xistentia | War with D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.

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War with D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.

Characters: Ensemble cast, any/all characters of Xistentia!
Summary: D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. comes to Xistentia for the first time, bringing with it violence and havoc. Combat against enemy agents, healing, emergency sanctuary, and "Drift Compatibility" happen here. Refer to the OOC plotting post and the mod announcement!
Date(s): November 4-18
Warnings/Notes: Violence, death, psychological themes, trauma. Please warn for anything else in your subject headers!

WAR WITH DESTINY

By headsman's blade or battle-axe

Fight For Your Life

Everything is, in short, super fucked. Era Ra's warning came at the right time, forewarning of some of the weapons and fighting styles that could be expected from D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.'s agents, but still, the people of Xistentia have not faced a force like this before. The ragtag combination of fighting styles and tactics promises both versatility and confusion.

For better or worse, D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. is in similar chaos.

The first to come are ships from the Western sea, bearing a mix of warriors in and monsters. Some wield old-fashioned steel swords and others bear laser blasters, and their armor is just as varied. Some creatures appear domesticated, while others are feral and snap at their own. However, one primary feature identifies the enemy: their war color is red, which adorns flags and uniforms. Interestingly, the sea and sky of Xistentia seem to be fighting back in their own way, massive waves and a storm, even animals pestering them as they attempt to land the beach. However, it's only a matter of time before the mainstay of their forces reach land, some two hundred fighters. It's then that sentient fires start to whirl into the forests, leaping from tree to tree.

You have the home court advantage. Even the foliage itself seems to cooperate with you, aiding in efforts for stealth by keeping you downwind, twigs failing to crack when you misstep. Soon, you're joined by Xistentia's other forces-- a handful of battered ships taking air, an odd assortment of elves and talking dogs, demons and aliens from outer-space, coordinating counter-attacks.

BATTLE MODE: ATTACK

You're locked in combat with a woman who seems oddly familiar, though you don't know her face and can't think of her name. You hit her in the head, and now a narrow slice of her face shows through her red-rimmed helm. She wields a rifle tipped with a heavy blade, though it crackles with electrical energy. She is a proficient swordswoman, deftly parrying and striking against you, her face eerily expressionless. Her blade has a switch that, when activated, will send out a net that numbs your limbs and drags you to the floor. Here's hoping you won't face this demon alone.

She's not your only problem. You may have noticed, that in every epic battle with evil wizards, there's always some kind of a problematically gigantic elephant. This is one of those days. At least, there's only one, its trunk as wide as a car, its feet moving slow, so that it might crush the trees rather than trip over them.

Fight one or both, or fight the hordes of nameless minions around them. Either way: there's plenty to do. Those of you who thought things were too quiet here? You'll be busy today.

SEEK SANCTUARY

Fighting isn't for you? Well, you'll want to get out of the way, then. The "wards" protecting the city are failing, and people are heading toward The Temple where the protections remain the strongest. Here, the injured need healing in the stone beds. The civilians do their best, comforting children, cooking food, trading intelligence, repairing weapons and armor where possible. Feel free to pitch in; they need all the help they can get.

BATTLE MODE: SUPPORT (PSYLINK)

And here, you've reached the Temple, you've laid yourself down on one of the many glass-and-stone beds within the safety of its stone walls. You know what the other Xistentia residents have told you about it— this is the next phase, after the memory share had raised shields against the psychotropic rain. This is the PsyLink. Through this bond, you are said to be able to activate special defenses. No one seems to know exactly what they are, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And beyond the Temple walls, times are desperate indeed.

Each drift requires at least two people. Your daemons will find and connect you, seemingly at random— and you may find yourself with the unlikeliest of partners.

Drift Compatible

The Kissing Booth participants find it easiest. Everyone else-- it's a wild jumble, finding yourself caught up in a firehose of not only your own memories, but that of someone else. Everything they think, everything they feel, is intertwined with your mind.

