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AFTERMATH
AFTERMATH
The memorial itself is a massive glowing crystal, under a positively cavernous ceiling. It's meant to do something but hasn't done it yet. There are many tables around it, covered in food, since it's a common tradition for many. In fact, things have been turned into an impromptu potluck, with far more food than just what's provided at the Pole having been shared.
The room is new, magically created. They've been told Vasilisa, who helped give information to Elle and Loki to save Jack from Baba Yaga, is responsible, having charmed the building to grow something special. It is a place that is not a place, one that will be magically dis-attached from the Pole and moved later.
Security in the Pole needs to stay tight thanks to Kuk's machinations. Right now, Vasilisa has charmed things to only allow the Guardians to go to the workshop side of things. In the future, the memorial will be moved to a more neutral location so visiting myths can go freely without intruding on the Guardians' base.
For now, though, it's at the Pole. Where the myths feel safe. Right now, the Memorial is neutral ground, a no-fight zone even between myths with rivalries. Right now, everyone is united in one purpose: grieving. Somehow, many have been called here to do it, whether through magical messengers, enchanted objects, summoning rituals, or simple word of mouth. The myths have ensured that everyone who was wondering where family or friends went, if they were taken by Kuk or killed or faded, has gotten their answer if possible.
The records stolen from the facility allowed for that. For the truth to finally be known.
The mourners all mourn different ways, in accordance to their cultures, whether those practices are distinct and disconnected from mortal life, like those of the Fae, or borne of the human culture a myth evolved from. There are grave goods and flowers. There is a fire for sacrifices of paper facsimiles of items meant to be provided in the afterlife. There are some mourners playing music and dancing. Other mourners are dressed in black, sing dirges, beat at their breasts, and pull at their hair.
They are given a space to do all these things around each other and leave the others to their own ways.
Meanwhile, those with less specific forms of grieving try to comfort each other. Two unicorns nuzzle each other as they whinny and cry rainbow tears. A brownie child clings to her father who holds her tight as tears stream down their faces. Others check in with each other, hug old friends or distant family, place arms around shoulder, incline heads in sympathy.
"- so sorry about Pixabelle -"
"- please accept my condolences -"
"- world hasn't been the same without the rainbows she made -"
"- wish you didn't have to know what I feel in losing a child -"
Jack hangs back from most of it, leaning against a wall, hunched against his staff, struggling to even make himself stay there. It's hard because he absolutely is getting a bit of a bombardment of other myths, but as far as bombardments go, it at least could be worse. It is myths from the facility, thanking him for rescue, and asking him to pass around more thanks to the other Guardians. Others thanking the Guardians for returning loved ones. And yet others, thanking the Guardians for at least making it so they had to stop wondering and could finally grieve.
"- thank you for making it so I finally knew what -"
"- came when we needed you -"
"- brought Marigold back to us -"
They at least say the right things, although it's clearly hard for him to hear some of what the others are saying about their hurt.
Frosty the Snowman is talking to some pixies near Jack. His magic top hat has magically turned into a long ski cap, since he mostly hits the pow-pow in the off-season outside of Christmas.
"Sorry guys. I see Biggie. I'm gonna go over, okay? He took, uh, he took the news about A.S. hard."
Jack winces. These are people he knows, the unsaved and the people that are devastated.
Frosty sloshes off. Jack looks like he's trying to muster the strength to start whatever it is that needs to be said...but he doesn't have to. Two women appear, from the floor. One bursts up in an explosion of stone and seems made of stone herself, her skin a dark red clay, her body crisscrossing lines of granite and sandstone. Her brown-red face is smeared with chalk. Her face is angular, with a strong profile.
The other springs up from vines that crack through the ground. She looks younger, her face softer. She is entirely green, her body made of vines, clothed in mosses, her hair scattered with flowers.
Everyone in mourning quiets. Many bow, curtsy, or incline their heads. The women don't introduce themselves. No myths ask them to.
"I wish we were all gathered for a better purpose," says Mother Nature, her vine hair writhing as it eternally grows. "It would normally do my heart glad to see so many of our kind that still walk the Earth, gathering in peace." She looks to Mother Earth. "My mother feels the same. But we are all here for something far more painful."
