[open] apples and quinces, lemons and oranges
Who: Ned, open to all
What: Here be species-swap logs involving Ned the unlikely fertility god.
Where: Anywhere (preferably outdoors).
When: Duration of the event (58 - 61); put date in header, please.
Warnings: Blood, kidnapping, creepiness and general Ned-terrorizing? [will add more as necessary]
Ned wanders the town barefoot, leaving a path of fruit and flowers and vegetation behind him. There are daffodils and bluebells, hyacinths and crocuses, irises of all colors, primroses and poppies and periwinkle in profusion. When he stops to sit quietly under a tree, by the edge of the woods, the vines spread out from his body like paint creeping through water. They slowly wind their way up the trees, or else sprawl across the ground, swelling with strawberries and blackberries, grapes and kiwis, passionfuit and cherries.
He doesn't understand why it is happening, but from the sound of the messages over the communicator, everyone has been going through some strange changes. As far as Ned's concerned, being some kind of plant conjurer is better than some options.
Since he can't think of much else to do with his time, Ned lounges in the dappled shade and makes bouquets. All he needs to do is rake his hands through the soil and a few minutes later, up come the snapdragons, up come the cala lilies. He finds that, if he focuses on a particular kind of flower as he does it, sometimes it is mixed amongst the others. As he sits the hydrangeas are bubbling up around him, shielding him from view.
Ned isn't worried about resting in the woods, despite all the dire warnings he's heard in his short time here. He is at the very edge, just in the shade of the first few trees; the lions and tigers and bears can't possibly have any objections. So he lounges in his cozy bower, hazy, half-awake (he hadn't exactly slept well, the previous night), weaving crowns of camellias and garlands of gladiolus.
What: Here be species-swap logs involving Ned the unlikely fertility god.
Where: Anywhere (preferably outdoors).
When: Duration of the event (58 - 61); put date in header, please.
Warnings: Blood, kidnapping, creepiness and general Ned-terrorizing? [will add more as necessary]
Ned wanders the town barefoot, leaving a path of fruit and flowers and vegetation behind him. There are daffodils and bluebells, hyacinths and crocuses, irises of all colors, primroses and poppies and periwinkle in profusion. When he stops to sit quietly under a tree, by the edge of the woods, the vines spread out from his body like paint creeping through water. They slowly wind their way up the trees, or else sprawl across the ground, swelling with strawberries and blackberries, grapes and kiwis, passionfuit and cherries.
He doesn't understand why it is happening, but from the sound of the messages over the communicator, everyone has been going through some strange changes. As far as Ned's concerned, being some kind of plant conjurer is better than some options.
Since he can't think of much else to do with his time, Ned lounges in the dappled shade and makes bouquets. All he needs to do is rake his hands through the soil and a few minutes later, up come the snapdragons, up come the cala lilies. He finds that, if he focuses on a particular kind of flower as he does it, sometimes it is mixed amongst the others. As he sits the hydrangeas are bubbling up around him, shielding him from view.
Ned isn't worried about resting in the woods, despite all the dire warnings he's heard in his short time here. He is at the very edge, just in the shade of the first few trees; the lions and tigers and bears can't possibly have any objections. So he lounges in his cozy bower, hazy, half-awake (he hadn't exactly slept well, the previous night), weaving crowns of camellias and garlands of gladiolus.
Re: Day 60
"I'm here," he answers, from a few feet away, hidden by a curtain of honeysuckle and morning glories. The air is sweet with the smell of growing things, the sun shining. It doesn't seem quite the right setting, for the conversation that Ned expects is to follow. His body language is similar to Galen's: hunched, defensive, arms folded across his chest tightly. Ned's back is to a tree, and it's a small comfort. He feels rooted, safer.
When Galen comes into view Ned glances up at him automatically, but pales visibly upon looking at his face, looking away quickly and not quite suppressing a shiver. He mentally berates himself for his complete lack of subtlety and ability to lie with his body language.
"How are you?" No need to be impolite.
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"I'm... I've been a lot better," he says plainly, shrugging his already hunched shoulders. He wants to compliment the flowers, or make small talk, or find some way to show that he's still the same Galen he chatted with about music and meeting Jesse, but he feels like that would be dishonest. They both know what happened. And Galen has to fix it.
"How -- are you... okay?" After all of that.
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But being so close to him, hearing him talk, brings it all back so vividly to Ned's mind. He can recall every single detail. The look on Galen's face through the window that hadn't really been there. The look on Galen's face when he'd opened his eyes and seen him there in the dark, holding him down and rifling through all the painful parts of his mind.
