debriefing ♔ in the emptiness there's a solution | just look within yourself for absolution

[nepotism]

♬ locking up the sun- poets of the fall

WHO || Wynn, Buffy, Myri, Finnick, Spike, Gar, Archer, Des, Vi, Rafael, Fred Jr., Dumage, Mark, Rocket, open! [Closed]
WHAT || Andres Mission Debrief & Aftermath
WHERE || Knights HQ, lobby etc.
WHEN || September 18th [forward dated*]
HOW || Actionspam. Single thread, don't worry about maintaining tagging order.

There are plenty of missions that return to the castle a success - most of them, even. The defeated air of the solemn group that returns from their diplomatic mission to Andres Isle to hear the demands of dictator Dimitris Sarandis makes it quite clear that this wasn't one of those.

Starting with Sarandis' actual demands - for all Knights to withdraw from Andres under penalty of death, or for Wynn to offer his own head in return for Thomas' safe return - and ending with the unexpected, disturbing confession from Kat that she intended to stay behind on the island because she had "fallen in love with" the dictator, the events of the island made it very clear that Sarandis was cannily playing his hand to get the Knights where he wanted them.

Fred Jr. shoves open the doors with his unnatural strength, stalking in ahead of the group into the lobby. Whoever's on desk duty isn't going to have to roll a high wisdom check to see that these people are pissed... and distraught... and a myriad of other emotions on the bad end of the scale.

*I am changing the date of the briefing log and Andres log/live session to have taken place in September, to avoid us being in backdated hell forever, and to allow for a September squiring ceremony before apps are closed. Carry on... in the future!

Comments

[nothingsodivine]

[Des's laugh is hollow and bitter.]

Not everyone burns in Hell, Spike. [He rolls his shoulders.] Whatever I am now, I am and will always be a suicide. And we don't get a lot of options in the end. So yeah, I think I got a little bit of perspective on where I'm headed.

[bigbad]

[WELL APPARENTLY SPIKE'S AN EXPERT ON HELL. He probably read Dante's Inferno for funsies.]

Right, so you'll be, uh, turning into a tree?

[nothingsodivine]

[omg spike how are you real. and des has read dante. he just... didn't take every detail in it literally.]

No... That would actually be better.

[bigbad]

Good. I'd have to make fun of you for the rest of your suddenly shorter life if that was what you're scared of. [He still might. You don't know his life.] So what is it exactly you think's gonna happen to you?

[nothingsodivine]

[des hisses and glances around.]

Not the best thing to describe in polite company.

[bigbad]

[Spike rolls his eyes.] What, are you suggesting we go somewhere private? You're not my type.

[nothingsodivine]

[rude. that's his line.]

Look. If it scares me this bad? It's heinous. Think of the worst thing you can imagine and it won't even scratch the surface of it.

[bigbad]

I dunno. I was in Dimitris’ torture dungeon. I can imagine pretty bad.

[nothingsodivine]

It's worse. [He struggles for a second, trying to find a way to explain it.] Drowning in shit worse. Pretty sure that's just the warm-up exercise.

[bigbad]

...sure the shit's not just manure for the tree transformation?

[nothingsodivine]

[Des just stares at him.]

Only about a hundred percent. Death was never easy even when I came back from it, Spike. I know a few things about this.

[bigbad]

You don't know what the future holds, though. And you don't know what'll happen when you die permanently. [Spike turns towards him, looking serious for once.]

Whatever you've seen, however awful it's been... that's the past. If you were still a suicide, your curse'd still be active, right? Maybe it'd be the same. Maybe it'll be different. Hell, maybe you just had some really weird hallucinations and it'll turn out nothing at all happens. You don't know. And you can't do a bloody thing about it in any case, so why fret over it?

[nothingsodivine]

[Des's hardened expression falters for a second and there's a moment where he looks terribly burdened. He sticks his tongue in his cheek, contemplating, and then shrugs and downs the last of his drink, as if banishing everything in his head with the slow burn of his whiskey.]

Point taken. [He pats Spike on the shoulder.] All right. Good talk. I'll catch you at the briefing.

[Yep. He's headed off now.]