open 🌌 crime of the day: overworking

[chimericalclaw]

Who: Altius & you??
Where: clinic; residential district ruins; network; around the city generally
When: immediately after the March event into early April
What: In the wake of monsters, Altius attempts to deal with the consequences.
Warnings: suicidal ideation

⬬ when you lose your self esteem | recovery; mid-late March

[The shade isolates himself as the Black Beast is destroyed—though by that point the wisps of shadow that trail behind him and disappear reveal enough of the man that it would have been obvious, had anyone been there to see him, that the wish to be nothing was losing its hold on him. As the transformation finally fades, Zekarion collapses, burns from light scattered across his body with the most severe of them spreading across his back.

Eventually, someone finds him. After that, he spends nearly a day unconscious.]

A [When he wakes in the clinic it's with panic. A shuddering gasp marks his return to consciousness, and he pays no attention to his injuries as he grasps at his head desperately, as if to make sure it's still there. Amber eyes wide, his sharp gaze darts then to where his mostly-ruined belongings sit on the other side of the room—then, finally, to whoever might be there in the room with him.]

B [Altius politely but firmly declines staying in the clinic more than absolutely necessary, given the circumstances—meaning he isn't there more than a day after waking. Though his burns are unpleasant even after some magical healing, eventually he gets around to convincing whoever might want to keep him there that he's capable of taking care of himself, promising to update anyone concerned about the matter. Really, the thing he ends up more willingly waiting for is a change of clothes—though it's not from his own wardrobe that he ends up dressed. After that, he's taking stock of his salvageable inventory—onyx tie clip, small pouch, wallet and partly-singed notebook—as he prepares to get going.]

⬬ that's when love dies | ruins; mid-late to late March

A [His obvious immediate first stop is... what used to be his house. Or it would have been, had the destruction not been clear two blocks away from it, debris from the collapsed buildings scattered as if from some sort of explosion. His steps slow to a stop before he takes it all in, then—

He laughs. Three seconds of the helpless sound; three seconds of silence as all the energy of it leaves him. His shoulders only sink so far, as if he's holding himself in place, and he only allows himself a brief moment of stillness before he prepares to step through the rubble.]

B [Later, when he's less obviously a mess and more put together, he comes back to continue salvaging what he can. He does more than look through his own home, though; if he happens to spot anyone else also sorting through the destruction, wherever it might be, he's more likely than not to step forward and lend a hand.

And sometimes, in other parts of the city where Altius isn't, a small number of black creatures made of crystal help with the work—though not possessed of any great magic and only rising to most people's waists, their giant jaws of sharp points are good for breaking through debris and making it easier to move.]

⬬ you look like you're bluffing | network, un: altius; end of March

I'm looking into building a new agricultural and general garden space within the city for the Chosen. I have little experience with cultivating plants, so I'm interested in speaking to anyone willing to contribute their expertise or effort. I'll compensate you appropriately.

[It's short and to the point. He doesn't think he needs to explain why.]

⬬ tell me, is it death, you feel | erasure; early April

[Before now, it would have been invisible. But sometimes, as the days go on, he slips.

When will this be over? — I don't want to be here. — What good is any of this doing?

As he thinks this, shadow overtakes whatever he has his hand on—a door, a set of documents, a box, a slab of broken bricks—and before he can register it as much more than a change of color, it disappears entirely, disintegrated into nothing.

Altius freezes. His expression blanks, the only thing remaining there intensity. The tremor in his posture might speak to the internal battle for control that he's waging over himself.]

⬬ that will bring you peace of life? | wildcard

[Altius contacts those he works with in order to check up on them specifically, and those who answered his call for volunteers to compensate them as promised. As for those the shade encountered... he's slightly less direct, seeking them out physically in what he thinks to be their general haunts to test if they're even amenable to his approach. With his home destroyed and the city in some disarray, there's no real guarantee of stopping by somewhere and seeing him.

He may have seemed to have an impressive work ethic before, but at this stage it wouldn't be mistaken to consider his constant movement unhealthy. Even to those who didn't speak to him as a shadow, it's clear that something is off about him, a stiffness in his demeanor, especially after his discovery of his new ability—when he stops openly gesturing and offering the physical reassurance he usually does, and pointedly keeps hands to himself.

ooc: Anything else? Hit me up at lumieresdedragon or PWM!]

