fragileprophet: (surrounded and on the defense)
Fon Master Ion ([personal profile] fragileprophet) wrote in [community profile] towerofanimus2014-02-10 12:24 pm

the seventh - face the light and decide

Characters: Ion and open to anyone!
Setting: The first of the month to present, dorm 1-16, all along the stairs and in the elevator, and floor 38 both day and night. EDIT: Floor 43, trapped in a jail cell.
Format: Either, I'll switch to follow you!
Summary: Ion tries to get back up on his feet after the January event and has a hard time of it, makes the somewhat unwise decision to go around regardless, and finds himself in an unfortunate situation with chuchus after blinking in and out of reality. EDIT: After finding The Bear on floor 14, he brings it to the 43rd floor and has a lot of unpleasant emotions.
Warnings: As with all the other volunteers, Ion's powers are going haywire. Particularly in the last two prompts, he may be putting curse slots on people at random and unintentionally, placing seals, causing giant explosive glyphs to blast anyone and everything in their paths. Potential character injury, or death depending, especially in the last prompt. He also may disappear and reappear at random. Let me know what you're up for! EDIT: For the new prompt, lots and lots of blood and unpleasantness. If anything else happens, I'll keep this updated!

Prompt 1 – Feb 1-4th, any time, dorm 1-16

[If asked, Ion wouldn’t say that he regretted his decision to help fuel the Tower. He didn’t. How could he, knowing that it would give them more time, if only a few months, to reside somewhere that was, if not particularly safe, at least provided them a place to stay that wasn’t a smoldering rock.

That didn’t make the consequences of his participation any easier. Ion was used to being sick, used to being fragile. He had come to know it in a way that he could live with it, to the best of his ability. Some days he even felt something close to strong. To normal.

The first few days of February leave him weaker than he could have ever anticipated. It’s a weakness on top of a weakness that chain him to his bed. Occasionally, he’ll struggle to lift himself to a sitting position and swing his legs over the side, not wanting to waste away uselessly. If that effort alone doesn’t send him falling dizzily back to his pillow, trying to stand on his feet finishes the job.

Of course, sometimes Ion’s legs buckle under him so fast that he can’t catch himself on the bed in time, and instead can be found crumpled in the middle of the dorm’s floor.]

Prompt 2 – Feb 5-9th, any time, stairwell or elevator

[As soon as Ion felt strength enough to get out of bed, he did precisely that. Not that he probably should have, though Ion had always been prone to his own impulsiveness over his sense of reason.

In his determination to overcome his exhaustion, Ion can be found making his way down the stairs almost painfully slow. He’ll take the elevator for certain stretches, if only to rest, but either way he can be found sitting, his head heavy as he leans against his staff, quite frequently. He knows it’s dangerous to rest on the stairs, especially alone, but Ion would rather take all day and risk death to be able to fetch his own meals from the cafeteria than to have his friends trouble themselves to bring food up to him in his bed.]

Prompt 3 – Feb 10th, mid-day, floor 38

[Ion was getting a bit better at walking longer distances the more the month wore on. Not that he didn’t still overexert himself out of habit, if nothing else. He was trying to be conscientious of it, in any case. Today he finds himself out of breath and with spotted vision just a few short floors away from an elevator, but doesn’t trust himself to make it the rest of the way without collapsing. Not wanting another incident, he chooses to make his way into the longue and seat himself heavily in one of the chairs with a sigh. Just a quick rest, he tells himself, and then he’ll continue on his way.

Except, Ion doesn’t have the chance to leave the floor. Eventually, when he feels well enough to continue to the elevator, he disappears into thin air before he can make it to the stairs.]

Prompt 4 – Feb 10th, night, floor 38

[There was no telling precisely how long it was he had been trapped in that black void, but when Ion returned, it was late into the night.

Ion wouldn’t have been particularly bothered had it not been for the multi-colored blobs that had begun to drop from the ceiling surrounding the entrance to the floor and started to inch slowly toward him. Monsters. That was why he always tried to make his way back to his dorm, or at least to an elevator, before the sun had set completely. Frowning, Ion moves his staff to one hand and takes a deep breath. They're nothing so large a single glyph can’t handle, and though he hardly wants to become weak and disoriented as he often becomes after using his powers—and as he had been the week before—they were slowly pushing him back, away from the stairs.

A knot forms in Ion’s throat when, in stretching out his hand, he feels nothing. Not a single shimmering light of a collected fonon for him to harness. He tries again, and again, all while staggering further and further from his goal as the monsters close in on him. Each time, he finds that it's as if his powers have simply been switched off.

Supposing he’ll have to make due with physical force, Ion attempts to whack one of the gel-like monsters out of his way with his staff. It hardly phases the monster—in part because of its composition and in part because Ion’s whacks had never been particularly strong whacks to speak of.

Now, he’s starting to get worried.]

CLOSED TO RICK [personal profile] bashfulshifter

[When Ion finds the bear on the fourteenth floor, he can’t help but feel a twinge of regret. Anyone would, wouldn’t they, when they found their body suddenly out of their control. Not that he wasn’t starting to become accustomed to such feelings—this was hardly the first time that his body has been made to move along like a puppet, allowing him no room to even speak a single word of explanation.

Any trace of exhaustion that he had felt before during his search doesn’t seem to matter. He walks on regardless, up and up and up the stairs until he’s back where he started on the 43rd floor. But that’s not where it ends. Of course it isn’t. He feels his breath catch in his throat when the cell door locks behind him, his heartbeat quicken as he picks up the knife.

Ion doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t like this. It’s wrong, he can tell. None of his trepidation matters as his arm swings down in a ferocity quite foreign to it, then again and again even as blood pours from the ragged bear, splattering him and his surroundings.

And then suddenly he doesn’t care. He’s angry and sad and hurt. Why shouldn’t it suffer? Ion had always been the one to worry for others, to give the benefit of the doubt, to try and find the best solution for everyone. How had he been repaid? A joke of a life, sickness and pain, betrayal. And he had been too weak to amount to anything. It had been his fault.

How dare she, he thinks as he rips through stuffing and the red covers more and more of his white clothes. I trusted her.

How dare he, he thinks as the blood paints grotesque patterns across his face, if he had listened to me, hundreds of lives wouldn’t have had to have been lost that day in Akzeriuth.

Ion stabs and stabs until his breathing is ragged but still he can’t stop.

Why couldn’t I just have been destroyed with the others? I only failed. Auldrant’s gone and it’ll never be saved. It’s gone and I couldn’t do anything.

Pathetic. He’s pathetic. It’s all hopeless.

The bear’s nothing but a puddle of blood in front of him. It can’t even be called a bear, not anymore. The knife clatters to the floor and the sound echoes through his brain along with that of his own breath in the empty cell.]

What…what did I do?

[He goes to bring his hands up to his face, finds them covered and dripping in blood, and stops. All those thoughts had left him cold and empty and frightened. At the moment, he doesn’t even notice he’s trapped in the evidence of his own uncontrollable insanity. ]

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