It has been worse, [he offers, without further explanation. It sure has been worse, even in his brief handful of weeks here; someone made him get in a pond? Dreadful. A carnival is an outlier, as far as he can tell, from what he's learned.
Instead of saying any of this, though, he watches the stranger futz with the cape, mild. Amused? Hard to tell.
As for taking it lightly,] You dressed for the occasion. Seem to be taking it well.
[So... not as new as Altius initially assumed, then. Here long enough to accept some manner of the situation as 'normal'? That means long enough to get something useful out of this... person. One hopes.]
What I arrived in was less than pristine. The costumes are free.
[Speaking of less than pristine—the edge of a splatter of blood, barely visible, still remains on the side of his neck where he hasn't had the chance to look.]
Given the option, I'd rather not have a breakdown. [The power of suppression! And hey, regarding things he's trying not to have a breakdown over:] Was it the result of something "worse" here, that you're not quite touching the ground?
[But okay, okay, he can't stand here and make fun of the silly vampire costume forever. Particularly given how he's dressed not unlike a vampire on Casual Friday himself, minus the cape. If he could have chosen to be murdered in something with fewer layers... but alas.
In any case, he has the decency(?) to look faintly amused, and finally remembers to blink.]
Euphemistic. Charming. You can say it as everyone else does. I am a ghost.
[He gestures down at himself, and the strip of tickets slides through the edge of his pant leg for a moment in a way that it shouldn't. Ghost.]
[Something darkens in his gaze for a moment, but it disappears under the fatigue with a blink or two. Hmm. He's not fond of that, nor any of the possibilities that arise with it. He doesn't like it at all.
To distract both himself and this ghost:]
Where I'm from, we tend not to refer to mortality so plainly. It's considered impolite at best.
["I'm so sorry your parents are dead." Can you imagine? How dreadful that would have been, if he'd been so callous.]
In any case, it would have been an assumption. I've gotten the impression there's the possibility of some other semi-permeable being in this place who could still be called alive.
[To have been dead in a locked room for thirty years and then to have a stranger with suspicious flecks of blood on his person say that it's impolite to refer so openly to death is—well. Not many things can make Octavian laugh anymore; he's dead, for one, and maintaining the integrity of his own semitangible form takes a focus too demanding for things like having a little chuckle. But he still does, the sound almost crackling and strange, and the edges of him seem to wisp a bit harder and lose that much more color before he stops again.
Whew. Big day for emotions.]
There is another spectre. Young. Whimsical. That is all of us.
[At least, he thinks so—no one has mentioned another literal ghost besides himself and Charles, and since all ghosts must know each other according to the living, they surely would have. He cants his head, considering.]
[Unoffended, Zekarion watches with some grim fascination—it's certainly not every day one gets to witness a ghost, much less one who seems to have found some amusement. Emoting takes more energy than safe, for him to remain so clear? Hm. He tucks the observation into the back of his mind to take apart later, perhaps.
He shakes his head faintly at the dull-toned question; his wording hadn't been adequate, he supposes.]
It's only a hypothetical. A remark on the strangeness of this place.
[Of the people here, he mostly means, but he's polite enough not to say it. But he'd like the other unspoken half of his prior question answered, so he attempts to move past the ghost topic to business that's more practical:]
Did the "worse" you referred to involve any significant danger?
[Boring, he wanted to meet a jelly person. The place certainly is strange, though, true enough, and he acknowledges that with a vague kind of hum and his gaze sliding off the newcomer and over the milling crowd, considering "worse."]
Yes. I believe it did. The entity that controls this place was... in error. Instability and natural disasters ran rampant.
[And he's heard there have been, hm, ritual sacrifices and diseases that make you kill your friends, but those were before his time, so obviously he needn't bother addressing those right now. Ahem.]
We reset her. It stopped. It may return. Who can say.
[If he does ever find a jelly person, Octavian will certainly be the first to know.
The entity... a Spirit of some sort? Instability and natural disasters certainly fit Chaos to a tee; it wouldn't be outside the realm of those beings' powers, but he hasn't known them to do things they don't mean to... nor has he heard of resetting them. He really doesn't have enough information yet, which is why he's all too happy to find someone willing to extrapolate on the situation, even if he's unsettled by the idea of ghosts...
He folds his arms with obvious concern.]
How long ago was this reset? [And:] I assume communication with this entity is limited.
[Octavian holds up a few fingers, seemingly actually counting, before he shrugs,]
A number of weeks.
[Which is great news, surely—that the structural integrity of this place is likely still fragile after what they did do it, when it was already falling apart. He doesn't actually know enough about how the place functions to say anything definitively, but since he knows a thing or two about putting a thing back together after it's been, functionally, ruined irreparably, well - it could be bad!
