atonementlogs | event 003: the potions

Entry tags:

!event

event 003: the potions

Characters: All.

When: April 1st - 30th

Where: Various locations.

Warnings: None. Please put any warnings in the comment subject if it progresses that way!

The weather will continue to be Spring-like for the rest of this month, with the occasional storm or shower here and there. Once again, all citizen's will be alerted to go to the center of Penance to see about their punishment for the month of April!

As usual, a tent has been set up with plenty of food and drink set up on tables, with another one off to the corner containing letters addressed to each citizen, along with bottles of potion for each. Each person is invited to take a bottle and either drink it now, slip it to someone else, or saved it for later.

The effects are described as being random. The person who consumes the liquid may see the ghost of someone they've harmed in the past that will follow them around, screaming their sins to all around. It mayse severe, nearly deadly pain. It may take away one of the taker's senses, whether it's sight, hearing, touch, smell, or taste, or even all of them.

If citizens would rather go another route, they are free to make use of the Sin Lounge and deliver torture or pain to each other.

For those eager for more, citizens may take as many punishments as they want during the month!

With their new letter collected, it is time for all to decide their new punishment and face it bravely!

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It's not hurting me.

[It's absolutely hurting him, digging deep and pulling the bile from out of him, pulling the nihilism and bitterness out of him full force.

He puts a hand over his eyes, and suddenly freezes, a thought hitting him.
He whirls on Jezebel, striding back over to him and leaning over him, baring his teeth at him in a spiteful grin, close enough so that Jezebel can smell the wine on his breath.]

Ah but--but. But. Perhaps you can help me.

[Jezebel tenses and there is a warier, caged-animal look on his face now. Because even if he Ianchus has never given Jezebel reason to be uneasy around him, there is still the old instinctive paranoia. And Ianchus is drunk, and angry, and standing over him, and very likely stronger than him. And Jezebel is even weaker than he usually is, the potion having drained him thoroughly of what little physical ability he has normally.

Carefully, he asks:] And how would I do that?

[Ianchus cups the side of Jezebel's jaw, almost tenderly, heat radiating off his hand. His face softens a little, but that spite is there--not directed at the man in front of him, though. Jezebel seems to be in the eye of the storm here. His other hand finds Jezebel's pale, thin hand, picking it up and holding it, thumb carressing the fingers.]

Perhaps. Perhaps you can return to Carrah with me.

[A little laugh--he knows it's impossible, but he's wrapped in his bitterness and fantasy.]

Behind every mad monarch is a man with his hands on the hot irons, right? To run the gallows, to feed the Bull.

[It's a reference to the brazen bull again, of course, a perennial favorite.]

You could be him. You'll castrate the men, I'll take their wives, I'll run a country of fear and sire hundreds of bastards, the Mad King Cepheos, and Jezebel Disraeli behind him, to skin and salt whoever would raise a hand or voice against me. I'll secure the dynasty again, and everyone will be happy.

[He brings Jezebel's fingers up to his lips, fevered eyes locked onto his.]

[Jezebel's eyes grow skittish because he knows this, he knows this feeling. This has happened before, men with other faces touching him freely and making beautiful, violent promises into his ear. Leaning in too close, trailing fingers through his hair and over his face and discussing all the blood they'd spill. And he remembers what followed each time it happened, and how it was never the lovely dreams they'd so viciously promised.

In death he does what he did in life, and he stays still and frozen.]

You might not go back. You might not have to take any throne.

[Ianchus is normally acutely aware of other peoples' emotions, other peoples' boundaries, but he's too angry, the yelling from behind him drilling into his mind (it's getting fainter, but he doesn't realize that, not with his rage throttling him).

He laughs at the words, kneeling so that now he's almost imploring.]

Oh, I will. I will.

[He let goes of Jezebel's cheek to tangle his fingers in his own hair, gripping it.]

This is hell, isn't it. I will, but I'll make them regret it.