"An injustice that will not remain unanswered," says Mother Earth more sharply. "I have been assured by Jack Frost that if this 'Project Prometheus' continues to be a threat, it will be pursued. It is the will of the pursuers what they do with those they capture." A look makes it clear that she's perhaps judging that choice but also finds it fair for them to make it if they're the ones doing the work. "But we have been it will be pursued until the organization's eventual end."
Her voice softening, Mother Earth says, "For these efforts against such a vile group, we thank the Guardians. And we thank them for bringing us what we did not have: our loved ones or knowledge of what happened to them."
"And now we should attend to what must be attended to," says Mother Nature, "and do something we never should've had to do, at least at this scale, and especially for the reason we must."
The Mothers both raise their hands. The moon appears through a small hole in the ceiling below and shines down on the crystal. Between the three of them, it springs to life, projecting a massive moving illusion of many different myths. Over a hundred were killed in the facility over the years, either in front of the eyes of those freed from it, or found in their records.
Magical writing appears as an illusion of a myth flies into prominence. Even those who can't normally read will somehow have the knowledge of what the letters say passed into their minds. Even those who don't know each myth will read along.
"Now for the reading of the names." Mother Nature's tears start to drip down her face, as she looks at the illusion faces of many she's lived long enough to know. Where the tears hit the ground, plants spring up. "I wish it were not so, but this will be a longer ritual than any of our kinds have ever done."
Many of the myths hold hands or hold each other. Others throw themselves to the ground and weep, especially those listening to the names of the nymphs read off. A whole sisterhood is gone, but they left beloved friends and relatives in other sisterhoods behind. (When her illusion form comes up, Jack himself can't say her name, he can only whisper the name "Aesyle.")
Biggie (aka Bigfoot) held tightly by his bestie, Frosty, breaks down at "Abominable Snowman."
"You're my boy, AS!" he sobs out to his lost buddy, the one that rounded our their duo to a trio. "You're my boy!"
And through it all, the little Elves gather around, and in their infinite sweetness, they offer a soundtrack to the reading, something solemn enough to match the mood, bright enough to also be in celebration of those lost. They slowly move their heads forward and back, rhythmically jingling the bells on their little hats.
When it's over, when the far-too-long list has been read, the illusion over the crystal disappears. In its eventual final resting place, chosen and warded by the the Mothers, it will allow people to view all the lost myths or just specific ones.
The Mothers don't stay beyond the reading, disappearing into the Earth once more.
Their work is arduous and eternal. They must stoke the furnace of the Earth's core and move the tectonic plates, they must make the green things grow and maintain the brutal cycles of nature. And yet try to walk the balance of not allowing it to come to destruction: there are also fault lines to try to soothe into quiet, and storms to temper. The Earth is its own system that they simply try to maintain. They are its embodiments but not its makers. It has forces they must try to wrest in their place, created in its making. Equilibrium is difficult, now more than ever.
But others myths mill around, talking. Slowly winding down and leaving.
Jack himself walks off towards the workshop side of the Pole for a breather.
There are a lot of facility employees that are being burned right now. Cut off, forced to deal with the consequences of appearing in secure facilities they don't have security access to. Their lives will be difficult but they'll still have them, they just will never have a place at Prometheus again. It's more expedient that way.
Others, those who evacuated unseen, or managed to talk their way out of more serious scrutiny when shoved through a portal somewhere secure, are waiting to be debriefed. Word is some people might even still keep their jobs. And their lives. But to be fair, there is a lot of word going around at the moment so who knows?
There are so many of them they're piled in an empty vehicle hangar at another PP base, seated in groups on the floor. Two analysts are pressed against the wall, away from all the others so they can speak unheard.
"I'm telling you -" hisses Jerry Garrigan to his friend. They're both keeping their voices down so this doesn't get to management.
"I don't believe you," whispers his friend Seth Hartley.
They're analysts. Jerry cannot help but analyze the situation. Seth cannot help but analyze how insane his work bestie sounds.
"I'm. Telling. You. Vikash says Smithson got saved by a Spider-Man. Not...the. Just a. But still. Now maybe they're just tulpas but -"
"It was probably just - I don't know. There was probably something in it for them."