But anyway.]
She is unavailable to us presently. I think. Remains preserved in a number of copies. Or similar.
[As he watches that counting, he briefly wonders how death might affect one's perception of time, but that's hardly a topic that's beneficial to pursue. He doesn't really have the time or patience for pure curiosity.
That this place still exists and... mostly appears to be stable after weeks is something, certainly. He doesn't know how long it's existed in comparison to form any real opinion. It might have been nicer for him if it had been obliterated entirely before he arrived, but—you know. He's always prepared for things to get worse, anyway.
Altius frowns in thought, eyebrows knit together. These details are... vague, unusual. Copies of an entity powerful enough to maintain an illusory world and keep them trapped inside it. That's a dangerous concept. He's not certain if asking how these copies were made will get him much at the present moment... a question for another time, perhaps for someone more deeply involved in the process.]
Preserved where, if you know? [He has no current ideas of what he'd try to do with them, but any leads he may get could be helpful for the future. If just to keep track.]
I do not, [he says, with a slight shrug. It's mostly true; he doesn't actually know who's holding onto every backup of the AI's, only that Root has one and is protective of her to a degree he feels obligated to respect. She wouldn't enjoy strangers she hasn't yet vetted being told about her precious cargo, he thinks - ergo, he doesn't know. Mostly.
And technically, Root could have put her anywhere, so he doesn't know.]
Many were involved in the effort to preserve our... [he waves a hand in a vague motion, indicating their general surroundings; this place? Their overall stability? Whatever one would call it,] This. Ask around. People are wildly helpful.
[This isn't a lie, but he says it like it's weird because it is, if you ask him. People around here sure are friendly when it suits them! Hmm!]
[Altius lets out a hum of acknowledgement; not pleased, entirely, but he can't blame someone for something they don't know. Plus, the phantom's affect is odd enough that he's unable to detect any sort of partial truths. So it's fine. He was already planning to learn whatever he can by any means necessary. Talking to a few more people isn't exactly the worst hardship he's endured.
He can't help but turn his gaze to Octavian with a bit of skepticism, however.]
Those of us accused, you mean? [The locals have been far from it, in his experience these past few hours.] ... I suppose in a sense, we are in this "together." It would follow that most would want to help in our collective attempts to survive and escape.
[And even the most selfish, if they're smart enough, would realize the power of numbers.]
[He holds up a finger, which then becomes a pair for a genuine finger-quote,] Chosen.
[This too is stupid enough to be mildly amusing; chosen for what, exactly? Rehabilitation, it seems, although he personally considers his "crime" to be, hm, utter bullshit, so he can only assume that thought is not unique to himself. Chosen. It's like a bad joke.]
We are our own lesser evil. When thought of it in that context. There were disagreements regarding the entity.
[But, uh, he didn't personally have any stake in those, so,] I do not remember them.
Chosen, [Altius echoes, with just enough disdain to push the response over the edge of unimpressed. They're in agreement over how stupid the term is, though he wouldn't be inclined to feign any humor over it even if it did suit the situation. Thankfully, he'd consider himself justified in his less than chipper mood.
He doesn't bother frowning any further than he already is at the idea of these disagreements. Even his facade isn't naive enough to think that everyone would get along all the time.]
Then they must not have been significant, [he decides. To Octavian, anyway. He'll make his own judgements regarding that later.] A reasonable result was reached, in any case, at least to my eye.
[Like, stuff's not falling apart. So that part... is good.]
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expiationlogs2024-10-14 08:59 am
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Instead of saying any of this, though, he watches the stranger futz with the cape, mild. Amused? Hard to tell.
As for taking it lightly,] You dressed for the occasion. Seem to be taking it well.
no subject
What I arrived in was less than pristine. The costumes are free.
[Speaking of less than pristine—the edge of a splatter of blood, barely visible, still remains on the side of his neck where he hasn't had the chance to look.]
Given the option, I'd rather not have a breakdown. [The power of suppression! And hey, regarding things he's trying not to have a breakdown over:] Was it the result of something "worse" here, that you're not quite touching the ground?
no subject
[But okay, okay, he can't stand here and make fun of the silly vampire costume forever. Particularly given how he's dressed not unlike a vampire on Casual Friday himself, minus the cape. If he could have chosen to be murdered in something with fewer layers... but alas.
In any case, he has the decency(?) to look faintly amused, and finally remembers to blink.]
Euphemistic. Charming. You can say it as everyone else does. I am a ghost.
[He gestures down at himself, and the strip of tickets slides through the edge of his pant leg for a moment in a way that it shouldn't. Ghost.]
However. No. I arrived here posthumously.
