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ph_logs2024-12-10 09:16 pm
stoneoftherose) wrote in ph_logs2024-12-10 09:16 pm
December TL -- A Triptych
Who: Pyotr Stamatin and players like you <3
What: Open post for those who would like to meet Artemy and Daniil's castmate!
When: December
Where: See below
Warning(s): Depression, alcoholism, and suicide ideation, including references to a successful attempt pre-game.
Panel One -- The Oak & Iron
A new ghost has come to Pumpkin Hollow.
His heart may beat, his skin feels warm, but he is a ghost all the same, one with clenched jaw and burning, agonized eyes. Coming here was a mistake; he'd opened his veins in anticipation of oblivion. Finding himself in a mundane office instead so bewildered Pyotr that he'd participated in the following conversation by rote, agreeing to everything the strange woman said so he could get away. And now he's stuck here, in a place where he can't die.
Nothing could be worse -- except for the fact that he's also sober. No, even worse than that: he feels healthy, in a way he hasn't since boyhood. Steady hands, clear eyes...if he cut himself open he'd probably find his liver fresh and regular in color, free of the cirrhosis that used to fret Andrey so until he rejoined Pyotr in architecture.
His thoughts follow one after the other in steady procession, without interruption or pause. Agonizing. Intolerable -- and he knew from long experience that wine would not be enough to soothe his soul, but it would make a fair enough anesthetic. If he could just stop thinking...
A ghost in the shape of a man sits down at the bar at the Oak & Iron, looking no higher than the level of the counter as he orders a bottle of wine.
Panel Two -- The edge of the woods
Eventually the noise of the bar gets to be too much for him. All those people coming and going, and even when they do him the courtesy of ignoring him he struggles to do the same. There was a reason he always avoided the Broken Heart...
No surprise, then, that he eventually walks out in search of a little quiet. He winds up on a track leading west out of town, through a thin patch of wood that opens out into farmland. There by a wooden fence, an interesting sight at last: a fallen kite, built in the shape of a bird out of colored paper and sticks. He turns it over gently and finds one of its wings crushed beneath the body, its bones snapped in twos and threes.
"Don't be sad," he tells it softly. "A bird can live quite well without its wings, so long as it takes care to avoid the cats."
Panel Three -- The Temple
The Cathedral was a loathsome sight, a great dead block of stone with neither love nor the will to seek it. He'd never understood Eva's infatuation with the cursed place; he'd boarded up all the windows in his flat that faced that side of town, so he wouldn't see even a speck of it by accident. The Temple...is not like that. Even standing outside, he can tell: this is a building with a soul.
Possibly four of them, if you listened to the locals.
It makes him sick, the way these people talk about their goddesses. Like they're people who can be just walked up to and touched --! It's not the first time Pyotr's wondered how much simpler his life might have been -- if he'd born one of the Kin, for instance -- but now the question burns him like a stomach full of coals. If he'd been born in a world like this...
What is he even doing here? Do these goddesses long for death? They could have satisfied themselves with Burakh in that case; he's the experienced god-killer. Pyotr Stamatin's talents lie more in the area of divine maiming. And besides, his useful days are over for everyone. What did they bring him here for?
Supposedly, he might be able to just walk right in and find out. Supposedly...
Fuck it, he's freezing his balls off out here. Pyotr pushes the heavy door open ahead of himself, passing through -- and immediately loses his nerve, sitting down on one of the nearest pews. This is fine.
The Frame -- Wildcards welcome
What: Open post for those who would like to meet Artemy and Daniil's castmate!
When: December
Where: See below
Warning(s): Depression, alcoholism, and suicide ideation, including references to a successful attempt pre-game.
Panel One -- The Oak & Iron
A new ghost has come to Pumpkin Hollow.
His heart may beat, his skin feels warm, but he is a ghost all the same, one with clenched jaw and burning, agonized eyes. Coming here was a mistake; he'd opened his veins in anticipation of oblivion. Finding himself in a mundane office instead so bewildered Pyotr that he'd participated in the following conversation by rote, agreeing to everything the strange woman said so he could get away. And now he's stuck here, in a place where he can't die.
Nothing could be worse -- except for the fact that he's also sober. No, even worse than that: he feels healthy, in a way he hasn't since boyhood. Steady hands, clear eyes...if he cut himself open he'd probably find his liver fresh and regular in color, free of the cirrhosis that used to fret Andrey so until he rejoined Pyotr in architecture.
