Difference between revisions of "Log:Where the Sky Ran Red"

9 May, 2017

No rich crimsons here, no. These are the swiftly flowing sanguine hues of fresh-spilt blood, of holly berries bright against the snow, of sweet cherry popsicles against warm lips upon a Summer's day.

Tamarack Falls - Meetinghouse Graveyard

It was almost noon. Just past eleven in the morning and while the Darkling was not a fan of shade he wasn't opposed to daytime. He just reserved the right to bitch....much. Today the crawly-diggy-diggy bug was under one of the few trees, back to a tombstone and had his guitar out on his lap. There were small notices spray painted near his tags suggesting where he'd be, herein looking like a line with a cross on top. Nimble fingers picked out notes on the guitar; his HBC the tiny red cricket sat on his knee joining in a new rendition of Kashmir that was played with a 4 piece string quartet. Showoff. Though it was Spring the Moon's mantle spread across everything in the immediate area quelching any and all colour like a film noir feature. Well all the colour but the red shoelaces in his combat boots where the cords wound through the holes and around his ankle, the faint bruise under one eye, and the red circle around the Dead Kennedys logo on his t-shirt under the button shirt, hoodie, and black worm leather jacket.

Haruki's carrying a grocery bag with him as he steps into the graveyard. He heads in the direction of the music, stopping just a moment to listen before pushing onwards. His smile brightens as he sees Rorschach and he approaches without a word.

High overhead, a small white speck floats on the wind, turning slow circles which would likely be easier if he were, you know, an accipitor of some sort. But nooooo. Corvid. The large white crow, scarcely perceptible AS a crow to the naked eye, observes the arrival below and veers off toward the general direction of the river, disappearing out of sight.

Rorschach stopped... playing and looked up at the circling bird with a concerned look. Old habits. The cricket not sensing immediate threat though played on and looked at the larger bugman impatiently like he might just kick him from the band if he keeps dropping notes like a chump. With a sigh Robbie plucked out more notes from his guitar slowly looking up at the bird with awe and trepidation like it was some portent of fore coming snacking-on-ing. Then there was Haruki footsteps and the bug in the hoodie upnodded, antennae swaying thoughtfully from under the hood keeping direct sunlight off.

Haruki's gazing up as well at the sky now, waiting until the creature disappears. "Danger?" he asks his voice barely more than a whisper. He's wary, but he doesn't sense it himself. It's just a bird. Still that doesn't mean he won't be diving for cover if it's needed.

Danger? What danger? There is no bird, no no. Absolutely nothing happens for quite a while, some ten minutes' worth of time, and then, it really isn't anything much. At first, it's faint enough that only the exceptionally sensitive might hear it, but as time passes, the sound of drumbeats becomes more and more audible. Still no visible source, however. Too far away.

Rorschach signed to Haruki <<Habit. Used to live where they were viscous. Like geese, but bigger jerks>> He kept trying to play Kashmir, but one antennae kept ticking to the rhythm of November's drum that started to morph his tuned, and by eventual proxy that of Chester's, into Tracy Chapman's All That You Have Is Your Soul. It was enough to bring a hint of a smile to his face.

Haruki's on edge, perhaps it's the graveyard, perhaps it's those drums he can't quite hear. His gaze darts around. Danger? His senses aren't screaming for him to run yet though, and Rorschach's here. If things go bad he can hide behind the bug. Hopefully. He smiles at what's said. "I brought lunch." There's two different juices, one of which is bright orange, the other is toxic green. There's a container of salad for himself filled with fresh vegetables topped with seeds. A huge long sandwich with all the toppings for Rorschach. Fruit. "You don't need to eat it just now. Thought you'd like something though. What's that you're playing? It's nice." There's a distracted nervousness to his words as he looks around for the source of the drumming.

Rorschach looked Haruki over and seemed to pick up exactly where his head vibe was. A finger lifted fro the guitar and itched at his stomach behind the rogue stripe of colour on his shirt. He signed one thing to Haruki <<Home>> and patted the ground near him. Eyes drifted up to the bird perhaps playing to call it down or off or... okay he wasn't entirely over his nerves but it was pretty in a haunting way. At Haruki's question he dug out one of many rogue notebooks in as many pockets and flip flip flipped it open to a page where the lyrics were written out once at least in part:

"Here I am I'm waiting for a better day

A second chance

A little luck to come my way

A hope to dream a hope that I can sleep again

And wake in the world with a clear conscience and clean hands

Cause all that you have is your soul

Don't be tempted by the shiny apple

Don't you eat of a bitter fruit

Hunger only for a taste of justice

Hunger only for a world of truth

Cause all that you have is your soul"

Haruki settles down beside Rorschach, perhaps a little close. He takes the notebook and reads the words, lunch forgotten. "It's beautiful." He says of the words. He's still not exactly relaxed, the sound of the drums rather unsettling.

