( closed 👻 the case of the murder-causing mind infection )

[incorrigibles]

Who: charles rowland + various
Where: in vague locations around aldrip
What: charles has a no-good, very bad time with the gnosia situation
Warnings: talk of murder and death, at the very least.

( specific starters in comments! if you're keen on one, hit me up on plurk @ celen. )

Comments

👻 BONES.

[incorrigibles]

[ in the end, charles decides he's going to need some help to deal with all of this. he knows, of course, that the roles are arbitrarily assigned, kind of like each person has been infected with some weird supernatural illness that messes with their mind or abilities or perception — nothing to do about it, really, but to try and survive until the end.

it doesn't stop him from thinking that edwin could have figured out a spell or something to fix it all, and then promptly feeling guilty that he has even an ounce of a wish that edwin were here to go through this shitshow in the first place.

in his stead, though, charles figures a doctor is his best bet. and so he goes around, walking the quiet streets and through the chaos and pokes his head through walls (as uncomfortable as it is, to partially phase through stuff) to ask, ]

Sorry to disturb, but wouldn't have seen a doctor around, would you?

[ eventually, he asks that very same question from a guy older than him, with his entire body looking very much blue and translucent as most of him is still outside the building in question, his head the only part of him looking in. oops. ]

👻 SCOTT.

[incorrigibles]

[ to say that charles feels wrong-footed, waking up outside the city hall when he's not been supposed to be able to even go unconscious at all, is an understatement. it's all even stranger with the addition of a screen and what seems to be the first of a series of questions projected onto it. charles doesn't really get the whole point of all of this, unless it is to feel like shit — which, actually, seems to be the reigning theme of this whole virus thing, so maybe he's not that off the mark.

sighing and wondering if he could just phase through the whole thing and leave, charles calls out, ]

So, uh, ready to have a really heartwarming conversation about... hurting people? [ then, muttered, ] Bloody hell.

[ oh yeah. this is going to suck. but even if he just legs it, does that mean his partner-in-questionnaire is going to be stuck here, possibly forever? or at least until they find someone else to answer this shit with? possibly. and he can't really be responsible for that, can he. ]

[laserguy]

[Of course, Scott recognizes Charles immediately.

It's strange, he's like the only person he's met in this place where he wasn't really himself at first, but a different version from another timeline. Those memories are there, those crushing feelings of loss that made it hard for Scott to sleep that night-- made him hug Kotone just a little more. The thought of another Scott loving Jean Grey isn't surprising to him, he's heard it many times by now, but losing her too... that was hard. Not just because he really felt everything at that time, but just a reminder of how Kotone and him will separate from each other at some point.

Shit really sucks.

All these thoughts have made it so that Scott can barely bitch about the fact that he's probably going to talk about serious things in his pajamas. Dude, why did this place have to drag them out at night?? At least he knows that Charles is a good dude, at least normally, who knows if he's been infected or not. He hopes not. How would an infection hit a ghost?? Which also, go figure, another potential friend that is dead back home. Scott closes his eyes behind his glasses at the thought, finding it in himself to accept it and try not to be too upset in front of the other teen.

Don't get upset, Summers. Deep breath, focus on what's going on now and look at Charles.]

Yeah, definitely my top pick for conversations. [...] Before we start, just want to let you know ahead of time... we've met before.

[incorrigibles]

[ charles, meanwhile, is wearing his usual getup, dark red polo shirt and his black jacket with pins and patches — ghost clothing's easy like that, the second he'd woken up outside, the jacket had simply been on him, despite the fact that he can hardly feel the cold.

he's about to offer another quip back, but what follows after makes his brows furrow in confusion. ]

Uh, no offense, mate, but think I'd remember that. [ his grin is bright and charming as he adds, ] I'm pretty good with people. I don't go forgetting those I meet.

[ unless this place is also messing with his memories? which, if so, is right fucked. ]

[laserguy]

[For a moment, Scott considers just letting this be. Maybe it will be better to just start over, pretend that their initial conversation never happened. It was a really awkward way to meet after all. But... well, he's never been good at pretending in that way, not to mention that once he tells Charles his name he'll probably remember.]

I was really different the first time we met. [Haha because he's not some emotionally crushed dude that thought he had nothing to live for, right? Oh, and the fact that he's not an adult, that's the other thing.]

Well, if you're as good as you say you are about not forgetting people... [There's a light inhale and okay, if he wants to start with a new impression, maybe he should act like that? Even if the whole gnosia thing has been shit, he can still be himself. So, he places one hand against his hip, forcing a slight smile at Charles in a manner that's just a bit cocky.]