His thoughts follow one after the other in steady procession, without interruption or pause. Agonizing. Intolerable -- and he knew from long experience that wine would not be enough to soothe his soul, but it would make a fair enough anesthetic. If he could just stop thinking...
A ghost in the shape of a man sits down at the bar at the Oak & Iron, looking no higher than the level of the counter as he orders a bottle of wine.
Panel Two -- The edge of the woods
Eventually the noise of the bar gets to be too much for him. All those people coming and going, and even when they do him the courtesy of ignoring him he struggles to do the same. There was a reason he always avoided the Broken Heart...
No surprise, then, that he eventually walks out in search of a little quiet. He winds up on a track leading west out of town, through a thin patch of wood that opens out into farmland. There by a wooden fence, an interesting sight at last: a fallen kite, built in the shape of a bird out of colored paper and sticks. He turns it over gently and finds one of its wings crushed beneath the body, its bones snapped in twos and threes.
"Don't be sad," he tells it softly. "A bird can live quite well without its wings, so long as it takes care to avoid the cats."
Panel Three -- The Temple
The Cathedral was a loathsome sight, a great dead block of stone with neither love nor the will to seek it. He'd never understood Eva's infatuation with the cursed place; he'd boarded up all the windows in his flat that faced that side of town, so he wouldn't see even a speck of it by accident. The Temple...is not like that. Even standing outside, he can tell: this is a building with a soul.
Possibly four of them, if you listened to the locals.
It makes him sick, the way these people talk about their goddesses. Like they're people who can be just walked up to and touched --! It's not the first time Pyotr's wondered how much simpler his life might have been -- if he'd born one of the Kin, for instance -- but now the question burns him like a stomach full of coals. If he'd been born in a world like this...
What is he even doing here? Do these goddesses long for death? They could have satisfied themselves with Burakh in that case; he's the experienced god-killer. Pyotr Stamatin's talents lie more in the area of divine maiming. And besides, his useful days are over for everyone. What did they bring him here for?
Supposedly, he might be able to just walk right in and find out. Supposedly...
Fuck it, he's freezing his balls off out here. Pyotr pushes the heavy door open ahead of himself, passing through -- and immediately loses his nerve, sitting down on one of the nearest pews. This is fine.
The Frame -- Wildcards welcome
no subject
Artemy makes this exact face at the note.
But he does walk over, taking a seat directly across from Pyotr, and placing the note in front of him.
"Who the fuck is Osborne?" He asks.
no subject
Pyotr rolls his eyes, biting back, oh...probably the first two or three things he'd like to say. Like, 'the guy you stabbed yesterday, remember?'
"He also goes by Erik. He seemed to know you," is what he finally goes with, speaking shortly.
no subject
"Oh yes, that was on his business card." The Haruspex recalls. It had been awhile since he looked at it.
no subject
Well, he's certainly not going to chase Pyotr off, not when he's only just met someone so interesting. "I'm going to be making use of his time in the future," he tells Burakh bluntly. "In a professional capacity. I hope that isn't a problem for you, because he's already agreed."
no subject
But then it clicks in his head WHY he's bringing it up to begin with.
"Oh- No. I haven't sought him out for those sorts of activities- we are friends." The Haruspex says, trying to keep his face as serious as possible as he speaks. Trying not to blush as he does. "I do believe he passes out his business card to mostly everyone, truth be told. I don't believe you use those words to describe yourself without, backing it up, at least a bit?"
Yes alright Artemy Burakh is indeed blushing a bit now.
no subject
Of course, he still has to meet Erik's conditions for their next encounter. He sighs, propping his chin up on one hand as he says, "Anyway, I'm meant to apologize to you. I was provoking you to violence on purpose. It was...wrong of me." (Yeah, it's a struggle to get those words out. Every word he said was the unvarnished truth, and it's not his fault Burakh can't handle that.) "And it won't happen again."
And then his face goes perfectly still, neither asking for nor expecting any particular response from Artemy. Nobody said anything about Burakh forgiving him, after all. Pyotr doesn't even want it.
no subject
It seems the Haruspex wouldn't have to needlessly worry over the younger brother, at the very least.
"Apology accepted." Artemy says. "I'll hold you to that."
And he does mean it. If he ever hears of Pyotr talking badly about his kids, ever, it's on sight. And there will be no witnesses this time.