You can't get caught up in it. You have to let the memories of the past, your predictions for the future, and the terror of war flow in and out of you, without neither resistance or pursuit, gently tuning them out. And in this serenity, this psychic silence, this acceptance of not only yourself but the other other, you find perfect connectivity— harmony with your PsyLink partner.

In this space, you find yourself having strange conversations. You and your partner will share ghostly images, some of which seem to be images from the past— while others seem to be present-day moments from the battle outside, fighting the enemy, as if you are somehow in two places at once. You must find traction and stay in the now and stay calm, but it's harder than you think.

The instant you latch onto that memory or emotion, it's a mistake... but you forget.

Your shadow is here. Whether out-of-context, or right here where it was meant to be, it's trying to kill you.

But you're not trapped here alone. Someone is calling your name, a familiar voice in the pandemonium. That voice comes from your drift partner. It's up to them to pull you back, remind you of who you are, and balance you. Hold on to them - they're your anchor, but you'll have to do the same for them. A successful drift means helping each other. Do it well, and you'll help to power the temple's defences. Fail, and there'll be trouble for everyone seeking sanctuary here.

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[kavinsky being kavinsky, he dismisses the warning about incinerating himself inside-- not even with a flip of his hand or a look. it's just there then out of his thoughts again. but that isn't to say he didn't ear and won't remember. he hadn't enjoyed the pain, be as it may that it had left his pretty face unharmed in the long-run. he'll remember.]

That sounds pretty gay, mia madre. [his accent is terrible. it's always terrible. but there's a sneery kind of smile that isn't at all at rafa's expense, easy pleasure, glad of the way the both of them have been enjoying this fine war. later, it'll feel less true; he won't sit as comfortably with the assumption that this is what he was meant for. humanity is still much closer to him, chronologically, culturally, than it is for rafa. less than two months ago, he still breathed air and had to launder sweat out of his clothes, picked his way through found deodorants, vain, vaguely self-conscious the way that only narcissists can be.

this is different. to be grimy and free. and roll onto the ground now, indifferent to the scrape of stone against his back. uncurl across rafa's lap like a cat. his head bounces on rafa's knee, eyes skating up over his face.]

This what it's like? At home?

[ Rafa shifts automatically, one knee dropping and the other lifting to give Kavinsky a pillow. His arm drapes, possessive, across the front of his shoulders, and his fingers trace lightly over his jaw. It's like petting a cat, keeping his arm around it. ]

It once was.

[ Rafa's smiling, but his voice holds no nostalgia. He doesn't long for those days; far from it. He'd ended up craving peace, in spite of his history. A return to war was the last thing he had wanted, no matter how good it might look on him. ]

My people against the fae. We fought on beaches, cliffs, and in the water. This place reminds me of that. The danger of the beach.

[ He sighs, and moves to clear dust and grime from Kavinsky's precious hair. ]

When I left our war was over. We had found peace. Shane tells me demons came while I was gone, and caused the trouble that brought him here. I suspect it has to do with this place, with this war. I meant to take you home to safety, not battle.

[the cat is happy. spread like marmalade across rafa's lap, full of blood like milk, as close to content as he's been in awhile-- if only because today has been painted in the colors of a military victory, instead of a moral failing. the latter, he's accustomed to. failure, he could recognize from a hundred thousand miles away.

winning is kind of new, actually. just ask ronan and half the other lads who were good at driving, or had cars less touchy than the mitsubishi. it's so new that he has no idea what'll go on under it. he's enjoying the trophies, the winnings, the affectionate hand on his pretty face.]

Guess it's different when you're killing for dinner or turning people into retard addicts for fun. [it sounds like he's kind of picking a fight, but he isn't-- really. that's just what he sounds like.] Bet there's gonna be another one before you get bored of the quiet, though. Another war.

[he twists his head-- so much the tetchy cat again. opens his mouth, fangs pricking harmlessly over rafa's fingers.]

[ Rafa's smile is a little sad. His fingers stay light on Kavinsky's face, tracing its lines, petting it sweetly. ]

For five hundred years, I was at war. I was tired of it. I wanted peace for my family, and safety.

