On Navi.
WHEN: Jan. 17-31
WARNINGS: Use ‘em in your threads if needed! And if you end up getting a marker punched through your skull, please report it on the death page.

Something weird is afoot.

Everywhere you look, you’ll find piles of markers, all shapes and sizes and colors. And without explanation, you may find yourself overcome with a deeply competitive impulse to win. Win what? Why, a classic game of marker tag, of course. Why is this happening? Who cares! If affected, the only thing you’ll care about is marking your target.

This "game" will be played out in one-hour increments. For that hour, one person will be the target, and the rest of the ship's affected passengers will have an innate sense of who their target is. Anyone not "it" will chase the target character with the aim of placing a mark on them. Once a target has been marked by another character, the impulse to chase will fade, until the next target is selected at the start of the next hour. Target characters will remain targets until the end of their hour or until they have been marked by all participating characters. After that hour, the game starts all over again with a new target.

Sure hope those marks wash off in the shower!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The confirmation comes as no surprise. She forces herself into a sitting position, turning until her legs dangle off the side of her mattress. It is there, perched upon the edge of her bed with eyes closed that the memory becomes clearer. A hand shifts to place itself low on her stomach, fingers twisting the fabric of her sweater. Pain of a different, more insidious sort fills her chest. She ignores it, shifting into a different position, and thinks of more pleasant things.

"I remember..." Eyes still closed, Hemera draws her arms to her chest, as if cradling a child. "Holding your beautiful children... They were sleeping so peacefully, but you feared letting them from your sight."

It's a strange thing, how such a warm comment could make him feel so cold.

The memories come unbidden, of a time when they were all younger. Innocent, eager, still small enough to carry with ease. Of Milisandia, taking his hand and looking up at him with that bright smile of hers, slowly coming out of her shell.

He has to look away. Steps back...and sits, rather gracelessly, on the edge of the table instead, before his knees give out in a way that has nothing to do with the pain of his injuries. And it's some long, heavy moments before he can push the welling grief back long enough to form a response, his voice softer as he speaks.

"How do you know my children?"

The reaction it not what Hemera had expected (she had expected it, but hoped she was wrong—), and she rises to her feet, reflexively seeking to ease his pain however she can. Unfortunately the eagerness of her soul to reach out and soothe what it perceives to be no more than a child is more than it can handle in its current state. She collapses like a puppet cut of its strings, hitting the ground so harshly all the air is pushed from her lungs, leaving her unable to vocalize her pain beyond an agonized wheeze. The edge of her mask has cut into her cheek, mixing with the involuntary tears that trail down her face.

She had meant to do something, hadn't she? There was something she needed to do. Someone who needed her.

That thought is enough to force her into motion, struggling to push herself up with shaking arms.

A child of her people was in need of her.

It's hard to say if she moves a little too fast, or if he's simply moving a little too slow. One moment the young woman is on the bed, reaching out to him, and the next...

It's as if his memory lost a moment, in the overwhelming surge of emotions he struggled to hold at bay. She's on the ground, wheezing as if the breath had been knocked out of her, and it takes too long for Gaius to register the sight and act, as she struggles to push herself back up. He's beside her in half a heartbeat, kneeling at her side and gently helping her to sit up, his grip on her arm and her back firm but warm as he keeps her steady, and it's a wonder he's able to keep his voice even when he speaks, slightly louder than before.

"The whole point of putting you there was so you would rest. Not strain yourself in front of your patient a second time."

The discussion isn't over. Not at all, not when there's so many questions he needs answers to. But right now, the young woman's well being is a more pressing issue. A cursory examination has him catch sight of the bright line of blood that has begun to form under her mask, tears streaking the color further down her face...

And without hesitation, he reaches up a stiff, bandaged hand, to attempt to remove the mask for a better look.

The straining of her soul eases the moment Gaius comes to her, allowing it to comfort him without the need to stretch. He is well within its reach, and it is quick to settle over him; soft and warm like a spring breeze, nearly imperceptible. Hemera seems dazed when the pain recedes, blinking in confusion as she takes a greedy breath.

She is so distracted by the bandages of his hand and the echo of his soul that she doesn't realize what it's doing until she suddenly feels very exposed. Even still, she can hardly spare her bared face a second thought.

"I— I am fine... You are— Faint. Like the others. Like a child. But—" She stares at him with something akin to shock. "But you are a child of my people...? Your soul whispers of it... Of Amaurot."

Nearly imperceptible. A balm against pain, barely noticeable but still there, allowing him to think a little more clearly. To breathe a little easier as he peels the mask from the woman's face and sets it aside, the blood contrasting sharp and vivid against the paleness of her freckled skin. And this time, it's him who almost chastises her, as she weakly attempts to wave off the seriousness of her collapse. It's there, on the tip of his tongue-

Only to be lost when he pauses at the familiarity of the face staring up at him. A face he thinks he should know, in some distant memory, though no name comes to mind, and it's some heartbeats before he can shake himself from the feeling enough to reach up and carefully wipe the blood away from the young woman's cheek.

"I can assure you, in all my travels I've never been to your Amaurot." He would remember if he had been. He'd remember a city that shined as brilliantly as the one he'd seen out of her enchanted window, that made him so long for his own home. He should try to put her back into her bed, and do insist that she stay there, but... For now, he only sits there with her, until he sees proof that she's truly fine.

"I'm merely a child of Garlemald. Nowhere else."

"The soul does not lie, and yours is of my people. A... fragment...?" That doesn't seem possible, but the cracks in her own soul make her wonder what would have happened to the shards of her. "A piece of my kin. The echoes of my home. It is so very faint, but I can hear it..."

The tears do not stop, though now they stem from the swell of emotions bursting within her. Disbelief. Hope. Confusion.

"I don't understand... They are all dead. Every last one, save for he and I. He had no children, and I—" She cuts herself off with a quiet breath, one hand reflexively moving to her stomach. "...He and I are all that is left. I don't understand."

event } that was easy

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her soul is a dumbass srry gaius

HEM NO

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