awashlogs | Intro Log.

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Intro Log.

It's raining, it's pouring.
The old man is snoring.
He bumped his head and went to bed
And he couldn't get up in the morning.

ou wake in knee-deep water, cold as ice and stagnant, in a space that is far too echoey and spacious. It feels like a massive cave, but looking up... there's only one small, circular opening that shows grey sky and shines any sort of light.

It looks like a long trip upwards, a small cylinder with walls of brick that's just a little too high to reach, even when jumping. Getting out is probably going to be a bit of a task, especially considering the water is more than cold enough to make limbs go numb.

The dark makes it impossible to see much further, but the space seems large, all filled with water, but with no other way out, stone walls the only thing for an intrepid explorer to find. Oh, and to make things even better, it's raining today. Water from below (though thankfully only like, knee-deep), and water from above... how fun.

But most importantly of all... you're not alone.

Welcome to Awash's second intro log, everyone! Please review the FAQ and rules before playing. New characters have all woken at the bottom of the well in the middle of the town (which seems a lot bigger on the inside, somehow), and it looks like they'll have to put in some work to get out. Thankfully, they have some friends on the outside, this time.

Once out, they'll be free to explore the various locations the Town has to offer at will. Just try not to die on any of the far-too-rickety walkways.

Please feel free to ask any questions here and don't forget to greet your fellow players here!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Can't you write?

[He knows he can, he delivered a whole message once . . . but that was in Xingese, not . . . whatever the hell this is. Amestrian? Whatever. Except maybe the keyboard will adapt soon, who knows.]

[Wow... he wants to see what pretty color he got, don't insult him. Some of them are bilingual. Instead of actually answering he just gives Greed a look and types out a very important message into this text box:]

hello greed

[That said, he types this with one finger on one hand, and he's never seen a laptop keyboard in his life, so it takes... a while.]

Don't sass me.

[But he watches with mild interest as he types, and he reaches over to type something just beneath it.]

helo
hello
ling

[A pause, and then:]

What is it, Y-A-O?

[...Aw. He's doing his best and it's honestly endearing, even if Ling wasn't that much more competent with the keyboard a second ago, himself. Still!

He finally looks a little less dismal, after his weird mood about the clothes. Good job.]

With this alphabet, yes.

helo
hello
ling
yao

[So that sure is an open post with these two assholes typing hi to each other like they're not sitting next to each other. Thank god they won't hit post.

But good, that Ling looks a little less upset. It's encouraging, and so he nudges him with his elbow.]

So type it in Xingese.

[HOW??? figure it out.]

['Helo' is the best part, actually, he's loving it.

Wait a second, though-] I have no idea how to do that.

[Is it even possible???]

You cant't read it, anyway.

Yeah, but it's cool to see.

[He's easily amused. Lightly he prods at the keyboard, but somehow, no character keys appear. Weird!

Hmm. Now he wants this, and there's no writing, so . . . he offers his hand, palm up.]

Trace it there.

[A child. Ling shifts to slide one hand under Greed's to hold it still, drawing the characters for "hello greed" in quick succession using his fingertip. Did you catch that??

As an afterthought, he traces the character for "greed" again, more slowly.]

This one is you.

[Four characters, gurido, and he misses about half of it, but still he's stupidly pleased by it. Yes, that's his name right there, that's his Ling tracing out his name, it's the little things.]

Once more. I'll get it after that.

[Ling raises an eyebrow but traces it one more time all the same. Then, of course, he lets go of Greed's hand and drops his own hand palm up, wiggling his fingers expectantly.]

Show me.

[Isn't this better than crying? A thousand times better, frankly. He takes his hand carefully, steadying it with his left and bringing it closer to him. And he intends to trace out those symbols, he really does, but--

Well. Greed hesitates, just for a moment. It's just . . . it's so bizarre to look down at Ling's hand and know for a fact that it's not a part of him anymore. All those little lines and scars, the way his slender fingers curl slightly, the neat nails and long lifeline . . . he knows it so well, and yet he looks up and there Ling is, right next to him, solid and real and utterly accessible.

