May the odds...

[justabignobody]

Characters: Minglelog for anyone not involved in the event
Setting: During the first part of the event, in the media room or near any terminal
Format: Whatever!
Summary: As Ruana's chosen dogs set out to hunt and/or run, the rest of the tower watches.
Warnings: very possibly mentions of violence and character death? Will update as needed!

[Sometimes in the morning, strange events start to be broadcasted to the screens of the media room and the terminal, showing familiar faces, though some maybe in not quite so familiar get-ups. Looks like Ruana's game is just about to start!]

Comments

[warriorscribe]

*For a moment, Enoch doesn't say anything, eyes wide. Had he heard him right? What would happen if....*

She what? Was there-...was there any explanation, was there anything at all?

[fragileprophet]

N-No.

[This time his voice comes out strangled with the strain of tears that burn their way up his throat and try to escape.]

I just--I couldn't--I didn't want--

[He presses the heel of one of his palms into his eyes, trying to catch his breath. All that blood, all that anger...]

--there was a knife and I had to stab it, I had to.

[warriorscribe]

*So many questions are running through his mind right now. Why? To what effect?

But more important than any of those is comforting Ion. He reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder.*

I...I'm sorry.

[fragileprophet]

[And suddenly Ion can't hold it back anymore. He tries desperately, his hands moving from his eyes to cover his mouth as the sobs start pouring out amidst the still-fresh memories of hate and sorrow and disgust both at himself and the world around him.

It hurts so badly, and it never seems to stop anymore.]

No, I am. [If Enoch hadn't reached out to him, Ion would have fallen, his arms no longer holding him up against the terminal and his legs shaking so heavily beneath him.] It's all my fault. If I hadn't gone looking, Ruana would still have a heart. But now...n-now...

[He's so distressed he can barely even articulate.]

I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

[warriorscribe]

*As he starts to shake, Enoch reaches out with his other hand to hold him up in earnest.*

You couldn't-... She made you. It's not your fault. You had no way of knowing...

*He huffs lightly, frustrated with himself at his inability to find something to say that works.* ...I was looking, too. We both thought she needed help, like the others in her game.