Rorschach stopped playing though the cricket picked up the beats and added softness to it with cello and violin warming a lullaby for the day with it cheerfully making shit up as he will. The Roach looped an arm around Haruki, not too hard to give a one armed hug. He signed <<Listen to it like the heart of someone happy, maybe longing? Wistful? Nostalgic. Letting the day remind us of good things. When the sun was nicer and grass was soft.>>

"You hear them?" Haruki asks. He breathes out a sigh of relief. "Drums? Something coming." He leans into the hug. "I didn't know you played. You're so good. I just do piano, but I can't make it all come together like you did there." And the cricket. But he's ignoring the cricket.

As the drums grow slowly, steadily louder, step by step, the song gradually becomes clear above the beat, slow, unhurried, as patient as its singer. The crow makes a reappearance, far lower this time -- there is a flash of snow-white feathers overhead, then the beating of large wings, leaves rustling. A beady black eye considers the cricket, then lifts as the raven-sized white crow turns his head toward the source of the singing.

The singer? She should be on a runway, not drumming and singing her way down the road outside a cemetery in Vermont. Six foot three in the three-inch boots she wears, while she isn't traditionally beautiful, she is absolutely striking, and rather difficult to forget, for that matter -- when do you see people with thigh-length hair THAT straight, THAT perfect, and streaked in THAT many fine, vibrant colours out in the middle of fumbuck nowheresville, VT? Even maintaining that dye job must take hours, much less what it originally took, and, as she approaches, song drawing to a close, the sun picks out the thoroughly inhuman gold-green of subtly slanted, merry eyes. Old eyes, those. Knowing eyes. Looking at them, being looked at by them, there's a ready sense of one who has seen more than she should, and just can't wait to do something she shouldn't.

Rorschach arched an eyebrow and aaaaahs! he nodded and tapped the top of his guira with his thumb and the body with his fingers in beat with November's doumbek as if to show Haruki yes, he heard it. He signed <<Real.>> His fingers halted and signed slowly <<As...is she>> So much wyrd in one area. OH the powers that be would have a field day if they knew no doubt. Still though there was a shadowed smile from the scarred lips of the Darkling. As she neared his Mantle sprawling further, sharpening the contrast between light and dark; deepening the shadows that squelched all colour around him except the red in his shoes and shirt that popped vibrantly like the movie Sin City. He signed <<Hey there>>

Haruki's still unsettled as the creature... woman... steps into view. He tenses while trying to appear as if he hasn't noticed her at all. Nope. Everything's perfectly normal here. Don't follow. Don't look. He'll be safe. He does smile an answer to Rorschach's signing. "Real," he breathes. <<Friend?>> he signs to Rorschach.

Real, certainly. Observant, too, the sign language eliciting a slow, hummed sigh and a glance up toward the crow above the pair below the tree. "I told you I should have learned ASL."

Said crow, behaving himself, only ruffles his feathers and mutters under his breath before twisting back to begin preening a wing. Proper plumage presentation is a far higher priority than attending on the whims of gods.

November tilts her head in an echo of the bird's earlier move, heavy, too-straight hair sliding over her shoulders in a blend of colours almost hypnotic to observe. "Trouble?" Oh, so innocent. So bland. Surely SHE is not trouble, no.

Rorschach looked up up up to November where he was slouched with a spine of rope rather than string. He shrugged to haruki's question of 'friend'. He didn't know. At the notion of her should have learning ASL he chuckled soundlessly. There was one wave of his hand that was neutral enough. There was a gesture of playing air bongos slowly and pointed to her with a curious look inquiring. He looked to Haruki and signed slowly <<You can introduce. Is ok>> His knee bumped Haruki's in support or encouragement having a hard-to-people day.