[ But they're here because it's not safe. Shane had confirmed that. It hadn't just been Eudio that was under attack, it had been their home as well. Rafa looks up at the hall around them. Everyone is recovering here, and he knows that the real fight is not far away.

It doesn't matter to him that the blood he's been drinking makes him strong and full of life. This still isn't what he wants. Rafa was raised on war, but that's not the man he is anymore. ]

Still, I think you are right. War is inevitable, and where it comes I will fight. But I do not do that anymore, you know. Make thralls. Turn men into... [ He gestures, unable to form his lips around that crude phrase. ] I mean to be better than that. Even if the world does not follow.

[well this is different. unexpected. not the war and whatever— actually, kavinsky had figured as much. rafaello was a good king because he could wage war in the interest of building his kingdom, not because he wanted to do so at the expense of his people, and he loves love. it stands to reason that flights of passion and rage aside, senseless murder and political strife aren't his thing. he's known that awhile.

but last they'd talked about thralls was a long time ago, back in a corn maze, in eudio, when rafaello had gently dispensed warnings about the addiction of his blood-- but given it to him anyway. it'd worked out just fine, kavinsky thinks. it'd worked out great. at least, substance abuse isn't the center of his garbage fire life. so it surprises him, that rafaello speaks of it now like it's something more than a mandate imposed by the censuring eyes of others.

he pops up an eyebrow, and stops worrying rafa's fingers with his teeth. he shifts a bit, making himself more comfortable on the stone floor. (vampire skin, hooray.)]

Why not? [he asks.] Thought that was cool.

[rafa hadn't sounded like he'd cared about whatever he cares about now, back then.]

[ Kavinsky isn't wrong. The Rafa who'd given him that vision was a Rafa some three hundred years younger, and one who was not at his best in many respects. This older model smiles at Kavinsky now. Released from his pettings, his shoulders lift in a brief, graceful shrug. ]

In my youth I would have agreed. I would have told you it was better, even. Kinder, a way to feed from them without killing them so soon. A way to give them pleasure. But it is like any drug in the end. It takes more than it gives, and there was no kindness in it. I simply did not think it mattered, any more than most humans care about what they do to cows to gain their milk.

[ There's a part of Rafa that still holds to that, hence why he uses the analogy. He still resents how quick the humans are to complain about their treatment by vampires, when by all accounts, they do far worse to their own livestock. He has never softened because of his own logic, but rather through the efforts of others. ]

In Eudio I was forced to seek their consent. Now I do it willingly, and demand my people do the same. Before today, I had not killed in years. Now my record is blotted and I must start again.

[this is so strange for kavinsky to hear. he'd truly still thought of his mother as this powerful and amoral creature, who somehow had both the capacity for love and great ruthlessness in his heart, two halves to the same man. a paradox he knew he'd never be quite like himself, incapable of that much-- sophistication.]

Does it make you feel guilty?

[he's going to remember the answer later. in a few weeks. but right now, it's a casual question, borne out of silly academic fascination that rafa has stooped to the level of normal plebians with their normal plebian super boring morality. he pushes himself up on his elbows and kisses the other vampire on the mouth again, so as to make it clear that he won't make fun either way. kavinsky is not very good at expressing to what degree he respects rafaello and his choices, his growth, the enormity of his life and responsibilities. but he does.]

[ An interesting question. Rafa's smile turns wry, though it's still sad, even when Kavinsky kisses it. Rafa kisses him back, and slides his hands over his arms afterwards.

This is as intimate as he's ever gotten with anyone. Certainly as personal. ]

It makes me feel unworthy.

[ Guilt would be better, he thinks. If he felt guilty he wouldn't feel unworthy. He would still have done wrong, but he'd feel the right way about it. The way most people feel, the way he's expected to feel. ]

My Shane is among the best of men. He would give his life to have the chance to save a human. He is brave, and selfless, and he was raised on violence but gave it up long ago. And I know others like him, those who put others before themselves and would do anything to save them. I admire them. Shane. Alec, Dick Grayson, all of them. If I could be better at this, then perhaps, I would be worthy.

