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TDM 005: HAPPY SPOOKTEMBER
| TDM 005: HAPPY SPOOKTEMBER |
Arrival  This time, you come out of the water, the Nameless Island's own inherent energy drawing people in. It's like being suspended between realities and abruptly pushed from behind through a rift in dimensions. It may make you sick, or that might be the motion of the ocean, lifting you to the surface and carrying you to shore. Waterlogged and covered in sand, new arrivals will be greeted by robots who welcome them with towels and bracelet devices. The A5 card is already loaded up. Feel free to explore the Island, though there isn’t much to see. Most of the buildings are abandoned and in dire need of repair, and beyond the city lingers a thick fog that obscures much of the wilderness from view. Wander too far into this fog, and you will find yourself mysteriously looping back to where you began, your memories of what you were doing and how you got there erased. With that in mind, it may be wise to stake your claim on a rundown apartment, a tent on the beach, or a bed in the "comfortable" new barracks. Your inventory will be found a day later, wrapped up haphazardly and delivered to each person's makeshift home. I. Harvest Hunt  As the daylight grows shorter and the muggy heat of the island’s summer gradually shifts to temperate days and chilly nights, Erku’s accessible wilderness explodes with a colorful collection of tempting fruits, fragrant-smelling herbs, and nuts and seeds plumped and ready for harvest. With warnings to beware of monsters, the robots of Erku encourage Islanders to take advantage of the land’s bounty by distributing basic camping supplies to those who are interested in exploring, hunting, and harvesting. They strongly encourage making the journey with a friend! Any surplus foods that Islanders bring home with them can be exchanged for credits with cafeteria robots! Just be careful out there - some of these fruits have strange effects once consumed. For extra protection out there in the wilds, the robots have fashioned crowns of flowers or foliage to wear on their adventures. The sweet and herbal smells from the crowns will discourage most Erku-native monsters from approaching, they assure - this is ancient knowledge from the planet’s long-gone civilization, so it can’t be wrong! What the robots don’t know is that the crowns have a deeper, more ritualistic purpose: after a few hours, the scent of flowers or herbs begins to awaken primal instincts within the wearer. Those who are wearing the foliage crowns feel overwhelmed by an urge to hunt, while those who wear the flower crowns delight in every opportunity to tease, outrun, and outwit the hunters. What happens when the chase ends? Well, that depends on the personalities and the chemistry between the hunters and their prey. While the robots are very insistent on placing crowns atop the heads of any Islander they see, they aren’t stuck on in any way and they are easy to remove, which can prevent or break the hunting trance. II. seeds and sap  Of particularly high credit value, the robots explain, is an elusive flower known as the skull sunflower. It appears exactly as one might imagine: at the center of an otherwise innocuous, towering sunflower is the gruesome visage of an open-mouthed skull. Don’t worry, the flowers are harmless! Even if it’s strange how the empty-socketed eyes seem to follow your every move. And why is it that the teeth - which, on closer inspection, are actually the seeds of the flower - only seem to chatter when your back is turned? Any Islander who can withstand their heebie-jeebies long enough to collect the petals and seeds from the flowers will fetch a handsome reward in credits upon exchange with the robots. Beware the sticky, blood-red sap that seeps from the eyes of each skull, however. Those who absorb too much through their skin will begin to hallucinate, visions of frightening or emotional events from their past dancing in the shadows. One might even mistakenly imagine that another Islander is someone they recognize from their past, someone who meant something to them - no matter whether that person is alive or dead in the present. The hallucinogenic effects of the sap can last for hours, or they can be shortened by a dip in the public baths. III. Tarot  Night comes, and in the darkness, a robot sets up a table by the beach. A solitary candle sits in the center, illuminating a deck of cards. F̶i̴n̵d̸ ̸y̶o̸u̸r̵ ̵f̵o̸r̷t̵u̶n̶e̷?̴ The robot reveals tarot cards and will do a variety of spreads to tell your fortune. Each fortune can be distilled into one central theme, which characters will find pervades their life for the next 24 hours. There is magic afoot: it can be sensed, and perhaps even dispelled, if luck is on your side. Though most robots on the island show a capacity for greater-than-average artificial intelligence, this pseudo-psychic 'bot -- M.S. Cl30 -- is less advanced. It only has six interpretations prepared:
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[ He's always loved sitting down with Char, whether for tea or drinks or even a cafeteria lunch. But that has to be a time long past now, Garma tells himself, as he leans in a little too close but only to intimidate, to further push Char back now that he's got this edge in. ]
And don't you dare talk to me about my feelings!! You've stepped on enough of them to forfeit that right forever.