"Hello," Haruki smiles brightly at November, as if he speaks to Goddesses every day. Well seeing as how comfortable he is around Rorschach maybe he does. "Was that you playing the drums?" He gives Rorschach a nod. He'll introduce. All in good time.

The punkily dressed androgyne carries herself with a posture which simply expects obedience, silent declaration of authority and competence. Given that she still has the drum slung around her neck, the answer SHOULD be obvious, but November tilts her head at Haruki in perfect confusion, believable, exquisitely honest. "No."

Yes. Yes, it was.

The crow overhead emits a choking caw which sounds like he just half-swallowed his own tongue, then resumes muttering under his breath while preening his feathers.

Haruki's shoelaces shift colours to a shade of red which doesn't -quite- match Rorschach's. Just because.

November studies these, then the bug's. Experiments. Always experiments.

Haruki believes November, of course he does, despite all evidence to the contrary. She could tell him that the sky was red and he'd believe that too. "Ah. Okay." He was going to give introductions but he doesn't quite feel safe doing so. Nope. Can he move closer to Rorschach? As if the bug is somehow less scary than this perfectly normal woman standing in front of her. If he notices the change in his shoelaces he makes no initial show of it. Everything's normal. He doesn't make eye-contact. "Lovely day then. Do you want some strawberries?" He has a punnet of fresh strawberries, sweet, fragrant, vivid red, in amongst the other things in his grocery bag.

Rorschach noted to Haruki <<The bird might be super good. Or another>> Chester, to note, stopped playing and, oh he, red cricket. Yay omition of masking all things. Unfortunately this only made him an easier snack, and by habit hopped up into Rorsch's collar. The shoe laced though, by contrast, captivated the bug like he's seeing colour for the first time all over again. Today's been a bit of a wonder and a bittersweet delight. He reached out to pull at the ends of one of the laced which did not sit great for a guy that did parkour with fruit. Ninja master that one. He didn't apologize but fidgeted with it a moment. Eyes, flecked like a Silent Night's often were, sparkled a bit with a smile that reached them. The cricket though, part annoyed hopped and tried to make something else change colour and was still, likewise annoyed that he had no aptitude for it. If only that bug knew it wasn't his fault but his Roach's fault.

See, THIS is interesting. Forget music. Fascinated by the desaturation of everything -except- reds, November considers Rorschach and the cricket, Haruki's query ignored for almost long enough to seem as thouhgh she never heard it. At the last, she turns her head to flash the man a silkswift smile and answer, "No, thank you."

She may not want to eat strawberries, but that doesn't mean she can't encourage others to look like them. Rorschach's shoes change, not just the laces, to a rich strawberry red. Still testing. This experiment must be laid out, of course. Are there limits to the reds which do and don't appear?

"Do you come here often?" Curious, the question is directed toward both of them, as is the impish, "I've heard it makes an excellent kissing tree," complete with a Significant Look between both of them. Does she expect them to kiss each other? Does she think they're dating? Those eyes, feline gold-green as they are, regard both fellows with lively interest and mischief which goes far deeper than mere pranking. Friendly, however. For now.

Haruki stares down at his shoelaces with horror. He blinks a few times, he tries not to look. There is not blood seeping over the ground turning his shoe-laces red. And suddenly the vivid red of the fruit is seeming like such a bad idea. He takes one calming breath and then another. None of it's real. Everything's normal. His shoelaces are black. Or maybe Itsuki swapped them over and he just didn't notice earlier. Excuses bubble around in Haruki's brain. On the surface though, there's that edge of distress. And the red is spreading. He shivers, digging his fingers into the dirt. He closes his eyes.

Rorschach leaned to the side causing the red cricket to fall from his shoulder to his knee and then hopping over the guitar strap to go look at the boots. Ooooh! One couls almost see the little thing getting ideas. Aw hell. He looked to Haruki and arched an eyebrow and tap-tapped his hand. He took Haruki's digits and folded them so one finger stood up. He made Haruki sign <<Real>> The notebook was again fished out and the distress was something the Roach was just very aware of and signed to him <<Like me. It's ok. I see it too. >> He rescued the notebook he was sitting on and flipped the cover over the top spiral having a LOT of pages to go through before writing, and scribbled a note to November, 'Great for screwing under too. No roots' He was giving it his endorsement and added 'It might be a felony or something but whatever. Hi. Haruki. I'm Rorschach. Also, that's pretty far out'

November, being November, may not understand the reasons for Haruki's distress, but she is always ready to add to it. See, she takes the simple approach to determining whether or not someone can see her: quite abruptly, with no warning at all, she drops the strengthening of her Mask, humanity a distant dream.