"Okay, but there was the guy on a horse, the giant wolf that didn't actually do more than bruise people despite being a giant wolf, the bug chick and the other striped wolf... Plus, the guy on the intercom apparently wasn't lying about people not being harmed if they surrendered. Most of them got chucked through portals and arrested for trespass but they weren't hurt." He adds, "And you said the little cat kid let you go."
"Yeah, after shooting how many of our guys from security??" Seth points out.
"But he still let you go. Because the weird, nebbish, English gentleman -"
"'Foppish.' I said 'foppish.'"
"- convinced him to. One of the security guys in Omega Squad said Spider-Man also chucked the cat kid away from them through a portal. Saved their lives."
"Look, there's a lot that went down, a lot of reasons they could be manipulating us, things that might have done more to benefit each other, and a bunch of them still killed people. I heard Hellboy helped kill at least one security team when he could've just run and he's supposed to be a good guy."
A raised eyebrow. "First name basis instead of prisoner number, huh?"
It's new for Seth.
"...I make no apologies, they were very good movies and I was a fan. Del Toro is a visionary and so is Mignola. It doesn't change anything."
"Hard to be a hero if a bunch of people shove you in a cage. And you know the security guys on that cellblock? Completely unprofessional."
"With talk like this, I should report you to HR," says Seth.
Garrigan raises both eyebrows, half in concern, half in challenge.
"...I'm not going to," Seth acknowledges, "Beth would kill me, especially since Pam's her best friend. But I should."
"I just think we need to maybe...think about some things. Maybe investigate further? The whole fictional character angle is new. Tulpas have never been like this before."
They're both quiet for a while, Seth sitting against the wall with his arms crossed.
Finally, Seth says, "Smithson really said he was saved by Spider-Man?"
"A Spider-Man." A pause. "I didn't know there was more than one, maybe I'm too old."
"There are a bunch of them now. It's, like, a new thing. My kid loves those movies."
"Someone said they saw Superman, too," adds Garrigan.
Seth rapidly turns his head, skeptical. "No way."
"Big Blue Boy Scout's honor."
Seth sits for a long time, very quiet, and then shakes his head, slightly distraught that doubt is now creeping in, and says, "Son of a bitch."
The pictures are spread out across a table, printed out. (The Director liked physical copies of things.) Devastation. The building destroyed by ice. The empty pit after.
Two other analysts are analyzing.
"It was a nightmare blocking off the public and keeping the news away from the truth. We had to use class 10 hypnotropics, work our connections with the police to keep the air space clear."
"What's the cover?"
"Gas main explosion. Fortunately, no one saw the ice. It crushed the inside of the fake building front top-level but didn't breach much of the external walls. And it collapsed quickly enough."
"Did anything survive? Anything?"
"So far, nothing but remnants. The ice pulverized every inch of the facility, broke every wall and internal support. There's now way to properly recover the bodies of personnel, computer harddrives, or lab samples. We'd have to sift it through a sieve."
"We'll have to push Frost up the most wanted list, I think."
"He's already in the top ten."
"Still, we haven't seen any other proof of the major players recently, for unknown reasons. And children have been claiming it was Frost and some others that brought the presents this year. Some have seen him leave the tooth money." The analyst slaps down a few blurry pictures of some of the displaced myths. Most of the footage was erased or damaged due to the team's efforts but not all. "And he appears to have help. More help than we ever imagined. We knew some of the more powerful myths, especially the Big Six, worked in cooperation but this was unprecedented. The staff debriefs coming in so far..."
"We should ask around and then update the Unofficial Top Asshole List, too. And get it over to the Head of Security Forces. They love when they get new chewtoys. Makes them even stop eating crayons for a while. And they're pissed their guys got hit so hard."
"...that, too. That fucker over the intercom was obnoxious."
"Let's get this batch of reports up to the Director. And the most recent casualty list. Hostile myths really tore into personnel, not just Security. I can tell he's close to flipping his shit from the last casualty report and it's worse now."
The two analysts gather up their reports and head towards the Director's office.
"How can you even tell? He always seems cool as ice."
"You know how he wanted to quit smoking? Saw him puffing like a chimney last time I went up there."
Note: This is meant to cap off the plot with consequences of the actions people took within it. The group has made an impression on both the leadership and the rank and file Project Prometheus employees that will have future consequences.
