32. recrudesce (backdated to late on Wednesday)

[orderfromchaos]

[Public Video, planetside]

[Before the feed opens, something happens, a pressure in the air, like a slowly burgeoning thundercloud finally loosing rain. The weight of weariness and doom falls a little bit lighter; withered plants seem slightly less desolate. The effect is uneven and spread thin, the farther from him it goes, but palpable in some places nevertheless.

Dillon looks wrong, in a lot of small ways. His skin is a little mottled, raw in places and leathery in others, new-made and not always with enough moisture to reabsorb, cheeks a little hollower. He's holding himself differently, a raw, skewed raggedness, shoulders sloping, eyes dark and intense. His voice cracks when he talks, vocal cords as new as the rest of him.]

Someone tell me what the hell is going on.

Comments

[video]

[tucky]

Dillon!

[Super relieved. Super relieved.]

What the-- what happened to you? Where were you?

Re: [video]

[orderfromchaos]

I don't know. I was trying to help Jean and she blasted me and then I woke up -

[He turns the camera for a bit of Ohio-by-way-of-minor-eschaton panorama.]

[video]

[tucky]

She killed you.

I got your necklace; your beads. They're in my room, safe. I was keeping 'em for you.

... You still look real bad, Dillon.

[video]

[orderfromchaos]

Well, she tried.

[Apparently. He grimaces a little, because he's not tolling, and if Jean couldn't -

He swallows. His Rosary.]

Thanks.

What happened? Did she - what happened to the parasites?

[video]

[tucky]

I don't know. They were out of her by the time I got there.

You got burned up, Dillon. She told me she exploded you.

[formerself]

Well, there's fuckin' monsters everywhere and everyone's like, oh, must be Tuesday.

What's wrong with you?

[orderfromchaos]

....I got disintegrated.

[He sounds pissy more than angry. And squints at Eggsy a little, because -]

You're new. How long was I - what day is it?

[formerself]

It's Wednesd--

Wait, you what? We met. Gene, innit?

[orderfromchaos]

[A rough, half-huff sort of laugh; he scrubs one side of his face, where old, faint, thin white scars spiderweb over the bridge of his nose and part of his cheek, only half-visible where they contrast with the redness of his remade skin.]

Nah, we just look freakishly alike. I'm Dillon Cole.

Month?

[withtheoldbreed]

[Wow. It's especially disturbing to see what almost seems like a reflection of you looking like that, and as tired and slightly dirty as Gene is, it's far from difficult to summon genuine concern and alarm (and relief) at seeing his friend/facetwin in one piece.]

Where are you?

[orderfromchaos]

I don't know??

[Seriously, he has no idea. He was busy being an ash heap for awhile there.]

The weather feels like Arizona but the trees are all wrong for it.

[withtheoldbreed]

[He's asking less because he wants to know where they all are and more because he wants to come find you. 8v]

You seen anyone else?

[orderfromchaos]

I only woke up a couple minutes ago.

[He swings the camera around; maybe Gene's got better bearings.]

[punched_hitler]

I wish I knew, pal, but other than not good, I'm not sure I've got a better explanation.

Good to see you, though.

[orderfromchaos]

Where is everyone? Are you - what happened with the parasites?

[Last month's news, buddy.]

[punched_hitler]

Most people are still up on the Barge, as far as I can tell. Not all of us are down here.

It got taken care of. [He looks a little strained, mainly because he didn't like having that thing in him, without ever having realized it.]

How are you?

[You look a little like shit, which isn't really surprising. But.]

[orderfromchaos]

...raw.

[It's the only word he can think of that fits even a little.]

It doesn't matter. I can - what I do.

[video]

[routemistress]

[Iris is death tolling, but she's patrolling the hallways on one of her robot horses with a plasma rifle cradled in her hands. She, too, is covered in blood, grime, and - oddly - cherry blossom petals.]

Dillon, thank goodness. We're tit-deep in extradimensional nasties up 'ere and my boat's full of 'oles. What's going on your end?

[video]

[orderfromchaos]

I just woke up, I'm on a planet that looks like, I don't know, the midwest maybe? And unless there's a volcano nearby, something is really wrong.

And - Jesus Christ -

[A handful of fast zombies come scurrying out of the trees, headed right toward him. He drops the comm and it lands with a skewed view, twists, stomps on the ground just so - because it's weak, he can feel it, it's waiting to crack, and the vibrations echo and rebound and synchronize. The earth splits open in front of them, only a few yards away from him, like a wine glass shattered by a sopranina's perfect pitch. They stumble in, and he walks closer, wills it back into order, seals the ground over them before they can crawl out.

After a second, he catches his breath, scrabbles to pick up the comm again. His hand is shaking, just a little. Destruction has always come easy, and right now his skin has barely congealed back around him; the power wants to soak into everything.]

Apparently there's also zombies.

[So not rattled. So. Not. HE'S FINE.]

[video]

[routemistress]

Don't let our Simon see you do that. They might've just wanted to 'and you religious pamphlets.

[She ought, Iris sometimes thinks, be a little more disturbed by the extent of Dillon's capablities. Except every time she thinks that, she thinks of Dillon himself, eternally questioning, eternally self-examining, and decides he's quite disturbed enough on his own account.

Which sparks a parallel thought that she voices immediately.]

When things've settled down a bit, would you mind 'aving a word with my Ceres? I'm going to take all 'er power restrictions off once this is over and she could maybe use a perspective from someone more near 'er level.

[video]

[orderfromchaos]

[A soft snort through his nose.]

I'd have done it if they were rabid and alive, too.

[...which is relevant to her next question.]

I'm not exactly a model of responsibility.

[Spam, after the port]

[irishrotter]

[This is a difficult visit to make, but it's one Simon knows he needs to. He waits until all the chaos has died down a little bit -- until the death tolling are safely ensconced in their cabins or the infirmary, everyone's reunited with their loved ones, everything is as back to normal as it can be.

Then he goes seeking Dillon out. He tries to make it seem casual, just... walking up alongside him, as if nothing unusual were going on. As if Dillon's a friend he might just happen to run into, even though the truth is that he all but purposefully avoids him outside of the chapel. He keeps his voice pitched low.]

I need to thank you.

[Spam, after the port]

[orderfromchaos]

[Dillon looks - is - tired. He did as much as he could to fix the damage to the planet, after - but it was an effort, even for him.]

Okay.

[Heavy, and quiet. Dillon doesn't think Simon owes him anything, not when he'd have done it for - well, nearly anyone. But the dance of abjuration and insistence and politeness just seems too complicated, so he scrounges up a weary smile. Simon can say whatever he needs to say.]

[Spam, after the port]

[irishrotter]

What happened... It won't happen again.

[And not much more than that, really... but there is a purpose to this encounter that isn't quite as selfless.]

Have you told anybody about it?

[Spam, after the port]

[orderfromchaos]

[A quick puff of air through his nose. Not loud enough to be either a laugh or a snort, amused and resigned just the same.]

It probably will, actually.

But no. It's your business.