Not a red dream, though. No no. She's still far enough away to retain her own colours, thank you much, though the Dawn's Mantle is affecting a portion of Rorschach's.

Brilliant, colours sliding through transparent, icy flesh -- and no navel in this body either, it must be noted -- she is surrounded by an ever-shifting aurora of ice-dust glittering hues which seem to be bleeding out from those which move through her flesh. Also, crown. Tiara, anyway, of hoary frost. Nothing quite like being forced to grow one's own inherent royalty. Her hair, just as long as before, is translucent, strands queerly liquid and prone to puddling against -- and staining -- anything they touch. And floating. Can't forget that. Air currents may as well be water currents, in her case.

She watches Haruki with patient interest, studying the man's reactions to the revelation.

"November an Nua. I run the Ninth Spectrum Paintball ranges down in Fort Brunsett. Thought I'd take a walk today. Beautiful weather." Red weather, at least, it certainly seems to be, once she steps closer and experiments with her OWN colours. Blocking the view of the sky with a now-crimson and scarlet-threaded aurora? Totally a thing.

Oh. Right. Minor detail: she feels like one of Them.

Haruki opens his eyes and looks at Rorschach. He nods at the signs, at his name, finding them grounding. Normal. He looks at the note and suddenly laughs. "In a graveyard?" he asks. "In the middle of the day?" He shakes his head at the idea. "Kinky." His smile might be a bit brittle but it is there. At least until November unveils herself. His breath quickens. No. Everything's just the same. Treat it as normal. He's had so much practice treating the monsters that walk amongst them as normal. Right. Don't look. Don't stare. Focus on Rorschach. Find a distraction. The sky is not bleeding red. No. It's all okay. That brittle smile remains. "Paintball?" It's almost incredulous to think that she'd do such a thing.

Rorschach sat very still. What saved the day was that the cricket wasn't going off at him. His senses oft take leave of him but the Cricket has been a faithful gauge of when his 'bigger' was in danger. He didn't realize he was doing it perhaps but his hand dropped to the ground to rest; his wrist crossing in front of Haruki's as if that would somehow shield him from the world.

Conversation carried and the bug just slowly tuned out staring up at the sky. His hood slid back from his head with a soft *fwoop*. Wide, dark endless eyes that might be several hundred tiny facets that glittered as one just started. Up. Not at November and believe me he saw her, but the sky.

There was a part of him that went wanting to run screeching underground. Shelter. Dig deep. Dig far. Far far underground taking Haruki away with him from the Wyrd to protect his equally broken-souled friend. The other part just was in awe, transfixed on the palette of the sky. What it meant. And was just bewildered at the feelings within.

And the Roach just sat still, antennae swaying slightly in the breeze, his scarred and split lips making a tiny 'oh'.

The icy creature shows no sign of having noticed Haruki's brittle clinging to the teat of 'normal' life.

That is, no human sign.

"Yes." Her smile is bright, colours suddenly and vividly alive, pulsing, swelling to the slow, inexorable rhythm of an alien heartbeat. No rich crimsons here, no. These are the swiftly flowing sanguine hues of fresh-spilt blood, of holly berries bright against the snow, of sweet cherry popsicles against warm lips upon a Summer's day. "Paintball is lovely. I learn so much about..." The icy rainbow pauses for a heartbeat (or two), as though choosing her words. Her smile grows a hair. "...people."

November shakes her head, laughing, and pivots on one foot with a swirl of drifting strands about her shoulders. "For now, however, I had best get to it. The sun waits for no one. Not even for me. Lovely meeting you, Haruki, Rorschach, little cricket." Yes, she noticed it, too.

Half-turning, she draws a Ninth Spectrum Paintball splattered card from .. well, actually, where DID that card come from? The black business card is lightly tossed their way, to land near their feet. "Do play."

Haruki recoils from the card as if it were some sort of dangerous projectile. Putting both tree and Rorschach between him and it. There's no way he's touching that. No way in hell he's ever going anywhere close to that paintball place. No. No. No. No! There's a scream building up inside of him. Somehow, amongst all the high wyrd creatures around she's the most terrifying he's ever been around. So far.