It's bizarre not to know every thought that passes through his head. It's bizarre to just look at him, and Greed does, drinking him in for a long moment.

But he's being stupid. With a scoff he turns back to his hand. His blunt nails slide against his palm quickly, one-two-three-four, and he gets the broad symbols right, even if he misses the accents. So really, he didn't spell it right at all, two symbols are entirely changed, but. Not bad.]

[It is better than crying, but the point isn't for Greed to start staring at Ling in silence now - not at all. Ling looks back at him, not crying, even trying to smile a little for a second, before it feels strained; this is better. It feels better even when it feels wrong somehow, to have to look over at Greed and talk to him to get his attention and exist, really— so many steps. They've been spoiled by convenience, all this time.

But there, the writing on his hand, and it's dreadful, and that's okay. Ling hums, like he's very impressed.]

Not bad! Not great, but not bad!

[It was atrocious.]

You'll get better with practice.

Like I'm gonna practice this.

[He can write his name! What else does he need! Honestly, if six months in Ling's body wasn't enough to get him to learn the language of the country he intended to take over, nothing will.

Still. He's very pleased with himself. Almost pleased enough to forget his earlier surprise, but not quite enough.]

What else are you going to do?

[Ling is already bored with the variety of fun stuff to do around here. Look at mystery boxes, eat gray food...? Study the well? Surely Greed will humor him writing lessons because he's bored, right? Right?]

[Draw him another picture? Come on, Ling, show off those princely artistry skills! But nah, that's a little dull, and truth be told, he's not exactly enthused about their current entertainment prospects either. So . . .

With a sigh, he offers his hand.]

Show me something else.

[Hmm! Alright, he takes Greed's hand and drums his fingers on it while he thinks, then swipes his finger back and forth in a series of characters in quick succession. Not too fast, but definitely faster than necessary because he's so enthused by whatever he's writing.

And when he's through he'll helpfully explain, tapping Greed's palm for each... thing:] Dumplings, glazed chicken, apple pies...

[He goes on... and on.]

Idiot.

[He scoffs it, because of course that's what he comes up with. But though Greed falls back on the couch, he doesn't pull his hand away. It's mildly interesting to feel those characters against his skin, visualizing them a moment later. He's not going to memorize any of them, but still: it's kind of neat.

Ling goes on (and on and on), naming food after food, and it's cute, yeah, but . . . Greed's smile fades after a few seconds. He watches Ling go at it, his expression stupidly enthused, his stomach growling once or twice as he so clearly fantasizes about the foods he doesn't have. He's an absolute idiot, and it'd probably be easier to just let him go on, but . . .

But. But Greed watches him, a little fascinated by the way his muscles move beneath his skin as he talks, desperately attentive to all the details he'd never noticed when he'd inhabited that skin. But, and he listens to the way there's something just a little false about Ling's voice, faux-cheer that covers up something more raw. But there's a hideous sort of twisting in Greed's stomach, something uncomfortable and disquieting. He dislikes it, and it's something to do with Ling, he knows that much. It can't possibly be guilt, because what is there to be guilty over? Saving his life? Oh, yeah, real awful action, he really regrets that.

But the feeling persists. And it's gonna persist until all this shit comes to a head.]

Ling.

[This is such a pain in the ass. Why can't the kid just get over it?]

If you're going to yell or cry or whatever, do it now. Get it over with.

[Ling goes on, bouncing between entrees and desserts and maybe an appetizer or two, hungry—and avoiding the issue at hand, of course. He could rattle off foods for the rest of the night until he falls aleep, sitting here holding onto Greed's hand and occasionally remembering to actually draw the character. He could do that.