[His next laugh sounds like a cough.]

[Jezebel exhales when Ianchus shifts away from him even just that little bit, though his expression stays wary, watching him uneasily. There's still tension strumming through him, keeping him still and on edge.

His voice goes back almost to it's normal tone, growing almost too level when he speaks.]

You're still here for the time being. Even if it happens one day, there's time before it comes to pass.

And when that time passes, I'll make Kyrthassa a force to fear!!

[That last part is a roaring yell, meant to overtake the voice behind him, though he's refusing to look at the phantom behind him.]

I'm damned, Doctor Disraeli. I'd be better off with my guts spread and baking over rocks. If I were to come back I'd kill him. I'd kill everyone. I'd do it all over again.

[Still holding Jezebel's hand hostage, he presses it against his forehead]

[Jezebel stays still, tension still running through him even as he goes pliant, letting Ianchus grip his hand however he pleases. It's an old instinct, revived and renewed -- ride out the waves, let them crash over him, stay tranquil and obedient until it was time to get the hell away.]

All right. Then kill all of them, then. Do it all over again, if that's what you need.

[He doesn't know if he means the words or not. He doesn't even really know what he's telling him to do.]

[And that--that, of all things, snaps him out of his reverie, that soft voice telling him something he really only ever cared to hear in his own voice. He looks up at the hand he's holding, then looks up at Jezebel's face, realizing something's wrong here. He drops the hand immediately, as if it's on fire, and scrambles up, breath catching in his throat. The sound behind him is starting to fade now, giving in to the blood suddenly rushing in his ears.]

Jezebel--Doctor Disraeli--

[He remembers what he had just said, the way he had just grabbed the man, and his eyes widen.]

--I'm--so sorry.

[Ianchus' reaction startles him, breaking that tranquil obedience he'd learned to sink into. He feels a little bit like he's coming out of a spell. This is new for him. No one in the past has apologized to him for anything like this before.

Still, he draws his hand back, breathing steadier.]

It's -- it's fine.

[The instinct to be good is still there, still alive, after all. And Ianchus is still right there, might change his mind, but Jezebel's eyes flicker briefly between him and the way out.]

It's...not.

[He puts his hand over his eyes, running it down his face, feeling the sweat on it grow cold. The yelling behind him is dying down and his mind puts everything together, and he grits his teeth behind his hand.

When he pulls it away there's a trembling half smile on his face, his own defense mechanism.]

Please forgive me for stepping out of line.

[All he wants is to leave right now, but his eyes flicker to Jezebel's wrist, checking it for bruises, and he finally realizes just how pale the other man looks.

Was that because of me?]

It's fine.

[He doesn't know what else to say. He's not even angry, really. There'd been no space for that, no room for any thoughts other than 'play along' and 'getawaygetawaygetaway'. Jezebel might have been angry later, at both Ianchus and himself. For the moment, though, his only emotion is a wary relief.

Jezebel sees Ianchus looking him over and he stays still, stays seated, though he thinks the storm has passed. Still, his eyes don't leave him.]

[He can tell that something's off, and he takes a step forward, eyes flickering over the wary expression, Jezebel's hunched, defensive posture. He knows this isn't all him, he can assume that something may have happened before, but he knows that he's partially to blame. His reaction is to reach out, but he stops himself, grabbing onto the bottom of his own shirt, instead.]

Doctor...Are you alright? Did something else happen?

Nothing's happened.

[And that, of all the things he's said, comes out sharper than the rest. Because he won't talk about these things, he can't, they don't matter anymore. He's dead and nothing from his lifetime has made it to Penance, and that's fine. That's for the best. He's free now, none of those things are here to hold him back, and that's fine, it's excellent, really.

He overreacted, besides. Ianchus did nothing worse than kiss his hand. This was nothing. It was fine.]

I took one of the potions earlier and I'm still recovering from it.