"I also- I know my reaction was rash." He sighs, he doesn't really want to apologize, but he does feel it right to do so, "You deserved more grace than I was able to give you in your moment of need. I apologize for both offenses. I do believe that makes us even."
no subject
Assuming, of course, that he really is pretending. Pyotr takes a deep breath, still looking away as he says quietly, "You seemed confused, when I referred to events that I thought we'd both keep foremost in our memories. Daniil told me that he's suffered some memory gaps since getting here, partial amnesia. If it's the same for you, if you have questions, about the things I said...I can try to answer them less..."
It takes him a moment to find the appropriate word. "Combatively?" is his final, uneasy compromise.
no subject
The idea of being told what he did, that he has amnesia, has his nostrils flaring in annoyance. But he makes himself stay calm.
Be composed about this, Artemy. Don't cause problems for others.
"I don't mean to correct you, it is not... exactly amnesia." He says honestly, "Me and Daniil have discussed this, I assume he did not want to upset you in a moment of duress." Yes, that is a first name address, "We have entirely separate memories of the events of the plague, the sand pest, me and Daniil. I have come to the working theory that there are now several universes, almost identical to our own, but the plague seems to be the point where everything changes."
He doesn't know why or how this is, but it's true. At least in Artemy's eyes it seems to be.
"We look similar enough. We both knew each other upon sight. But I have not done what you have said. Though I know now that I am entirely capable of being this... god killer. It is part of who I am, of what I am capable of, regardless of if I have personally done it or not."
Erik would very much disagree with him on this, but he does believe it to be true. And his belief, his will, is stronger than Erik's wishes for him.
"... I do not think I am ready to know why I would do such a thing, truth be told." His body posture goes even more rigid, face set in stone, "I believe you. I do. But my heart aches when I think of doing such a thing. Judge me if you must."
The fact of the matter is that his religion means more to him than you think, Pyotr.
no subject
"...Then you and Daniil are both strangers to me," he finally says. And he noticed, of course he did, Burakh's use of his friend's given name, but with so many other revelations to think about, even that shattering blow seems a mere trifle. "I called you a liar and spoke of things you would in truth consider unthinkable. I really was in the wrong." He has to accept it now; there is no other option. "And Daniil...why would he lie to me like that?" His brow wrinkles. "He recognized me on sight, but does he really know me? I would never ask to be deceived in such a way."
It all makes so much more sense now, the missteps in their conversation, the way Dankovsky kept insulting him over and over, not even with his normal callousness but as if he had no idea he was even doing it...because he didn't.
"I don't know what to say," he finally admits. "But, for what it's worth...I threw those sins in your face because I wanted you angry with me. Inasmuch as I thought I had the right to punish you, so too was it your right to punish me. Our crimes are the same, you and I. We share a connection, or -- at least I thought we did." Burakh's belief in the reality of his story is cold comfort. Pyotr feels completely unmoored; even the familiar faces that comforted him are alien to him now. There is at least some sick relief in the knowledge that he won't forget about the Polyhedron after all; at least he still has that.
no subject
Artemy gives him a small, sad smile.
"I would not go as far to call us strangers. The fact that we know each other by sight, we are familiar to each other, it is enough, is it not?" He's had a similar conversation with Daniil, and remembers how distraught he was. And while he isn't nearly as intimate with Pyotr, he still feels for the guy, "I'm certain Daniil was simply trying to be of comfort to you, not to decieve. It was the same reason why I did not say anything to you upon our first meeting as well."
"I do not know how much you know of my steppe traditions, but the lines, Stamatin. They are connections between us all. And you and I and Daniil are still connected, despite it all. Even if you cannot see it, I do, even if I didn't want to, I see it as plainly as I see your face."
no subject
"You told me something similar, shortly before I came here. That you could still see the lines, shining all over the Town...connecting everyone. I think you meant it to be a comfort to me. That, at least in a few small ways, miracles hadn't yet entirely disappeared from the Earth."
He pauses again, fingers rubbing at one of the whorls of wood grain on the tabletop. "Obviously, I didn't listen. We Stamatins have a talent for only hearing the things we want to hear...it's another one of our little gifts, along with our talent for pissing people off."
no subject
Artemy stands from the table. He doesn't see much more to discuss. Though he will have to thank Erik for whatever he's done. While Burakh doesn't wish to know the details, the main is obviously more composed, and plainly sober. That's already strides in the correct direction.
"For your own sake I hope you will do well to not piss off too many people here." Artemy smiles softly, "The community here is kind, they take to all sorts just fine, I know that includes you and would extend to your older brother as well, if he were here."
no subject
But that's neither here nor there. He nods, already turning back to his sketchbook. "Apart from that, I'll try to keep myself out of trouble. Look after yourself, Burakh."
no subject