tushanshu_logs | [EVENT|4TH WALL] THE NEWCOMERS’ ARRIVAL

[EVENT|4TH WALL] THE NEWCOMERS’ ARRIVAL | APRIL 15-22

Characters: ALL and plus ones.
Date: April 15-22 2015 (2016 in-game)
Location: Farmlands outside the city walls, but this log can also be used for locations within the city.
Situation: Spring planting - fourth wall event, week one!
Warnings/Rating: Add warnings as needed.

The days for the festival dawn sunny if a bit chilly, but the air is clear and the soggy ground has dried enough that there isn’t too much mud in the lanes between fields and homesteads. The broad dirt path to the Woodsmen’s land leads past the tram-line construction, lined with waving ribbons on sticks along the sides. The Woodsmen’s territory circles the city, separated from the city’s walls by five hundred yards of neutral land.

The festival’s central area is Liangken’s Clearing, and this is where the festival will begin and end each day. Liangken is an ancient tree, among the oldest on the turtle’s back. Though it doesn’t flower or bear much in the way of leaves anymore, the kedan have cultivated it carefully and now it’s an excellent representation for the revitalisation of old wisdom.

The lanes between the fields and homesteads will house the stalls, contests and walking areas. The Woodsmen will be keeping an eye on these to prevent anyone from walking off the marked paths. The homesteads provide ‘hotspots’ in among the lanes and fields, with Woodsmen families lending their yards to the comfort and entertainment of their guests.

In general, the Woodsmen are a taciturn, soft-spoken lot who nevertheless take great pride in their work. Their lands are all but sacred -- they accept no attitude, no trespassing, no attempts to thwart their authority. This causes some noticeable tension with the Snakes, who are accustomed to being the sole enforcers within the city; but though there may be some ill tempers and raised voices, at no point will anyone come to blows. It’s hard to argue with someone built like a brick wall and carrying sharp farm implements.

The Woodsmen are a touch anxious about having strangers on their land and this shows in them being overly officious or bossy, but at the same time their pride shows clearly and they are eager to show off the state of their lands, their greenhouses, and their farming processes -- practically without being asked. The residents of Keeliai tend to think of the Woodsmen as ‘cowards’, and the Woodsmen are taking this opportunity to prove themselves otherwise with feats of strength and tall tales.

Due to the farmers’ hours of “early to bed and early to rise”, the festival ends in the early evening at sundown, but begins again before dawn -- usually by greeting the sun with a song.

LINKS
Heojin, Ran and Lin | Liangken’s Clearing | Stalls and Lanes | OOC Information post | 4th Wall Character Check In

OOC
While Heojin and his bodyguards are open to everyone (including fourth-wall characters!), they are not available for small talk and general directionless CR. For the integrity of the mod’s inbox, please only request a thread with him if you already have an idea of what you’d like your character to ask/do. Other NPCs can be requested by sending a PM to the appropriate journals directly, with the same guidelines.

The top-level comments are for the festival, but fourth-wall characters should feel free to use the rest of the post for anything within the city of Keeliai itself! Just remember to label the top-level comment for location and date.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Suddenly being somewhere far away from where you were wasn't a normal occurance for PPDC staff... as often as they may have wished it. Yet, here, stood in Liangken's clearing, listening to the story of the Xaxosi, is Marshall Hercules Hansen of the Pan-Pacific Defence Corps.

He's assumed he's dreaming, as odd as it is, despite still having the sling over his right arm, and still feeling the dull pain from it. A dog leash is clutched in his left hand, as an English Bulldog is sat at his boots. Herc, himself, is standing straight, at near-enough attention, posture set; a military man, if ever there was one.

He should probably try and wake up, but... there wasn't much he wanted to wake up for. He's assumed he's passed out during the celebrations of the Breach being sealed, but he can't really remember; everything is a blur of tension and, well.. pain.

Sighing, he looks down at Max, who gave an impatient snort, smiling ever so slightly.

"'least you're with me through all this, mate."

Edited 2015-04-19 00:14 (UTC)

"Why am I not surprised," a voice says from behind him.

Stacker had found himself here suddenly- from the approach to the Breach, knowing that there's no way he could possibly be alive and why- to this strange place filled with people who weren't human. And yet still had a civilization, a culture that produced buildings that wouldn't be entirely out of some place in some parts of China, or some even Japan, the architecture similar in ways he's familiar with after having been stationed in the various Shatterdomes on that side of the Pacific. One he can see is flush with recent growth rebuilding after something, from looking around.