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Couldn't you have bat lashes at some other boy?! I didn't ask for that!
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[ It still wasn't enough. ]
Believe me, I didn't ask for this either!! So at least do both of us a favor and shut your damn mouth instead of mocking me!
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Char was more than willing to fight, but fighting pointlessly was a different story. His eyes flicker away.]
I wasn't mocking you.
[It was true. Real mockery was a lot sharper, a lot harsher from the mouth of Char Aznable.]
I can't accept your feelings. But I wasn't rejecting them either.
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Now he's here, staring at Char Aznable with trembling shoulders, his feelings laid bare regardless of his wishes. His feelings that should be planted firmly in the past, rendered null and void by what had happened between them. But what was it? He will always be who he is, no matter what, forever. Garma Zabi is consistent. And even carrying so much anger and hatred inside, he can't get rid of his old dreams quite that easily. ]
It's not like it matters.
[ His voice sounds strained, but he's stopped shouting at least. What a thought it would be, for Char to accept his feelings here, now, after all that happened... he would have hit him, hurt him as much as he can hurt anyone, for being so late. ]
It's not like this is news to you either, is it? So why make me admit any of it? That's just sadistic.
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[Char dislodges Garma with a brusque shove, dusts himself off and rises to full height. Like how someone would sweep off an ant or removed unwanted debris. His eyes are dull and dead; his voices drops to a flat monotone. And he looks at Garma with such distaste, and it might just be worse than mockery. It might be something like complete disregard.]
Because if we're going to be trapped here together, I'm not going around in circles with you. So say what you need to say and do what you need to do.
[And maybe sadistic wasn't too far from the truth, because—]
Because if I hear it again, I'm sticking you on the nearest Gaw and driving it right back into the ground.
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Do what he needs to do? Well, right now, that is attempt to slap Char across the face with all the force he can muster. ]
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For the most part, smacking Char Aznable upside the face was a guaranteed one way trip to Pound Town. But in this particular case, he doesn't really seem to mind. Or at the very least, it doesn't immediately escalate into a regrettable situation that might involve fiery death. He just blinks a few times, rubbing his red cheek and standing there and robbed of any retort.
Garma isn't quite fortunate enough to have humbled a man with an ego the size of a colony, though, as he then cracks a slight grin.]
Heh. That's the spirit.
[He approved of it...?!]
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[ It felt good to hit him. Not satisfying yet, but definitely good enough that Garma finds his voice again with renewed anger and vigor. Is this language befitting the young prince of the principality? It isn't, but it is the only language that can really describe how he feels about the man in front of him right now. ]
I despise you. I-- I want to do horrid things to you. I hate what you've made of me. You could apologize to me a million times and it would never be enough, so--- so why---
[ He can feel tears welling up again and even though they feel hot and angry now, Garma wishes nothing more than that they would stay back. ]
no subject
[Same old Garma, same old crybaby. Stripped of his only claim to fame, the dearest scion of Zeon, he still wouldn't have lasted long. Shot to death on some distant battlefield, maybe, shouting the same brainwashed words to the very end. Or maybe a victim of some other machination, his own siblings, plotting against him. Too soft for the bloody era just ahead.