And now, for Galen to come up to him, acting as if it's all okay, acting like he has the right to ask, making small talk (even if he is just following Ned's lead), has the rage breaking over Ned like a wave. Unthinking, he meets Galen's gaze, eyes narrowed, and says, "I've been a lot better." The words are like ice: sharp and clipped and cold.
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"Ned, I'm so, so fucking sorry," he finally blurts, glancing up again, and in his eyes - normal, brown, not vivid and green and nightmarish - it's genuine. "It wasn't me, it was this -- mare thing. I passed out and I couldn't stop it. -- And I know that doesn't change shit, but I'm sorry."
Jesus, it really does feel like Jesse all over again.
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And what had Galen done, in the end? Not killed anyone. He'd just looked in on his bad dreams - bad dreams Ned might have had anyway. What right does he have to get on his high horse?
Ned hangs his head, ashamed of himself. He covers his mouth with his hand, shoulders slumping in defeat and weariness.
"I know it wasn't your fault," he concedes quietly. He wants to say he forgives Galen, but the words won't come. They get stuck in his throat amidst the accusations he didn't voice, amidst the questions that are clamoring to be asked.
"Sit down, please," he requests, running a hand through his hair. He can't stand that tentative, guilty way Galen is standing there, like he's on trial, "I'm not mad, I just-" But then he can't go on. There is one question that is too insistent, too essential. He continue without knowing where they stand.
"I have to know," he asks urgently, "I'm sorry, I can't- I have to know, first. C-can you..." his voice breaks and he pauses, exhales shakily. "Can you remember my dream?"
There were things in that dream that he didn't want Galen to know about himself. That he didn't want anyone to know. He can't even begin to think about repairing this until he knows how much of his private information has been compromised.
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He's thoughtful, for a moment, picking at his jeans, before he answers: "Not in like... a sequence kind of way. Like -- I remember sterile white, and green, and dirt, and dust, but -- when I woke up, the next morning, I thought I'd been dreaming, until Kenzi told me what I was."
Galen licks his lips, reaches to brush his fingers over one of the flowers next to him. "So don't worry. I think it was about scaring you, not... retaining anything."
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Ned drops his forehead into his hand, speaking at the ground, "Because I can remember all of it, Galen. Not like a normal nightmare, where it gets blurry and confused and after a while it fades away and stops hurting. It's all there still, like I was really there and-" his voice is cracking again, getting thick with held-back tears, but he keeps talking, doesn't care if he sounds unstable. This is all far, far too close to the fragile parts of himself, the ones that he keeps locked in a trunk, inside a sealed room, in a bomb shelter miles beneath the surface of his mind, "-and there are th-things in my head I d-don't want anyone to see. Things I ought to be allowed to keep to myself, y'know?"
Ned feels his eyes getting hot, swipes away a tear with the heel of his palm impatiently. He has to get the rest of this out now before he completely loses it, "And I'm sorry if it makes me a bad person, but I can't even look at you without knowing exactly how much you know. So if you're telling the truth, that's cool, that's really really good. But... but who the hell would just have a n-nightmare about white and green and dirt and dust? And you knew it was a nightmare, and from the way you were talking just now you knew it was bad. So please, if you're trying to spare my feelings or cushion the blow, just... just don't. I'd rather you be honest with me now."
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"Ned -- Ned, I'm sorry. There's more, but I'm trying not to think about it because I don't want to remember." But he wants honesty. Galen sighs and brushes at his mouth. "Something about -- about your dad, and an operating table. And -- a cemetery, or something. Like someone died. I swear, I don't remember anything specific." And that's the truth. He's almost glad the hungry monster part of him was so focused on feeding itself that it hadn't paid complete attention to what was going on - just that it was going on - because Ned is so upset.
"I mean, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that it had to do with what happened to Laura, and I promise, Ned -- I won't tell anyone. Not about what I remember, or about what you can do. I promise. I know exactly what it's like to want to keep shit to yourself."
And it's only fair, he supposes, that Ned is welcome to that information.
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"Oh, thank God," Ned sighs heavily, and there is a friendliness in his tone that has been lacking up until this point. He's more than happy to let Galen keep thinking it's something to do with Laura. Him thinking that draws his attention and concern from the truth, from the areas where Ned is actually most vulnerable. "It's fine, Galen. None of that is anything private. Everyone here knows about my power now, anyway, so it's fine. We're fine."