It's an unnerving afterlife.

One that apparently houses Herc Hanson. And the dog.

That voice... It sends shivers down Herc's spine. Mostly because he expected to never hear it again. Max starts barking, straining against the leash, whining to be let loose for pets, but Herc reigns him back, the hound quieting, as he looks back up.

"...Stacker?"

It's all he can really get out. One of his best friends, one of the many things he's lost... right in front of him. He's trying to process this, so is just going to stare, a bit dumbfounded, at his former commander-in-chief.

"Herc."

He can see the reaction; he knows what he and Herc's son did in Striker, what was had to be the only result. There's only so long it could have been, though, if the now-former Ranger is still bandaged up.

"It must not have been long."

"Christ..."

He looks away, closing his eyes, composing himself, because, yeah. There's no way this can be real.

"I must be dreaming... You're..." Gone? Dead? Vaporised into so many atoms? "Definitely a dream."

"A dream?" He's not the only one trying to keep himself composed. It only helps that Stacker's had more experience; his career's always been more political, requiring more diplomacy, more visible control.

"I thought this was some kind of afterlife." A kind of admittance. "Maybe it could be that."

After all, there was the Drift.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Last I remember, I was in LOCCENT. The..." He pauses. He's keeping his voice level. Herc may not have as much experience in keeping visible control, but he's still good at reigning in and bottling emotions. "You're dead. Striker, she..." Exploded. At the bottom of the ocean, with a massive nuclear payload strapped to her back.

"This has to be a dream. Or I've gone bloody insane."

"We detonated the payload. We had to clear the way." For Mako and Raleigh to make it to the Breach. For Gipsy to have a chance. For humanity to have a chance.

Even though in the process he knows it killed him. Herc's kid, too. Stacker was already dying. Chuck had been in the prime of life.

"You can't have gone insane. You're too strong for that." It's said as firm as he can say it, trying to bury the guilt. They all knew what Striker's mission was going to probably end in. It was that or everyone else on the planet.

"Then how do you explain this?"

That might be said a bit more offensively than he means.

"I'm still alive. You and..." A pause. He can't say it. "You're dead. This... This can't be a dream. It's too fuckin' real." The only logical explanation is something's snapped. Losing Chuck... Maybe it was too much?

"There's only so much a man can go through, sir."

"The Drift?" It's his only possible idea, the only thing he can guess at. Even if that doesn't explain all of this.

The fact that Herc won't mention Chuck's name is something he can't ignore. Nor his attempt at snapping into military discipline. "Yes, but there's also a reason that you were appointed in charge, Marshall. And not just because you got injured."

It hurts. It hurts to remember what happened, considering, from Herc's perspective, it happened barely thirty minutes ago.

The wound is still fresh.

"I'm not drifting." Herc remarks, straightening his posture, shoving all of this down. He'd deal with it later ~~yeah, right~~. "This doesn't feel like the Drift, and nothing like this has ever happened before."

Herc's been in the machines longer than you, Stacker. You've got the administration experience, he has the piloting experience. 15 years of having his mind shared by another... It leaves an impression.

"You don't think I know that?" Of course he does, how can he not? While Herc might have had longer actively piloting, Stacker was there from the start. Went over the material and risks from the beginning. Was the one who helped make the program actually succeed at the beginning, who had reported on it to his superiors at the time.

The wound has to be fresh for Herc; but Stacker was the one who helped make the decision. He willingly died with it, but now, apparently, he has to live with it, too. He had nothing to do with Herc's wife's death, but everything to do with his son's.

He snaps to something else. "What happened after?"

Another deep breath. He seizes on the new topic.

"The breach is sealed. Both Gipsy's pilots are still alive." It's tersely said and almost has an undercurrent of "unlike Striker's." But that was unfair... it really was. They had no choice and... it wasn't Stacker's fault.

It wasn't anyone's fault. At least, no-one human. He couldn't blame them.

He's too aware of the situation to say 'good'. Not with the result. Mako still alive, even Raleigh Becket, when Herc's kid died with him.

"We succeeded," instead.

"You succeeded." Herc confirms, letting his shoulders slump a bit, realising how tensed up he's been for these past minutes, if only by the pain in his broken arm.

"The world's saved. The war's over... Only took 15 bloody years."