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To distract both himself and this ghost:]
Where I'm from, we tend not to refer to mortality so plainly. It's considered impolite at best.
["I'm so sorry your parents are dead." Can you imagine? How dreadful that would have been, if he'd been so callous.]
In any case, it would have been an assumption. I've gotten the impression there's the possibility of some other semi-permeable being in this place who could still be called alive.
no subject
Whew. Big day for emotions.]
There is another spectre. Young. Whimsical. That is all of us.
[At least, he thinks so—no one has mentioned another literal ghost besides himself and Charles, and since all ghosts must know each other according to the living, they surely would have. He cants his head, considering.]
Who is this semi-permeable being.
no subject
He shakes his head faintly at the dull-toned question; his wording hadn't been adequate, he supposes.]
It's only a hypothetical. A remark on the strangeness of this place.
[Of the people here, he mostly means, but he's polite enough not to say it. But he'd like the other unspoken half of his prior question answered, so he attempts to move past the ghost topic to business that's more practical:]
Did the "worse" you referred to involve any significant danger?
no subject
[Boring, he wanted to meet a jelly person. The place certainly is strange, though, true enough, and he acknowledges that with a vague kind of hum and his gaze sliding off the newcomer and over the milling crowd, considering "worse."]
Yes. I believe it did. The entity that controls this place was... in error. Instability and natural disasters ran rampant.
[And he's heard there have been, hm, ritual sacrifices and diseases that make you kill your friends, but those were before his time, so obviously he needn't bother addressing those right now. Ahem.]
We reset her. It stopped. It may return. Who can say.
no subject
The entity... a Spirit of some sort? Instability and natural disasters certainly fit Chaos to a tee; it wouldn't be outside the realm of those beings' powers, but he hasn't known them to do things they don't mean to... nor has he heard of resetting them. He really doesn't have enough information yet, which is why he's all too happy to find someone willing to extrapolate on the situation, even if he's unsettled by the idea of ghosts...
He folds his arms with obvious concern.]
How long ago was this reset? [And:] I assume communication with this entity is limited.
no subject
A number of weeks.
[Which is great news, surely—that the structural integrity of this place is likely still fragile after what they did do it, when it was already falling apart. He doesn't actually know enough about how the place functions to say anything definitively, but since he knows a thing or two about putting a thing back together after it's been, functionally, ruined irreparably, well - it could be bad!
But anyway.]
She is unavailable to us presently. I think. Remains preserved in a number of copies. Or similar.
no subject
That this place still exists and... mostly appears to be stable after weeks is something, certainly. He doesn't know how long it's existed in comparison to form any real opinion. It might have been nicer for him if it had been obliterated entirely before he arrived, but—you know. He's always prepared for things to get worse, anyway.
Altius frowns in thought, eyebrows knit together. These details are... vague, unusual. Copies of an entity powerful enough to maintain an illusory world and keep them trapped inside it. That's a dangerous concept. He's not certain if asking how these copies were made will get him much at the present moment... a question for another time, perhaps for someone more deeply involved in the process.]
Preserved where, if you know? [He has no current ideas of what he'd try to do with them, but any leads he may get could be helpful for the future. If just to keep track.]
no subject
And technically, Root could have put her anywhere, so he doesn't know.]
Many were involved in the effort to preserve our... [he waves a hand in a vague motion, indicating their general surroundings; this place? Their overall stability? Whatever one would call it,] This. Ask around. People are wildly helpful.
[This isn't a lie, but he says it like it's weird because it is, if you ask him. People around here sure are friendly when it suits them! Hmm!]
no subject
He can't help but turn his gaze to Octavian with a bit of skepticism, however.]
Those of us accused, you mean? [The locals have been far from it, in his experience these past few hours.] ... I suppose in a sense, we are in this "together." It would follow that most would want to help in our collective attempts to survive and escape.
[And even the most selfish, if they're smart enough, would realize the power of numbers.]
no subject
[This too is stupid enough to be mildly amusing; chosen for what, exactly? Rehabilitation, it seems, although he personally considers his "crime" to be, hm, utter bullshit, so he can only assume that thought is not unique to himself. Chosen. It's like a bad joke.]
We are our own lesser evil. When thought of it in that context. There were disagreements regarding the entity.
[But, uh, he didn't personally have any stake in those, so,] I do not remember them.
no subject
He doesn't bother frowning any further than he already is at the idea of these disagreements. Even his facade isn't naive enough to think that everyone would get along all the time.]
Then they must not have been significant, [he decides. To Octavian, anyway. He'll make his own judgements regarding that later.] A reasonable result was reached, in any case, at least to my eye.
[Like, stuff's not falling apart. So that part... is good.]