And he means it. His relief at the knowledge that his worst secret is still secret sweeps away everything else. Perhaps it's his own feeling of guiltiness, of escaping the blame and recrimination and disgust of others, that makes him swing so suddenly and so drastically back to Galen's side of things.
"I forgive you. It wasn't even your fault in the first place, so there isn't anything to forgive, but for what it's worth, I forgive you. Hell, I had a nightmare the night before that and you had nothing to do with it." He wipes away a last stray tear. "Plus, I've done worse." He says it frankly; Galen knows it is true, even if he thinks Ned only means the man he killed the other day.
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His attention is drawn away from that, anyway, when his relief ebbs a little and he's reminded that there's something else he needs to tell Ned. He does offer his housemate a thankful smile, though, before dropping his head to rub at his face with both hands, for a moment. He can do this.
Galen lifts his head, pressing his hands together, and briefly rests his chin on the ends of his fingers. "Yeah... so've I, actually." Hesitantly, he meets Ned's eyes again. "There's something that -- honestly, I should've told you about back when that rumour came out, but I never thought it'd be an issue again. Until now."
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And it is only then he remembers the rumors, that there had been one about Galen being more dangerous than he seemed. He had laughed it off at the time: Galen? Dangerous? He couldn't believe it. Was that only a few days ago? So much has happened since then.
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"A couple weeks ago, I got sent home," he begins, picking lightly at the grass in front of him. "I have no idea how, but I didn't remember being here. And -- I know it was real, because this had already happened, for Jesse, before he showed up." He pauses, then waves his hand. "But -- that's not important. While I was home, I started... um, being in other people's dreams. Like, seeing them, participating, even being able to like -- change shit, after a while. But it took me a while to even realize that they were other people's dreams."
He bites his lip, and doesn't wait for Ned to say anything before he continues. "But one of my bandmates, Daphne, she didn't believe me. So -- like a fucking idiot, I guess, I tried to find her and prove it to her. And the whole time, I was thinking, 'why can I do this? Why me? Am I supposed to help people?' And I figured -- yeah, of course, there must be a reason. So I kept working at it. I went looking for Daphne, but I had no idea what the fuck I was doing, y'know -- abilities like this don't come with a fucking instruction manual. So I ended up... I dunno. Between dreams? Just this dark -- nowhere." He swallows. "With this... dog. But it wasn't a dog, it was like, this being, made out of... just, awful things, y'know, and it bit me. And... things got bad."
Galen pauses for a breath, just to center himself, one hand idly rubbing at his left forearm. He can still feel the ghost of the bite, even though it was never there in waking life, and it makes him shiver a little.
"It... influenced me. In the worst way."
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And then Galen says what he does about his ability not coming with an instruction manual, and Ned's stomach twists with dread. He knows now that this story isn't going to be good. Knows that, because when his powers arrived without instruction manual, he'd killed two people within a day. Something horrible had happened to Galen for the same reason (misunderstanding of the mechanics and limits of his ability) that most of Ned's horrible somethings had happened to him.
Dark nowhere with a dog made out of awful things sounds evocatively hellish to Ned, and he shivers.
"You went dark side?" Ned prompts, gently. He wants to tell Galen that he doesn't have to talk about it, that he's not going to make him tell all his worst secrets after being so defensive of his own, but he recognizes something about this conversation. Sees that it is a confession, that Galen wants to get these things out in the air, so he lets him without interrupting any further.
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He licks his lips and keeps his eyes on the grass, for now, not wanting to look at Ned right this second. He can still remember how cold and sick he felt the first time he woke up after that bite, how he'd thrown up and spent the day with Jesse -- and how Jesse had told him to stay out.
"And then -- I remember, I went full Krueger. I went after Jesse, and I think I -- um." No, he doesn't need to go that far. He doesn't want to think about Terri's dead grandfather. "Eventually I -- I guess I found a way to drag them all together. Jesse, Daphne, Terri, Brad. But I guess they helped me stop myself, somehow, like -- whatever sane part of me was left bled out the poison, killed that -- fucking -- corrupted part of me, and we finally woke up."
He pauses, then digs his fingers in the grass again, somewhat anxiously. "-- Anyway, it's over. Or it's supposed to be, but our hosts have a sick fucking sense of humour. But I wanted you to know. Not just cuz it's fair, but... just in case anything happens again." He glances up at Ned -- it's a show of trust.
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He hadn't noticed himself getting tense as the story went on, but when Galen says that he'd managed to eradicate the corrupted part of himself - the part that was causing the pain - Ned feels a bitter envy. That isn't something he's ever going to be able to do. It shouldn't be a surprise to him, to learn that the only way Galen hurt people in the past was because of an external, malevolent influence. He was just another one of the victims, in his own way, and now he is clean again, pure again, with the evil 'bled out', as he put it.