Interaction: For the part that takes place in the Pole, you can choose to interact in any way you please. If you want to put up an open post to talk to others in the aftermath, during and after the ceremony you may. Or you can post an open locked to someone, or even noted as completely closed to comments if you want to just establish the way your character would pay their respects or contemplate the memorial.
NPCING: The only npcing will be in the open post I'm putting up for Jack, since some characters wanted post-plot interaction.
no subject
[The uniform may not be identical to more familiar ones on capital ships, and is definitely updated compared to some of the more classic uniforms of famous ships past but it's still definitely got some familiar lines.]
[The rank pip and Delta are even more distinctive.]
[Recognizing him from the earlier chaos, Boimler nods.]
Ensign Brad Boimler, of the USS Cerritos. You can just call me Boimler.
[He holds out a hand to shake, the one without implants.]
You're one of the people we brought in, right? Have you been settling in okay?
no subject
Too weird in a rare and non-gory sort of way, too weird. Remembering that crush he had on Col. Kira from Deep Space Nine, too weird.
Look at this guy... the whole aesthetic. That's so badass. ]
This is... so not a good time for me to be losing my mind. I mean, there's no "good time" to be wandering around crazytown. Like, ever. I shouldn't even have to say it. You know?
[ He gestures to the room at large with his non-gun-holding hand. ]
But magic is real, there's nobody else checking this perimeter, and I'm talking to a guy from Starfleet. [ ... hm. ] Right? Starfleet?
no subject
[He winces sympathetically, because he knows it's A Lot.]
[He thinks about what he should do here, thinks back to some of his training. The command track has a lot of training about communication, working with civilians, handling traumatized refugees.]
[In the past, he was pretty bad at some of the social aspects. Anxious, slightly self-involved, un-assertive. But he's had more hands-on practice at home, and interacting with such a wide group of people here has helped. Having to comfort scared kids has helped, too.]
[Safety aspects first.]
Okay, first of all, the perimeter's covered. The room's being circled by the Guardians - all the people who are based out of the Pole who were in charge of the rescue. They just blend because it's not like all of us are in uniform [he's one of few exceptions] and we have a lot of defenses here - not everything is openly advertised or visible.
You can take a deep breath. We know about the people who kidnapped everyone now. We came the second we found out, and we aren't going to let anyone get attacked again - especially not at a time like this.
And we're already talking about ways to help the myths defend themselves and be able to escape or call for help in the future, now that we know the threat is there. We absolutely plan on getting any new people fully in the loop - including in on that, more than anything we've explained so far.
We just really needed to take care of the injured and grieving first, and had to sort through a lot of the data we stole to find out the casualties to tell these people about their loved one.
[Unfortunately, Glenn showed up mid-crisis, neck deep in said crisis.]
[And he cringes again.]
And yeeeah, I'm from Starfleet. [Time to help the guy adjust.] You're really not crazy, I swear.
Has anyone explained the weird "We're real in our worlds, but writers wrote us as fiction in this one" many-worlds theory...thing yet? [His eyebrows furrow.] I actually don't even know how much you've been told in general. Jack's usually the one who...
[He casts a glance over to the deeply dejected myth.]
He's from this world and usually explains everything, but he, uh, he lost someone in that place.
[He looks back to Glenn.]
Do you want to go somewhere quiet so you can ask questions and I can fill in any gaps?
[Maybe it'd help this guy stop pacing around cagily.]
no subject
As much as that's worth when this is probably somehow some-- mental break that's leaving Maggie to deal with everything without him. Or it's reality and it's still leaving her behind. Leaving everyone behind. Not that they can't handle basically everything without him. He just doesn't want them to have to.
Everything happens so damn much and it makes so little sense. Getting any kind of official rundown for better or worse would be a great next step.
Glenn looks toward Jack himself. Back out over the people gathered here, all the groups of mourners, before fixing Boimler with what could politely be described as very intense eye contact. Not suspicious as much as assessing, a little bit challenging. ]
Can you swear to me it's safe here right now? Safe enough for them to get-- get all the time they need for this?
[ To say goodbye in whatever's the right way for them. To sit with each other, sit with their grief; to not have to set it aside until after they clear the next hurdle in line.
Can these-- myths, people, whatever, get that much? Guaranteed? Without needing a random guy pacing around cagily to help secure it? ]
no subject
You recognized my uniform, right? So you know what this represents?