He shouldn't be here. Chuck knows what happened, knows his fate and he sure as hell knows that none of this is possible. These people, the festival, that big stupid tree; none of it makes even the slightest bit of sense.

Still, he wanders, decked out in the armor he died in, helmet tucked under his arm and his head held high. Unnerving as the whole situation is, there's no way Chuck's going to let his unease show. He's a ranger, after all.

...A ranger finds himself suddenly frozen to the spot, gaze fixed on the back of the man and dog in front of him. Chuck doesn't move, doesn't speak, but then the man does and it's all the confirmation he needs to know that that's his old man.

"What the hell are you doing here?" The words come out harsher than intended. His father should not be dead.

Max was acting up a few minutes before Chuck showed up, obviously picking his scent up, whining, pawing at Herc to let him go. Obviously, Herc thought nothing of it, trying to placate the big baby...

...And then he hears that voice. That unmistakeable voice, and that feeling in his mind. The feeling of being mostly whole again. Drifting left an impression, one that stayed, no matter what. When Chuck died... He felt that impression, that connection, snap and break. It could all be in his head, but right now...

He turns around, staring. His hand lets go of the dog leash, and Max starts bounding towards Chuck, barking.

"...I'm dreaming. I... Chuck?"

Reflex kicks in as Max heads his way and Chuck drops to his knees to ruffle the dog before he even knows he's moved. Save for a brief glance down, his gaze remains fixed on his father.

"What are you doing here?" The same question again, a little more controlled this time but still firm.

"I could ask you the same question."

He really could, because... Well.

His, now free, hand clenches into a fist. He's holding back from just walking right over there and hugging his son. At least, for the moment. He needs to know what he's dealing with.

"You're... dead. I... Fuck... I must be going bloody insane."

He's about to speak again when Herc beats him to it. Hearing that he's dead and gone stings more than he ever thought it would, but Chuck does his best to keep it from showing. It's true then. He's really gone. As for his father, Chuck still has no idea but he'll take this one step at a time. It's too much to face all at once. His eyes close a moment, the man taking a second to seize control of himself before he looks down to the dog.

"Yeah. Stacker and I..." The man looks up again and smirks but his eyes betray the bravado. It's a struggle to keep it together. "Did the mission succeed? Did they get the job done?"

"Yeah." He mumbles, automatically. "The breach is closed, both of 'em survived." Where you didn't. They came back.

You didn't.

It's completely unsaid, yet it hangs in the air. Heavy.

"The world's saved. Thanks to you."

Chuck takes a moment to think on that, then nods his head and gets to his feet.

"Good."

Good that they won, good that it's over, good that Raaaahleigh and his little girlfriend didn't screw things up. His sacrifice was worthwhile.

"Always knew I'd go down in history a hero," he says, more than a little smug. Proud as he is, just about everything in his attitude in that moment is forced. He'll play it cool, as he always does. Play it cool while he tries to make heads or tails of what's happening.

Herc knows. Of course he does. He's spent the best part of five years in his kid's head. He knows more than anyone when Chuck is faking bravado.

The worst part is... it stings, this time. Because of what he's trying to cover up. Herc closes his eyes for a second, trying to fight down everything... but the next thing he knows, he's striding forward to seize his son in a tight, one-armed hug.

In that moment he's a child again, clinging to his parent like they'll disappear if he lets go. In this case, it's an honest fear. Chuck is well aware that his father and him shouldn't be in the same place and that all of this is impossible, but it's happening, and for it to end before he's ready for it to... well, that's just damn terrifying.

His eyes burn, tears he can't stop spilling from them before he even registers they're there. "God dammit, old man." A curse it may be, but it's an affectionate one.

Herc doesn't care that his broken arm is between him and the solid surface of Chuck's drivesuit. He's ignoring the pain, eyes screwed up futilely against his own tears. He brings his hand up, threading it into Chuck's hair, gripping it, not painfully, as though to remind him that it's there.

He lets out a choked sob-laugh at the curse. "That's Marshall old man to you." He growls back. He's not letting go. He doesn't want to let go. This is real, because he can feel it. Not just physically, but it echoes across the connection, the one he felt severed.

"Oh, fuck..." He mutters, pressing his head against Chuck's. "This is real, isn't it?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[EVENT|4TH WALL] THE NEWCOMERS’ ARRIVAL | APRIL 15-22

Herc Hansen | Pacific Rim

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