Scott Summers.

[Hopefully Charles doesn't think he's a weird gnosia for all this--]

[incorrigibles]

[ he gives a light shrug in response to the bit about not forgetting people, as if to say, try me — and then, when he finally speaks the name, charles blinks. and then blinks again as the memories rearrange in his head. and if he tilts his head... well, the glasses are different, and he's younger for sure, but — ]

... huh. Guess you look like him, a bit.

[ and then, all at once, he remembers what actually happened during the meeting, the subject matter, and he blanches. well, shit. ]

So — was that... the future you? [ how does he manage to sound so nonchalant about this? probably because he's seen, truly, so much weird shit. this is up there, sure, but not even the weirdest. and besides, his focus is on feeling the sympathy he felt, then, a wave of it burying him under just for a second. ] Because if so — I'm sorry. Again.

[laserguy]

No, not really? At least, I don't think so.

[He's changed to different Scotts throughout the month and right now it's been the longest stretch of time where he hasn't been someone else. Go figure that none of his other selves appear when an actual fucking crisis happens. Yeah, let him deal with all the gnosia shit!! Thanks for nothing guys!!

He's not going to regret thinking this way at all later--

But when he was the other Scotts, he sort of knew for sure that he wasn't them. Well, it was easy when he turned to another teen Scott, because duh that's not him, but the Scott that talked to Charles by the beach... he has no idea which timeline he's from. If he's his future or someone else's. The only thing that was clear was that deep grief of losing Jean Grey.

Some of that false bravado diminishes, his hand leaving his hip so that he can rub his arm instead.]

So, um, don't worry about it. I haven't lost someone like that. [...] But thanks? I uh, speak for the other me and me.

[He's allowed!! Not like that other version of him is going to come out and correct him!!]

[incorrigibles]

Oh, [ says charles, intelligibly, because if it wasn't the future him, then... good? but also, confusing. faintly, he remembers a book edwin read to him once, about some kind of parallel universe shit, and maybe that's the case here, too? if it is, the idea is already making his head hurt. best not think about it too much.

instead, he tries to give scott a smile, but it lands somewhere between that and a grimace. ] Well, uh, you're welcome? You and the other you.

[ ... god this is weird. with a cough, he directs his attention again to the questions — though, in hindsight, maybe that's also a bad idea. ]

So — first question. Do you like to hurt people? Bloody hell, no. [ the screen does not flash; it is the truth, even if it's not the whole truth, because charles doesn't like hurting anyone, no, of course he doesn't — but he'll do it, without hesitation, without question, to protect those he loves. ]

[laserguy]

[He sees that awkwardness from Charles and... yeah. Yeah.]

Dude, just putting this out there now, this is probably the weirdest way I've ever encountered someone and then got to know them. Seeing that I've been here over a year... congratulations.

[It's going to take something really weird to dethrone Charles now. Someone that can beat 'I met you first when I wasn't myself and then we finally did meet, it was over the worst game of Icebreaker.' Oh, and potential murder stuff as the backdrop of everything. Great. Fantastic.]

After everything settles down, diner? Hamburgers and fries, assuming you had them.

[What, this guy clearly as an accent and everything!! Gotta make sure he has some American culture.] But yeah, I don't like hurting people either.

[No flash on Scott's end either. It's a simple answer for the mutant, one that he doesn't think twice about. Even if it's some asshole, he doesn't want to hurt anyone, especially not with his powers.]

👻 YUSUKE.

[incorrigibles]

[ as much as charles wishes otherwise, the sight of people dying is not exactly an uncommon one for him. granted, he's more used to dead people, ghosts or vengeful spirits or poltergeists who look as they did when dying, gruesome wounds in full display; or corpses, in various stages of decay, depending on when him and edwin had stumbled on them during their investigations.

but people in the midst of the whole process of dying? well. not quite so common, and definitely never enough that charles would have beaten his instinct to, well, panic at the sight of one.

which is what he does when he comes across what seems to be a relatively young guy, very clearly very badly off, and charles thinks, shit, if i was still a real proper ghost, could check if he sees me and that'd tell if it's too late, before realising what he's thinking, and deciding that maybe he's just finally going a bit mental. or a lot. ]

Hey, [ he starts, voice soft and friendly in the way one might talk to an easily startled bird, ] You alive over there?

[ ... maybe not his best line. he'll blame the stress. ]

👻 JUNPEI.