He won't do that, but he could. He's acutely aware of the way Greed's eyes linger on him, studying him, listening intently even as Ling says nothing of value and Greed slumps back like he's done with this diversion already. Ling knows when he's being observed, and Greed watches him without a drop of subtlety—but still he keeps talking until Greed's command cuts through his short list of what kind of peppers are his favorite.

The quiet that fills the room immediately could crush him. He can't say he isn't going to do either of those things, in fact, he'd probably feel better! But the moment Greed tells him to, the tears won't come. His voice leaves him, even as he opens and closes his mouth a few times, a handful of false starts to this thing he needs to say. There's only one problem: he doesn't know what it is. Sure, there's something, but to articulate it? To explain the way his chest tightens and his eyes burn when he so much as looks at Greed, the way he went back to Xing empty and alone, and became emperor, and did everything he set out to do but had to do it alone?

Well, where does he start?

He looks down at Greed's hand and doesn't pull his own away, but suddenly his fingers feel leaden and useless, as if neither of the bodies sitting here are actually his own. Hmm.]

You lied to me.

Sure I did.

[And he doesn't sound a bit repentant. He even sounds a little flippant, though one glance at his expression will dispel any attempts at carelessness he's trying. Greed's expression is grave, his purple eyes cool as he looks back at Ling.

But his stomach still twists. The silence between them feels suffocating, thick enough to slice through, and he hates it. He hates the expectation there, that he ought to fill it with apologies and explanations and beg forgiveness when he'd done the fucking right thing for once in his life--]

You were ready to die with me, you clingy little idiot.

[He hates this. He hates that his words are coming out like this, scoffing and disavowing, playing it off as though Ling was nothing more than a little leech he'd finally found a way to sever from himself. But it's like a sickness sometimes; it's just how things come out, how his feelings translate, like bile rising in his throat and spitting out his mouth, one flippant, acidic comment at a time.]

You're the one who thought we were going to die for sure!

[Was Ling reckless? He always is, but when Lan Fan and one blade were enough to separate Father from his body in the end, he doesn't know why they had to give up being them—

It isn't a question of whether or not Ling wanted to die with him or whether he would have (he would, he would, he nearly gave up the stone again and again that day, he knows he wasn't thinking straight, he knows). It's...]

It was supposed to be you and me.

Yeah, and then it wasn't. That's just reality.

[As if he didn't want that. As if he didn't crave it, Ling always with him, always, as simple as that, constantly at his side, the two of them together, more intimate and intertwined than anyone else could ever be-- leading the country, sure, but it was always the unity he craved, never the power.

He knows that now.

He knows exactly why he'd only ever felt remotely fulfilled when he was at the Devil's Nest, and why there's something approaching content even now, as Ling holds his hand and stays close to him. Lonely, that's the word for that hollow feeling in his chest, right where his heart would be, if he had one of those. Lonely, desperately so, lonely for his family, for his chimera, for someone to look at him and desire him-- not sexually, not like that, but just crave him. His company, his companionship, him, all of him, and oh, maybe Ling hadn't liked him at first, but after six months--

But that was exactly why he couldn't let him die right alongside Greed.]

We were going to die, kid. It wasn't a question. Father had it in for me one way or another; the only way to make sure we didn't both kick it was to make sure we separated. But you wouldn't let go, so yeah, I lied.

[He pulls his hand back, his eyes narrowing.]

What the hell did you expect? You know me better than that. I don't go throwing away things that are mine. I wasn't going to let you die at his hand.

[What's the worst part is it isn't a bad explanation. Staying with Ling would have killed them both - okay. Ling isn't sure still that he believes that, but there's nothing inherently wrong about what Greed did, technically speaking. Sure, he lied-- lied and ripped Ling's heart clean out of his chest in one go, left him to fall to his knees and weep, to go on without Greed when he never actually wanted to... but is there something in there to be angry about? About saving his life?