[He points to his delta.]
I swear on this.
[He trusts the team and Jack's taste in allies enough to feel it's genuinely covered.]
no subject
The sincerity is the seller more than the words themselves, surprising no one. Even if a place is on so-so standing, the people in it are always a case by case thing. He guesses that's true in any place, really. Even before the world went downhill.
If he puts aside how crazy most of this is, he can still manage person-to-person brass tacks. ]
Okay. Let's talk.
no subject
Are you hungry? We don't need to eat as myths but it's still comforting anyway. This might be easier to take in on a full stomach.
[A pause.]
Also, I can't believe these words are coming out of my mouth, but if you need a drink, my best friend and I found Santa's stash. Big fan of Stoli and Żubrówka apparently.
no subject
I gotta draw the line at stealing booze from Santa right now. [ If Maggie were here........ maybe. ] But, uh. Food. Yeah. Food would be good. Man cannot live by stolen cheetos alone.
[ That butchered bible ref is for you, Hershel. Peace and love.
Glenn's not sure what exactly their setup is, but just judging from the stuff set out at the memorial, this place at least isn't hurting for resources. ]
no subject
I have no idea what Cheetos are? But the food here's amazing so we can definitely get you a real meal.
[They're not far from the kitchens and when they go inside it's a little unreal. The kitchens are huge, with lots of different rooms and alcoves with yet more stoves, hearths, iceboxes, and storage room. And the whimsy is a bit overwhelming. There's fire in every hearth, garlands of fresh pine and beads on some of the walls, red and green candles, and table and counter centerpieces made of holly.]
[Kitchens like this only exist in old-timey Christmas movies, like versions of the Nutcracker.]
[And even more importantly, there is food out everywhere. Plates of fresh-based cookies of various types. Bowls of candy. Sliced fruit. Pies with intricately designed crusts, sweet or savory. Crusty bread and cheese. Whole hunks of cooked meats kept close to the hearths to keep them warm, so people can slice off some ham or roast beef. Pots of hot soup, warmed from something glowing slightly at the bottom of each pot. Bowls of roasted veggies. ]
[Some of the food seems to trend Russian, like the borscht, shchi, and pirozhkis. The yetis are still used to cooking for North. But they've also adapted to the group, habitually making a few favorites. Much of the food is suitable for an Asgardian style feast, with a certain god's favorite chocolates. There are white chocolate and cranberry cookies for the Bats. Beef bourguignon for Superman. And on it goes, for the whole team.]
[Though Glenn may want to stay away from the more... unusual treats. Like Puss in Boots' cat treats, in a little bowl next to a glass of milk, the crunchy moss left out for Branch, or the mealworm larvae for Nog.]
The yetis always make sure to leave out food for us - which is a good thing because the most cooking I ever do is telling a replicator what I want.
The Elves will eat anything the rest of us don't.
[Nothing goes to waste, at least, especially since the food tends to stay magically preserved. A lot of the Guardians eat out of habit or for pleasure, the yetis need to eat too, and the Elves are hungry little guys.]
[But there is no need to scavenge, ration, or tighten belts. No one needs to eat and yet no one wants for anything.]
Oh, and there's even more in the iceboxes. [Which are basically refrigerators.] And in the pantries.
[He throws open a door to a large walk-in pantry that has even more food. All kinds of branded snack foods, cereals, chips, and cookies, from all around the world.]
Just be careful about some of the dishes you don't recognize. Not everyone here is human and the yetis make some dishes for them that aren't always friendly to a human palate.
no subject
Even if the world hadn't gone sideways, this would be more food than he's ever seen at once in his life. It's wild. This is so much.
This could last his group-- he doesn't even know how long. If they were careful, if they put every fridge and freezer and deep freezer in town into overdrive? Probably even if they weren't careful. Invite them in for dinner, they'd make it a hell of a night, it would make their year. ]
I'm gonna... [ ??? Vague gesture? Gonna sit, is what he means, judging by the fact that he drops into a seat at the nearest table.
There's a bowl in front of him. He's pretty sure what's in it is just. No-frills, blue box, make in 10 minutes and eat from the pot because you just got off work and still haven't washed the dishes, mac and cheese.