[He can tell that it's not completely the truth, but he also knows that prying for an honest answer is the worst thing he can do in this case. He's mad, sure, but he tries not to be cruel. Ianchus presses his lips together, his voice level, serious and low.]

Doctor Disraeli, I apologize. Truly. Can I get you some water?

[He motions to the tent. He doesn't even think of the wine bottle he's discarded]

I'm all right.

[He shakes his head slightly, clearing out the remains of whatever fear had riddled him. The storm had passed, it was over, he was calm, they were past it. Nothing had happened.]

I just need to go back to my house.

[At that he stands, finally, still feeling unwell from the potion's effects but recovered enough that he can get up without tipping over.]

[He wants nothing more to return to his own house (the bottle on the counter is at the forefront of his mind), but he can tell that Jezebel is still not feeling well, and supposes he can offer his help one more time.]

...Can I help you home?

[He considers that for a moment. In spite of everything that's just happened, he still feels ghastly and weak, and even worse, dizzy. After a second or so, he nods, steadying himself.]

If you'd like.

[He's...not sure how to feel about Jezebel's assent, honestly. He's caught between wanting to help and shame at his own outburst, but he knows he has to somehow make it up to him. And even if it's not enough...

Ianchus moves forward, putting an arm out, offering it for Jezebel to hang on, if he needs. Honestly, with how he'd yelled in his face he would understand if he didn't.]

You'll have to lead me.

[Jezebel nods, though he doesn't take the offered arm. After what just happened, he doesn't really want to touch anyone -- and besides, he's already made himself look weak enough. The absolute least he could do was walk on his own and prove himself capable of that much.

He walks out of the tents slower than he would normally, keeping himself at lesser pace to avoid getting disoriented again. His house is further away than Ianchus' is, down a longer stretch of the street.]

[Understandable.
Ianchus straightens out, following next to and slightly behind him, silent at first but soon becomes antsy at the silence. The only time he's been comfortable with it is in a much different context, though he's gotten a little better at keeping silent around people who prefer silence.

Still, might as well try.]

What was your potion?

Something to cause pain. I drank it and it was agony for quite some time.

[He still feels it, to some extent, but now it's more of an ache than the overwhelming sensations from before. At the start he'd been on the floor, unable to do anything but resist the urge to claw his skin off. Now he could at least function, even if he was still weaker than he'd care to be.]

It's abated now at least? These don't seem to last a long time.

[Thankfully. He can only imagine what kind of state he'd have been in if Aetna's shrieking ghost had followed him for longer than the time it had. He can tell Jezebel's still recovering. No doubt it must have been terrible.]

The hallucination--the man I saw...

[As hard as it is to admit]

He hadn't done anything to earn my ire.

They do seem to fade over time. This one is mostly gone.

[He does feel mostly the same, though his body still feels unwell. Jezebel wonders if it will linger like an illness, or like the marks on Ianchus' back. After all, the aftereffects could still stretch out far longer than the punishments themselves.

At Ianchus' second statement, he wears a small, wry smile.]

Well, I imagine most of our strongest ires outweigh whatever happened to earn them.

[For a second, he thinks of his brother again, but lets the thought fade from him.]

[He doesn't like being angry, the overwhelming feeling gripping him, and he's never felt it so hard as when Aetna began following him, telling him the sad, sad news of his family. He knows he hated the man, but he also hated the look of fear that he'd see when Ianchus would back him against the wall, tired of his imploring tone, his cautionary words.

He'd seen something like that in Jezebel's face, and it still bothers him. It's one of those emotions that Ianchus keeps coming back to, like a swollen lip that's bitten over and over.

And of course, it was all him. The potion hadn't transformed him, this was something he'd be capable of dead sober.

He manages to laugh a little at Jezebel's words, though.]

Ahh. Would that we would have switched our drinks, Doctor.

event 003: the potions

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cw mutilation talk? I'm v sorry about him

Cw: Abuse Mentions oh God Ianchus what have you done

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CW: gore, he's waxing poetic

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