[incorrigibles]

[ look, it's not that charles is very specifically scouring the entire city for the few people he counts among the number of friends i would die a second time for — but he's... not not doing that, either. in his defense, the entire city is on metaphorical fire, people are murdering others left and right, and the locals are barricaded in their homes; he thinks he has a reason to be a tad concerned.

it takes him several hours and mirror-hopping until he's dizzy with it, but finally he spots someone who looks very much like junpei, and he doesn't really stop to register where he is, or where the other's going, or anything — he just yells out, ]

Oi, Junpei! Wait up!

[ his shout echoes from the buildings; and when it clearly... well, either falls on deaf ears, or junpei elects to ignore him (and that smarts a bit, but hey, charles is nothing if not persistent), he promptly follows into the building his friend's disappeared into, stepping straight through the door.

and then just blinks. ] Where the hell are we? [ what... is he looking at. what is this place. explanations, please. ]

[coolerjunpei]

[When the first message alerting the Chosen to this thing—Gnosia infection—hits, Junpei can't help but think, oh, someone thinks they are soooo goddamn hilarious. Then he thinks I told you so, which has far less oomph when he thinks it in the privacy of his room at the inn, and then—

GNOSIA

So that's not great. He decides he's better off avoiding everyone else until this thing rides itself out, which works until his mind starts literally fighting him about wanting to kill people, so in a genuine effort to keep the murderous impulse quiet, he has found himself an empty building and he has built...

Well. He's built. Even "built" might be pushing it; the room Charles follows him into is definitely set up in a way that suggests a purpose, but it's a touch unfinished. Some of the props are pieces of paper with, honestly, shit drawings or just words written on them for what they should be—the most visible one is sitting inside an open cabinet at shin height, and it just says "LEG".

So he's working on it. The room itself looks like it's used to store kitchen appliances and glass display cases, like from a bakery or a convenience store. The microwave sitting on a pushcart doesn't belong; it might not be plugged in.

Junpei, for his part, startles when he finally hears Charles speak and spins around from where he's writing "ARM" on another piece of paper.]

Uh—huh? Wait, what are you doing in here? You can't be in here.

[incorrigibles]

[ at that supremely intelligent remark, charles blinks, and then looks at himself, quite deliberately, before sweeping his gaze over the maybe-once-a-storage-room, and then finally looking back at his friend. ]

Well, mate, sorry to tell you this, but looks like I can.

[ as if to prove his point, he finds an errant stepladder, there out of the way near the wall, and props himself up on it like it's a comfortable chair. he lounges on it the way one might if they were prepared to sit there for a very long time indeed. ]

Seriously, though, what's going on here? You okay? [ him being a little shit aside — real concern seeps into his tone there at the end, and his brows furrow, his eyes reflecting his true reason for being here: that he's worried. ]

[coolerjunpei]

[Pointedly, Junpei puts his ARM paper into the microwave and shuts the door. This means functionally nothing, but he's frazzled; he's in the middle of preparing his brilliantly hands-off murder machine, and then Charles just comes in? And he's just sitting there!!]

You can't stay in here, because it's— it's not done.

[He stands there and stares for a moment, looking both exhausted and exasperated, and then crosses the room back to the door. All things considered he would rather not trap Charles in a horrible room designed to psychologically torture (stay with him on this), but if he's already here-!!]

The door didn't even lock...? [.......oh,] Oh. Ghost.

[He doesn't move away from the door, just kind of... thunking his head into it... and standing there. Give him a minute.]

[incorrigibles]

[ what, charles thinks, the actual fuck.

has junpei lost his mind? is that what's happening here? because it sure looks like that. but in that case — well, he can't leave him alone even more so, then, because being alone sucks on a normal day, and then if you're actively in the middle of losing it, it sucks even more.

which is why he abandons his plan of perching on the stepladder like a pigeon and hops up, walking carefully over to junpei, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. ]

Oi. Just, listen to me, yeah? Ever since this whole shit started, I didn't know if you were doing all right, or what. So of course I was gonna come and see you. And now that I'm here — well, seems to me you could use some company. So... talk to me?

[coolerjunpei]

[Junpei would like, actually, to stand here and lean on this closed door and just wait until he either passes out or stops thinking involuntary thoughts about murder. Either would be fine!!! But alas: he has to live in the real world, and the real world Junpei can only flinch and tense up when Charles comes closer. Proximity may be related to murder urges, stop that--

In any case, he immediately wants to say "I am doing fucking terrible" and "company is the worst idea," but in his haggard state what comes out is:]

I am doing the worst idea, [which is practically the same anyway. He makes a face at the door.]