Instead, I come back always to this.

[ He gestures at the room, but he means the war. He means fighting and death, the things that he's good at and has always been good at. He wouldn't call it guilt, because he thinks guilt is different. A man who was truly good would better themselves for the sake of betterment, and not because they're trying to meet another person's standard. At least that's the theory. ]

Maybe this always comes back to you, [says kavinsky, who's always thought that life is what other people dream for you anyway. he's good at blaming others for his own vicious behavior. he does it less now, but it's far from gone from it entirely, and its his concept of loyalty that shares that particular privilege with rafaello.

but he thinks -- truly, there's some reality to it. you can't blame any single man for war happening. you can blame him for being willing to fight, maybe. he'll think about that later, when he doesn't want to be thinking about it or much of anything.]

You don't really believe that shit. [kavinsky's arms fidget under his sire's hands. he's taller than rafa, but just as slight of build, and they fit together like a snarl of cables in a laptop case. he slides in closer now. he's never been one for cuddling, of course; it offends his masculine sensibilities. but these days, his want for touch has less to do with a creepy appetite for power, and more because rafa is beautiful and feels nice under his rough, tattooed fingers.] Like if you were more like your husband or whoever the fuck, that'd change the fucking world.

Edited (fix) 2018-01-15 07:41 (UTC)

The world is always changing, without my help. I was not trying to change the world, I was trying to be better. More worthy, more deserving of someone like him.

[ In all fairness, there's every chance that Rafa might never think he's worthy of Shane. He puts Shane on so high a pedestal that no one can reach it. That's not without reason, but it says as much about Rafa's valuation of himself as it does his opinion of Shane. He'll never truly escape his parent programming. It's too deeply ingrained, despite the nice veneer he can place on it now.

For Kavinsky this is all new. He's so flush with the power of it, so happy with himself. Rafa feels the first twinge of misgiving. Was he wrong to create a vampire that loved this strength as much as he once did himself? Is that in itself another blot on his record?

He thinks about Shane and wonders what he would think of all this. Shane has always been the one who taught morality to Rafa. ]

If he heard this he would say I do not need to be better, because he loves me anyway. But I know it, you see. I know he deserves someone who does not answer ever trouble with blood. Yet this is what I know, so how can I stand aside? This war needs me to be a killer again, and I will do it, but it does not make me happy. Not anymore.

This troubles you, Kavinsky? You would want me to be as I was?

[kavinsky raises an eyebrow. he looks for a moment like he might dismiss the question with some shitty joke, an off-handed insult, a sex joke, something like that. but then he thinks better of it.

and then he thinks of vex. and then he stops thinking about vex, forcibly, almost violently, switching his eyes back over the older vampire's handsome face.]

No. I'm just surprised you changed while I wasn't giving any fucks about the details, I guess. News flash: I'm an asshole. [kavinsky pulls in tighter, his eyelashes catching their tips on rafa's. his mouth near enough to kiss and the syllables forged by his lips forming misshapen kisses as he does, in between the smiles, all fang, all pleasure. his breath smells even more strongly of blood than he does.]

I like you how you are. I like you however the fuck you've become, mom.

[it's just a funny coincidence, vex made a similar change, didn't he? sort of. everyone wins who they want. everybody gets better. everybody except for him. and he'll think about that later.]

You don't miss it? Being guiltless. Free.

I had three hundred years to change while you were in Eudio. It was only a week for you.

[ So he's not surprised, really, that it passed Kavinsky by. After all in Eudio it hadn't mattered. There had been no wars to fight, and no reason to talk about Rafa's changed attitude until one reared its head. Everything is different now. He doesn't know what his young fledgling is thinking, but if he did, he'd point to the vicious, obedient creature he was at Kavinsky's age, and reflect on the five hundred years and more that have passed since. He has plenty of time to think now that he can live those years for himself.