Maybe it's weird that that's what hits the hardest when there's all this home-cooked soup and bread and meat and desserts and stuff. He should be excited. Get while the getting's good, like he would with a hot shower after being out on a run for a few days.
But man, it really does hit different when none of his people are here to get excited with. Where the hell does this place get off?
There's a non-zero chance that Glenn is actively starting to have a little cry about the mac and cheese. ]
no subject
[Some people escaped worlds like Turkana IV and were overwhelmed by what they found in the universe outside. Or went through terrible ordeals like the starvation and eugenics incident on Tarsus IV. And he's heard people talk about how some Bajorans were immediately post-Occupation, especially when it came to food.]
[He's not always the best at emotional stuff but he tries his best. He doesn't assure him that he's safe - that might feel fake. He doesn't ask questions either.]
Mac n' cheese. Definitely a comfort food worth needing a moment over sometimes.
[He hands him a few napkins.]
Take your time, okay? I know the facility was a lot, and so is this place, and that's not counting anything you might have had going on at home.
[He's not going anywhere. Glenn can take as much time as he needs and still get his explanations after.]
[He turns away to go pick at the food, but it's more to give Glenn space than anything, so he doesn't feel under a microscope as he does whatever he needs to do emotionally.]
no subject
That's usually a good sign. There's a strong case to be made for giving these people the benefit of the doubt, at least. Gotta count for something.
He'll do the math when it's easier to think. After he gets some actual sleep for the first time in... however long he's been here already.
It's not a brand new luxury to get a chance to stop, pull himself together. Glenn isn't taking it for granted, though. He's grateful to get it, to take a couple of minutes holding onto those napkins like he's completely lost the plot.
Some of the problem, he thinks, is that any other time he's been separated from Maggie and the others, he's at least had an idea where to start on getting back. A sense of direction about it. All this is just... so beyond his paygrade.
He sniffs one last time to test his equilibrium. Okay. He can also cry more later. ]
All that time I spent playing video games and life still gets too weird.
[ It's like, what was even the point. ]
no subject
[It's a very Star Trek response.]
I know what you mean. You'd think the Holodeck would've prepared me for this - you can find just about any program, fiction in just about any genre, and yet...
My universe even has regular contact with another universe, where everyone has evil, usually scantily clad duplicates and sometimes evil little beards, and this is still weird, even for me.
There are some people here that have apparently gotten yanked around a few dimensions but for the rest of us this is new. Things on this scale are new. Being in some...fantasy world is new.
You're at least not alone in being thrown off.
no subject
And it's even weird being here for the Star Trek guy.
If Glenn is, in fact, somehow sane and living a reality right now, that kinda helps to know? Yeah. He thinks that helps to know. Universally weird is better than being weird to just one dude. He can breathe a little easier. ]
So what's, what's our, uh. Situation. Here.
no subject
Hence you seeming to recognize this. [He points to his delta.] You're not the only one; apparently writers in a few worlds have thought up Starfleet. I've met other people here that have recognized the uniform.
[He rolls a hand.]
Because there's infinite possibility, there are worlds where real things are written as fiction and the writers have no clue the story they're writing is real in another dimension. It's completely random coincidence.
That's the case in this world.
The reason that's a big deal is that there's some kind of...giant cosmic monster trying to break into reality and destroy everything. And the dimensional fabric is so damaged that people can slip in through the cracks and fall right through dimensions.
Belief, especially the belief of kids and teens, is more powerful in this world too - weird metaphysics - so the running theory is that it's helping drag us in here. The kids are taking in the fiction that coincidentally matches our lives and since they want us here, protecting them, we get pulled through.
no subject
He takes it back. Video games were actually a huge help preparing for this. Like okay, magic, fantasy, threat to reality, fictional characters? What kind of fucked-up person would make up a world like the one he lives in?
(He's definitely lost it. But he doesn't know how to un-lose it so he guesses he'll live with it and hope he's just in a coma, not wandering around hurting people.)
Glenn mostly just absorbs the information Boimler is giving him. It's a lot to take in, god knows it's gotta be a lot to dish out. Easier not to interrupt. His thoughts do catch on something, though, and it's the first thing he brings up when he pulls his words together. ]
If reality's so damaged that we're getting pulled through... does that mean there's a chance of this-- [ whatever it's called, uh. ] This thing breaking out the way we came in?