Don't know what you want me to say... This is a trap. [He gestures behind them without actually turning, like obviously this is all a trap. So clearly a trap.] From someone else's explanation, though, so...

[well he wrote ARM and LEG on pieces of paper. he knows how it looks.]

[incorrigibles]

Right, [ says charles, in the tone of someone who might say "i see" while very much not seeing, at all, actually. but the more he starts to puzzle it out — well, the thing is? he's a detective. you don't solve cases for thirty years without coming out on the other side with some actual deduction skills.

and from junpei's immediate horror at discovering charles there, to his tired appearance, to the haphazard explanation of a trap —

well. it doesn't take a genius to put together a semi-clear picture of what's going on. ]

Right, [ he repeats, before grabbing onto junpei's shoulders and spinning him around with ease, forcing his friend to actually look at him. only after that does charles say, far more calmly than he actually feels, ] Look, I don't know what's going on here, but I'm guessing you're infected. Well, good news, you can't kill me. You could literally stab me in the heart right now and I wouldn't die. So — no need to catastrophise about me being here, yeah? I've got you. Just... let me help? [ and unless junpei actually, forcefully pushes him away, he's going to step in to draw him into a tight hug. ]

[coolerjunpei]

[Oh-- hey. Junpei gives him a look that's stuck between tragic and wildly confused for a second; he's trying to make his pitch that Charles should leave, and he just--insists? On staying? To help?

Somewhere under the roiling current of Gnos, Junpei is touched in the same moment that he's surprised— there are so few people in his life he can really rely on, and here's this guy he's practically just met, offering to help him while knowing full well he's wild on this murder infection.]

I don't think it's going to go away that easily... I mean, I'm not infected.

[I'm not, half-assed, because he absolutely and overtly is, and half-mumbled into Charles' shoulder as he gets pulled into a hug. It helps. It doesn't much quiet the persistent urge of Gnos at the back of his mind, but it helps.

He sighs eventually, then,] So, uh... I don't want to kill anybody.

hello charles. it is time to die.

[traumaticus]

[Place an already mentally unstable individual, who's sense of reality is compromised enough as it is, in a closed off city with a murder infection running rampant and see what happens.

Richard has been very busy during these last few days. At first there had been the almost eerie calmness in his soul, setting on his bones and spreading all the way to his body. He had felt so light, air flowing freely in his body and making him light. The almost serene like calmness and relief, similar to what one would feel when returning back to home after being away for so long. Like Ulysses seeing the the shores of Ithaca after years of his Odyssey. And just like the mythical hero of the past, Richard knew exactly what he needed to do.

After the calmness had came the nightmares. Maddening visions, distorting the reality and covering everything in the darkness. The calmness had changed into a fury, swinging from freezing cold to blazing hot, blinding him from any further sense and reason. And yet, even in this state Richard knew what he needed to do.

He had killed. A lot. Some of them had been ugly and personal, some not so much. But he had made sure to paint the world red, claiming the victory over anyone who came across him. And while the fury within had quelled for most part it still wasn't enough. He could feel the fire bubbling underneath the weird, almost mechanic like calmness. Like a water slowly waiting to boil over.

Richard is standing in middle of street that had been so busy and full on life less than a week ago. He's breathing heavily through his nostrils, his shoulders raising with each inhale, then slumping back down. His gaze is focused on the broken glass on the ground, eyes staring down at his fragmented reflection on the shards but not truly seeing. No, his mind is completely somewhere else. Stuck in the darkness with all the voices speaking to him from the shadows, chanting to him as a choir.

"More! More! More! Kill more!"

It's so dark. Colorless and freezing just like that day when the light had been robbed from him. Leaving him to walk in a darkened path, waddling through the rivers of despair. The only other color he could make out through the black veil was none other than red. And he needed to see more of it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound coming from near him. Was it from footsteps approaching? Or maybe a voice trying to talk to him? He couldn't tell. But it's just enough to snap Richard away from his own head, back to the present. He lifts his eyes from the ground, turns to look over his shoulder and ah.]