Comments

[runeing]

Changed, [ he repeats, and thinks of the hexgem-blue of silco's eyes, bright and unnatural. ] I see.

[ but he is no longer changed so; whatever had happened, altius had been able to throw it off, or let it run its course.

he leans on his crutch a little more heavily and asks, ] Erase from existence? Why?

[chimericalclaw]

[Altius stops in the middle of grasping another slab, stiffening slightly. It's not ever going to be a topic he brings up of his own volition, but to deny answering entirely might be more concerning than the alternative. He doesn't know if he has it in him to come up with a convincing lie, either.]

The power that caused it manifested our wishes.

[There's a level of undeniable disdain to the word. Like idle wishing has ever meant anything. Only action has ever been of worth, and yet... because of this horrible place, they were brought into reality in some form or another.]

It caught me... at a particularly low moment.

[runeing]

Our... wishes.

[ he will stop repeating what you say, altius, in just a moment — for now, though, the words are not so much flat as they are contemplative. yes, he can see the danger there, and he holds no love for this manufactured pocket of reality, either.

still, ]

Usually, at a particularly low point, one would wish themselves erased, not everyone else. [ is he speaking from experience? don't ask — ]

[chimericalclaw]

[Grimly:]

That was the main thought, yes.

[He won't deny it. Not at this point, to this man. He doesn't have to ask to understand that they probably suffer from similar versions of the same thing—survivor's guilt, perhaps.

There's more to it, of course, but...]

But in my irrational state, I suppose I thought I was... attempting to do people a "favor". [His lip curls and he tosses the slab off of the pile, revealing a tilted, dusty metal surface underneath.] I can't say I enjoyed being robbed of all coherent reasoning.

[If he had the chance, he'd consider going back in time just to stop himself for his own idiocy alone, even without the damage he did...]

[runeing]

[ he says nothing, to that; it is a feeling he knows intimately, that specific kind of despair, a failure that clings to you, drags you closer to the edge until the thought of falling seems a kindness —

there is a pile of unsorted rubble to his left, and he rounds it, to sit down there and rest his leg, instead of trying to remain standing now that this has proven to be more than a quick chat. ]

There is much pain to existence. Sometimes I wonder if all humanity is capable of is hurting each other, over and over again.

[ so though he may not agree, he does understand, at least in part. and what he understands even more is, ]

When you are used to depending on logic, there is nothing more terrifying than its absence.

[chimericalclaw]

[Altius looks briefly to Viktor when he moves—and a ridiculous part of him wishes he had a chair to offer, even as he returns to throwing aside a last pile of smaller pieces of something-or-other to reveal a safe, partly tilted into a hole in the floor.

He decides not to reply to the remark about humanity, but he notes it as significant, and pauses. Thinks... wonders... maybe there are others who could understand his actions. Maybe Viktor is one of them.

He brushes off the dust on the dial and hums his agreement, low, before starting to put in the code.]

All I can do now is be glad it's over, I suppose.

[runeing]

[ he sits on the pile of rubble like he is used to it; there is no discomfort, no wrinkling of his nose, nothing at all. he may not have lived in the undercity for well over a decade, but the piltie sensibilities have never taken a hold of him.

he doesn't offer his help; he offers no excuses, either. his physique won't let him to anything of use, and both of them know it.

he averts his eyes politely as altius starts to press the numbers for the code. ]

That has always seemed strange to me. Something bad happens, something terrible happens, and after, those who have survived look at each other and say, at least it is over. This is something to be glad over. But it will fix nothing, change nothing.

[ he grips his cane in his hands and lifts his gaze, lets it rest on all the destruction around them. ]

Shouldn't we be furious? Shouldn't we say, no more of this, instead of... accepting that it could all happen in the future, leave us lying here, beaten, and wait for us to be glad that at least in that moment, we are no longer suffering?

[chimericalclaw]

[He listens to Viktor as he turns the dial, never pausing even when his peripheral vision catches the other man turning his eyes to the mess.