Being a self-sacrificial jerk, maybe. Greed didn't have to go out with a smile, the absolute smarmy jackass—

Ling reaches over and whaps him soundly upside the head, because he can do that now. He deserves it, even if Ling has already forgiven him deep down in his core. It doesn't take much; just one inkling of forgiveness and he knows it's a matter of time before he's past this entirely. But Greed still needs a good whack for the stunt he pulled.]

Don't talk to me like I'm one of your cronies! We were partners.

[Jackass.

...Fine. He's alive, so—]

Thank you, you big, stupid pain.

Ow--

[It doesn't hurt, but what the hell, and he's so busy whacking away his hand and getting ready to yell at him he almost misses what Ling says next.

And if that doesn't shut him up, what else will?

For a long few moments there's nothing but silence again, punctuated only by the harshness of Ling's breath and the expectation that Greed will have something to say to it. And he does. He could blow him off easily; he could smirk and throw himself back and say well, shit, you're welcome, brat, now start working off that life debt, and oh, that'd be cool, that'd be fine, he'd deflect him even if Ling could see right through him, but--

But instead, he shakes his head. It's not a disagreement; it's just irritated, prompted by that churning in his gut, sick and vile.]

. . . I couldn't--

[How does he say this? This was so much easier when they shared a body; when every bit of communication was as much about emotion and memory as it was talking. Greed glares at the wall for a long few seconds, his eyes narrowed, and finally spits out:]

He'd already taken from me. He took-- I couldn't--

[No. No, this is too much, and abruptly he shoves himself upwards, standing and striding away.]

Never mind.

[What does Greed want, a fucking parade? He can't go on and on about saving Ling's life, so ungrateful, so on and so forth, and then— do whatever this is. Ling watches him intently, feeling just as strongly the lacking quality of having to look at someone and guess what they're thinking. Sure, yeah, he has to do that with everyone else, but everyone else isn't Greed, and therein lies the difference.

But then Greed is getting up—]

Hey now, come back—

[And then Ling is on his feet and darting after him, still the quick one, quick enough to get in Greed's way and look up at him, frowning. Just because they can't read each other's thoughts as easy as breathing now doesn't mean Greed gets away with being like this. Has he ever?]

Say what you have to say.

[A deep breath, in and out sharply, done purely because he feels as though he's going to snap in some kind of way if he doesn't.]

You humans live such short little lives.

[He says it to the wall, tall enough to get away with not meeting Ling's gaze just yet.]

I've seen people-- my people-- die before. Violently, a bunch of times, but sometimes they just got sick of the life. They grew up and grew old and that was that, and suddenly there's just a grave left. Most of them were human, you know? They could get away with it.

[He shrugs. People left one way or another, and sure, it'd been sad when they died. Or at least sort of sad, but not really. Life goes on, and though he'd mourned the loss of the possession, it hadn't gone farther than that. Living in the shadows meant a certain dangerous quality to life; sometimes accidents happened, and you'd be a damn fool not to think that death was something of an inevitability, but he and his had always gotten their revenge.]

But Wrath-- Father-- took the chimeras from me. They didn't just die, they were-- they were taken, do you understand? I had them, they were mine, they trusted me to look after them, and I just let them go.

[And there was a difference. There was gang warfare, there was living in the shadows and accumulating wealth and living on the wrong side of the law, and then there was that slaughter. There was the savagery of Wrath's blade, cutting through his chimeras for no real reason, other than quieting even the faintest possibility of dissent.

Those stupid fucks. Those stupid bastards, Martel and Roa and Dolcetto, sticking around instead of saving their own skins, trying to defend him, save him, and for what? What had he done to repay their sacrifice? Nothing, not even now. Even Father's death hadn't been enough to pay it back, not really, because they still ended up dead down there, sliced in half and left in the sewer to rot.

And the thought of something like that happening to Ling-- to Ling, his Ling, swallowed by Father, taken and torn from him in the worst possible way, his soul consumed and his body rotted-- was utterly intolerable.

He glares down at him, fingers curling at his sides.]

I wasn't going to let him kill you too. I couldn't, do you understand? It wasn't even a choice.

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