Charles. [He says calmly, voice smooth like satin and a gentle smile forming on his lips. Yet his mismatched eyes stayed hazy as he looked at the youth, hand already grasping his sword.]

the best of times--

[incorrigibles]

[ it's — well, it's not been a great week for him. but it's also not the worst, because he hardly has it the worst; it's not him struggling with murder impulses, so what if he just feels progressively more and more useless, the longer the week goes on? so what if it's killing him, watching someone he cares about lose a bit more of his mind every single goddamn day?

it doesn't matter. what does matter is that he's at least not making things worse — and so he's out, wandering aimlessly for a while, which maybe isn't his smartest move yet, what with the whole city in chaos and all.

it's on one of the streets that he tends to walk through on his quick city tours that he spots someone familiar — and, yeah, okay, so maybe he's not thinking clearly, because the only thing he can feel is nothing but sheer relief. ]

Your Grace! [ he calls out, jogging closer, heaving a sigh. ] Bloody hell, you're okay, that's a relief.

[ he stops a few paces away, watching as richard finally turns to face him, a small smile on his lips but a strange look in his eyes. and charles — well. he smiles back, because, as established, he's really not thinking clearly. ]

I've been worried about you, [ he says, instead, glancing at the sword and whistling low. ] Though maybe I shouldn't have been.

[traumaticus]

[There is a colorless expression on Richard's face as he watches Charles to jog and stumble towards him. He definitely hears what he is saying but none of the words really register to him, as his head is buzzing with strange white noise. A sound that prevents him fully relaxing his body, threatening to steal his focus away back to the darkness.]

..It's so quiet. [He states, but instead of speaking to Charles his words are aimed at something completely else. Richard keeps looking through at the youth, his hand continuing to grip on the sword's handle but not yet making a move to pull it out.] Strange, it was so loud a moment ago. Now you can't hear the witch's curse even if you try to.

[incorrigibles]

[ at that first statement, charles glances around them — well, sue, the street is pretty quiet, that's true... but then he keeps speaking, and.

and, well.

shit. ]

Uh, [ says charles, mind fighting for some semblance of calm over the ocean of worry that suddenly crests over him, ] Right. The witch's... curse.

[ he lifts one hand up, palm out, somehow placating and disarming at once. ] So — what's that, then? Would you tell me about it, my lord?

[traumaticus]

[Richard blinks few times at the question. And just for a moment it looks like it might've been enough to snap him back to reality. But then his pupils dilate and he shakes his head in disbelief as a grim realization dawns upon him.]

You would know all about it, wouldn't you. [The words are spoken with a dark and low voice, the expression on his face turning more harsh.

It's the trick of the witch no doubt. She must have planned it all along, sending one of her minions, a ghost, to follow him and fool him. She would do anything, use any lie and illusion, to steal light from him and so that she could continue on tormenting him. The ugly witch that cursed entire England as she was burned at the stake by his father.

This time Richard doesn't wait for an answer. But instead with practiced and carefully movement, one learned after many years spent in the battlefield, he unsheathes his sword and swiftly turns it to plunge the sharp blade right into Charles' abdomen.]

[incorrigibles]

Wha —

[ that's about all he manages to say, genuine confusion turning into sharp realisation just a touch too late, before there's a sword sticking out of him and charles lets out a pained yell that ends in a swear, because —

his form right around the wound is black and smoking. fuck, charles manages to think, so there's some iron in it, and well, he's — yeah, he's absolutely fucked, then. he could try to pull the sword free, but as his legs give out from under him out of the sheer, debilitating pain that's everywhere, radiating through every single atom that makes up his ghostly body; that's... going to be a struggle, innit?

and what, then? he could try to fight back, somehow, but this? this isn't richard. this is an infection inside him, and if charles hurts him, even a little... doesn't that make him worse?

he makes an attempt to lift his hand to where the sword is sticking out of him, but all he manages is halfway before he groans at the sharp stab of pain. ]

[traumaticus]

[The black smoke is the only further proof he needs. Charles was not of this world but belonged to witch's realm. Just like that damned, wicked and despicable Joan of Arc. Richard had once managed to strike her down, casting her away for all those years until she found a crack where to slip back into his life -- back when he had became disillusioned by the might of his brother and his right to be king.

Joan had been quiet for a while now, again. So maybe that explained why Charles had appeared in his life all of the sudden. To spy on him for her sake, try to soften him so that he'll lower his guards again. Joan had always enjoyed tormenting him when he was feeling the most vulnerable.

But not this time. Richard wouldn't let it happen.

Gritting his teeth together, Richard pushed the sword deeper until it pierced through Charles' bony frame, the sharp end of the blade sticking out from his back. Then, grabbing the hilt with both of his hands, he pushed the sword upwards, the iron cutting a bigger incision as he pulled the weapon out. ]