When he finally twists the handle and pulls open the door, he answers simply:]

My fury would be wasted without a proper direction to wield it.

[And right now, he can admit he's lost some focus. His priorities will have to change; he'll have to regain some of what he's lost, sort out where to go from here. With a hint of bitterness, he continues.]

In my case—glad is an exaggeration, [he admits.] People tend to worry if you don't offer some comforting platitude about how everything will be just fine; if you don't take the temporary absence of misery as some kind of boon to hope for. Accepting a broken world is easier than facing their own powerlessness as something to be overcome.

[He pulls a black velvet case out of the safe, the length of both his hands, and lets out a breath.]

[runeing]

So instead, you will hide it away — lock it up, as it were?

[ said wryly, with a nod towards the safe, which of course is currently being unlocked, in direct contrast to his words. but he understands a little of it all — he has been angry with the fate of the undercity for years now, years and years and years, knowing that unleashing it would do nothing, accomplish nothing, that holding it all in is the only way to change things.

he watches the velvet case, wonders what it might be, and says, ]

No, there is no comfort in accepting that a world is broken. If it is broken, then there must be a way to fix it... even if the way there seems hard. There is nothing that cannot be overcome. At a cost, yes, but if it means a betterment in the world... is any cost too high?

[ he hasn't spoken like this with anyone else — he fears jayce no longer shares his views on how to fix the world... and even octavian is mostly concerned about defeating death, not about fixing everything that leads to human suffering, class inequality, pain and hunger and disease — everything viktor's seen in the undercity, everything that people living in piltover would turn a blind eye to.

but there is something of that same, silent fury in altius that he knows lives in himself, and so he speaks. ]

[chimericalclaw]

[Altius opens the case, the first thing of his that appeared in this world, a reminder of why he fights. Inside sit several small pieces of jewelry, their Gems absent, two of the seven slots empty—an echo of his team, one long destroyed, the five rendered powerless by his own hand, himself entirely separate. They look as they have the past twenty years, faint scratches here and there, untouched by the events that have torn through the city.

He closes it with a serious look and sets it aside.]

That's not a sentiment many people share, [he begins, meeting Viktor's eyes with a clarity in his own gaze. It's a frank statement of fact. When it comes down to it, people will wrest themselves away from absolutes when they meet something distasteful, even when they're true. Even when it's worth it.]

It would have to be guaranteed. To justify any cost the solution would have to benefit all, present and future.

[Even Zekarion has his limits, admittedly. Lines that he won't cross, things he won't do. But those are far and few between, when it comes to his chosen goal.]

You can call it hidden, if you like. I save it, to use when I've found one of worth. [And if his resolute tone is anything to go by, he is determined to find it—in this case, a way out of this damned prison.]

[runeing]

[ he watches in silence — there is some significance to the jewelry in the case, if altius has kept it all in a safe like this... but what it is, he couldn't say. the only thing he has ever put inside a safe is the hexcore, and these pieces hardly echo the destructive power of the core.

he shifts in place a little, then, his brows furrowing. ]

Of course. And I am not saying it is something that could be achieved at once. That is a fantasy. But I refuse to believe the only alternative is doing nothing.

[ that he doesn't yet know exactly how to best help people — what there is that he could do to alleviate their suffering... well. it doesn't mean he can't do it, eventually.

he falls silent, for a moment. ]

What will you do, when you do find it?

[chimericalclaw]

[There's something cold to his gaze when he replies.]

I'll pursue it with everything I have until I succeed.

[But he's not a rabid animal who doesn't know restraint. Death is not an option until he's done, and so he has to do whatever's necessary to survive, retreating and resting so he can last long enough to see his idea of salvation achieved.

He reaches back into the safe and takes out a much more obvious article—a bag whose jingling betrays its contents. It's handled with much less care than the case, tossed next to him as he reaches in for another.]

Most people are too convinced of their own helplessness to try to break through the status quo—they might argue that their small contributions to their immediate surroundings are all they can manage. [And in many cases, that's true, he thinks.] But there are times where gathering what's needed or waiting for the right opportunity may look like nothing.