But Ned can tell that this business for the past few days has been opening some very deep old wounds, and he doesn't envy that, at least.
"It is sick," he confirms, "How could they do that to you?" It is rhetorical; Ned knows that human beings possess a near infinite capacity for cruelty, shouldn't be surprised by it. But when it's directed at Galen, at someone he was just starting to be friends with, it revolts him anew. "What could they possibly hope to gain out of making you relive all that stuff?"
Ned sighs, and it is an angry sound. Angry on Galen's behalf. "The way it sounds to me, none of all that was your fault in the first place. But I also know that knowing that doesn't make anything any easier." Now is the time when, if he wanted to be fair, Ned would tell Galen his own story, to show just how much he can empathize, can really understand what it's like to feel toxic. He doesn't.
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He nods, then, glad that Ned agrees. All this shit aside, maybe they can continue on their way to becoming friends. "Yeah, that's another thing," Galen says lightly, now reaching up to rake a hand back through his short hair. "I figured you'd get the whole 'can't help it, still feel like shit' thing. Not that these are really comparable, but -- you know what I mean." Like the thing about the lack of instructions, Ned gets it.
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Part of him wants to ask why Galen's mother, what happened to her (perhaps nothing, but Ned has already been seeing so many parallels between them that his mind leaps to the conclusion), but he remains silent. It's none of his business. Galen's told him plenty of things today - difficult, personal things - without Ned prying for more.
"They're comparable enough," Ned says. Mentally, he adds except that yours doesn't come with a body count. But he doesn't want to remind Galen any more than necessary that he's a murderer. "So yeah, I know what you mean."
There is a moment of silence between them, and Ned says quietly, "I never thought I'd meet anyone who got it. Or even anyone else who had could do stuff, like we can." That has been one of the unexpected silver linings of being brought to this place: realizing that he isn't alone.
"I understand if you don't want to talk about it any more, but do you know where it came from, in the first place? Your dream-walking stuff?" Ned, in his own way, is trying to be helpful, trying to point Galen in the direction of an answer, of an identity, if he should want one. Ned knows from recent experience how great that can be. "I don't have any idea for mine, but some people here were saying that maybe it's something to do with genetic mutation? Which made a lot more sense to me than... than a random curse."
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"Genetic mutation?" He frowns thoughtfully, but he's not sure how something like this could be genetics. Unless humans really do have some kind of latent capacity for psychic abilities, which honestly wouldn't surprise him. He's always had feelings about things, growing up, so that might be a possible next step. God, to think he thought the world was normal, a year ago.
"I actually have no idea, but... that sounds possible. And definitely better than a random curse." And better than that thing making it happen, wanting it to happen. He shivers a little.
"Huh. I wonder if that means something was like... passed down, or something." Better this than schizophrenia, he thinks, but then that opens another door of questions he can't answer, so he quickly pushes that away.
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"It may also explain why it only started after you got sent back," Ned says, the pieces seeming to all fit into place. "The guy said that mutations don't really work until they get triggered by something. Like, a traumatic event, specifically." He'd also said puberty was an option, but Galen's old enough that Ned doubts that was at play. "Maybe getting sent back from here and not being able to remember it was the kick-start it needed." Ned sure as hell considers that trauma enough.
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"That'd do it, I guess," he agrees. "Or maybe not, like -- that point I went home, I was pretty stressed out anyway, and I know stress can trigger a lot of shit. But -- yeah, man, either way, you're right. Something triggered it, whether it was working too hard or physically getting chucked back home." And either way, it still unnerves him.
"So -- I never got the chance to ask about what you got saddled with," Galen says, attempting to gently shift the subject. He reaches to touch one of the close by flowers, smirking a little. "This is a fuckton of foliage, dude."
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He feels a little guilty, that his power has proved so thoroughly enjoyable, whereas Galen's has been putting him - and others - through hell. "I don't know what you'd even call it," he say, running a hand over the grass in demonstration. A few seconds later, a small army of bluebells are growing as if in fast-forward, just over the area that Ned touched. He plucks a handful, tying the stem of one around the lot to make a quick bouquet. He's gotten quite good at that. "I seem to make things grow."
Reaching over to a nearby strawberry vine, Ned plucks one of the pieces of fruit, ruby-red and perfectly ripe, from the stem. "Can only seem to make it work on fruit and flowers, though. Not sure why."