But perhaps he will never change, and perhaps that will be all right. Rafa doesn't necessarily expect him to. His rough and eager kisses are returned, and Rafa pulls him close enough to hold him, almost cradling him. He senses anxiety in his fledgling's eager movements. He touches his cheek, and then kisses his nose, mostly because it's the closest part of his face. ]

Thank you. I like you as well. Do not be so worried.

I miss it sometimes. Chiefly I miss how easy it was when I could simply kill my enemy. Making peace involves so much paperwork.

[ He gives Kavinsky a faint smile, hoping to lighten the mood. And the worry. ]

But I was not free. It is not freedom to worry all the time that my family could get lost as Shane did, or be taken in battle while they fought my war. I have seen my husband trapped in another world, my sister taken and enslaved. I have almost died twice, and been saved by those who risked themselves for me. They are my family. There is nothing I would not do to keep them safe. That is real freedom. Do you understand?

[kavinsky listens. he actually listens better than he normally does, paying attention and all kinds of shit. tracking the chronology. he almost stops paying attention a couple times of course, his eyes cutting away like a goldfish whose attention as caught by a shimmer of movement on the curvature of his bowl, or maybe a peripheral glimpse of his own tail. but he comes back. a little grudgingly, compelled by kisses and the care that rafa takes in telling his story.

it's a good story. important. suddenly, the blood clotting his clothes and his skin and his hair doesn't feel easy and meaningless. it's unpleasant. smelly. reminiscent of things better forgotten.

his fingers dig into the fabric of rafa's sleeve for a moment, then relax again. he blinks hard in the half-light.] That doesn't sound like freedom, [he points out, his voice gone inexplicably scratchy. he used to be able to hide these subtle variations, these tells, under a mountain of cocaine. alas.] That sounds like you're trapped.

[ Rafa pays the most attention when Kavinsky stills, feeling that he's close to some sort of edge with him. He pulls him a little closer in response. He's not sure that Kavinsky has very many tethers to the world. Certainly he's never spoken much about family, or friends waiting for him back home. His home seems to be dead to him, or more accurately he's dead to it. He'd tried to remove himself from it altogether, after all. Then the people who'd held a claim to him had all pulled away, or been pushed by Kavinsky's own personality.

Vex. Caleb. Aric. Severed tethers.

That's why Rafa holds him tighter. ]

Trapped by what, by family? By having people who love me, and loving them back? I spent long enough with no one. That is not the life I want. I know that people have disappointed you. That does not mean they always will. Trust someone who knows.

[as tethers go, rafa's arms are of a very attractive and firm build. not stringy in the slightest. warm, comforting, a circle that feels like something kavinsky has been missing on a freudian level ever since he was too young to speak, or think, or to understand that his family was a bad place to grow up in. at least, that's the easy excuse; that he started out too broken, too early in life to ever have had a chance at being anything more than he was.

but it's moments like these that remind him, in a gentler way than regret or self-loathing, that there have been forks in the path before. that there will be more. and that there are people who want him to pick the right one, not out of exasperation or terror, but because they truly care about him in their own way.

he doesn't answer for an uncharacteristically long time. just feeling rafa's arms, letting the fringes of guilt-panic and existential despair recede out of sight. fact is, kavinsky has always liked being held, but it's easy to admit here, now.]

I believe you, [he says after awhile.]

[ That's not the answer Rafa expects, somehow. It's strange to know his words have been impactful enough to just be accepted, quietly, by a boy who isn't wonderful at taking advice and certainly doesn't go about anything quietly.

He gives him a little squeeze, and bends down to kiss his forehead. ]

Good. I would truly like to see you happy, you know.

I know.

[kavinsky turns his head just so, skimming a kiss off the other vampire's mouth with a slant of his head. after that, it's only a matter of time before the shower queue finally has them up to clean off old blood. and then it's only a matter of hours before it's time to shed new blood and all the moral weight that comes with.]

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War with D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.

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tw ableism

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ilu ilthis

throws feelings at you

IS STRUCK BY 20 TONS OF FEELINGS ;w;

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&fade if it's goo d w you