Char suffers the hatred in stride. It doesn't bother him, not in the least, and he regards Garma with a bit too much calmness for the situation.]
Tastes bitter, doesn't it? That sort of helplessness... it's practically like poison.
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... but I'm not like you.
[ Not in the good and not in the bad ways. ]
I still...
[ No, that's a bad start. ]
I want---
[ Getting worse. Also getting more teary, unfortunately. ]
... I hate this.
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[Not only would he have seen through the gambit, he would've realized his so-called siblings were playing him for a pawn. But maybe that wasn't true, maybe even Degwin couldn't have protected him forever. Not with a wolf like Gihren bearing down or a fox like Kycilia scoping out the fattest hen. Maybe he never really had a chance at all, raised in a family that ate its own.]
But if you really aren't like me, then don't let it warp you.
[Char just stares at Garma, listlessly.]
I wanted to believe you were better than that.
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... I wish it had warped me more. I'm sick of liking you.
[ Because he knows what he likes isn't Char, it's just a projection, just nostalgia, and still, he can't stop, he can't stop wanting the attention of the only friend he ever thought he had.
And there's a sob, finally. He hasn't cried much since he arrived on this island, has tried his hardest to not think too hard, but with Char right in front of him, he can't run. ]
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Char had hoped against hope they could at least make it to whatever sorry excuse for a structure that the Zabi prince was squatting in, ideally without one or both parties shooting themselves, but it was quickly becoming apparent that Garma was distressed. Hopelessly so, and it kind of feels like dealing with a crying child.
...well, he was dealing with a crying child. He's not even sure Garma can make it on his own, not in this condition.]
Alright, alright. I said get it out of your system, not reenact your own funeral.
[Oops. Bad phrasing. Trying that again:]
I'll stay away from you, if that's easier. Out of sight, out of mind, okay?
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Garma knows this with a fatalistic certainty. There's no coming back from this, he'll feel Char's grasp on him for as long as he lives this second life. The moment Char had killed him, he had made completely certain that Garma would be haunted for eternity. ]
-- No.
[ Rubbing at his eyes to wipe away his own tears does nothing to make Garma appear any less like a forlorn child. It's not particularly effective either, but maybe it's the effort to stop crying that counts? ]
It.. it won't be easier. And it will make Angelo try and kick me out of the house, which is annoying.
[ As much as Garma wants to believe that Angelo has listened to any of his warnings about Char, conversational evidence points to the contrary. ]
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[And that was his mistake. He may not like admitting to it, but it was absolutely was his mistake, pushing a dead man to accept his own demise. Especially when his murderer was standing right there. So he reaches down, reaches deep, and tries to find some forgotten shred of empathy for the Zabi prince.]
Listen, you're the Zabi heir, right? Technically, that still makes you our boss. So you do still have some authority.
[And he's going to regret asking this, but...]
What do you want to do?
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So instead of saying something inane and embarrassing himself even further, Garma actually takes a moment to think while he continues to give his best to suppress sobs and sniffles. ]
We're both going to be on this Island for the foreseeable future. Let's not have any illusions about that. So it's foolish to pretend the other doesn't exist. We'll run into each other at the Hangar at the least, let alone the attempted Zeon alliance.
[ That's a whole lot of nothing much, content-wise, but at least talking for a while makes his voice even out again. ]
You said it yourself, you've already done everything to me. I'm dead. My father isn't here to mourn me, even if I die again. And I... I meanwhile, don't take any pleasure in seeing you inconvenienced or hurt by circumstance. So let's make a truce.
[ By his own hand, now that might be different, but... let's not go there. ]
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[...this jackass.]
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You will form an alliance with me and if you wish to not be annoyed to hell and back by it, you will also cease to make scathing remarks about my emotional state.
[ No illfated crush related sentiments unless Char is deliberately setting out to, hah, crush them. That's a plan, right? ]
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Glory to the Principality of Zeon.
[Truce acquired. Although the bullying will continue until morale improves.]