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DUST TO DUST ❅ EVENT
It will take them time to discern the cause. After all, all the artifacts brought back from the fight with Project Prometheus were deemed safe or at least contained, only able to have their dangerous power unleashed if people were dumb enough to try it.
The altheiometer is not the real thing. It was created by the belief of a child, after reading a certain book series, and therefore is more of a symbolic object, with none of the real capabilities of the device in fiction. Instead, it had other magical abilities. It was not entirely understood by the Project itself, just kept there to be studied and eventually co-opted for sinister use if possible. But it had remained inert in their company.
At the Pole, it passes the magical scan, since it technically is "safe," then finally activates. It works on a child's logic, after all. A child would think daemons are cool but wouldn't think bad people deserved them. A child would think the device should only activate to let good guys have daemons.
In the study containing the safer artifacts, the altheiometer opens of its own accord. Gears turn. The hands start clicking as they move in circles around its clock-like face, rotating back and forth between different symbols. The hands finally stop, clicking as they meet in the same spot, on the symbol of an apple, with a bite taken out of it.
It's all very metaphorical isn't it. The soul can't exist without free will. In some worlds they think free will only exists because of an apple in a garden.
There is a burst of light and sound that reverberates through the Pole. As the floor shakes, everyone sees a brief glimpse of the wave as it passes through walls - and then passes through each of them. Getting hit by it is like getting hit by a storm wave in the ocean, briefly lifting everyone off their feet.
Alongside the sensation of being briefly levitated, there is also the painful sensation of suddenly being aware of something deep inside, briefly made to feel almost like a splinter in their very core.
Then, with all the subtlety of getting attacked with a giant hole punch, the splinter is removed, excised. It does hurt, but there is also a strange relief. Except...whatever it was, it's still here. Next to each of the Guardians. Still attached, just...an externality now.
The wave crashes to the shore. They're all knocked to the floor again.
If they were alone in a room, they aren't now. If they weren't alone in a room, said room's occupants have now doubled.
Each PC now temporarily has a daemon. Daemons are the soul externalized, sentient and able to talk. Taking the form of animals, they often shapeshift and change forms during someone's childhood, but settle into a permanent shape during someone's teen years as the person's personality becomes more concrete and distinct.
- Form: A daemon takes an animal form that represents the person's personality. They usually have a gender opposite to their respective person's, but there are sometimes exceptions, sometimes for entirely unknown reasons, or if the person is some flavor of queer. Daemons will know that they're their owner's soul and be able to tell them that.
- Daemon Selection: Here is a page with interpretations of a few animals and what types of personalities they can represent, but please don't take it as law. It's just possible inspiration. The daemons can be any animal. For characters not from Earth, their daemons can be animals that are entirely made up or ones in their canons.
- Link: Daemons are connected metaphysically to their person through an invisible link, allowing that person to still be attached to their soul. Moving too far from your daemon can cause physical and spiritual agony. Suddenly being ripped apart by a great distance can kill someone. Killing a daemon - which is only as hardy as the animal they are - also kills their owner.
- Personalities: Daemon personalities are often similar to their owner's, but sometimes daemons are more willing to be honest about feelings or subconscious impulses. For instance, daemons often instinctually show affection to the daemons of people their owner is fond of. Daemons will remember everything their owner remembers, and was basically there the whole time they were alive, just integrated. Despite being externalized, they aren't something separate from each person, they were always a part of them.
- Physical Contact: People can touch their own daemons without effects and cuddling their daemon can be a positive experience of self-love. Someone hurting their own daemon can feel like they've caused the damage to themselves, and hurts on a spiritual or almost self-hating level. Meanwhile, picking up someone else's daemon without permission can cause incredible discomfort and pain. Alternately, touching someone's daemon with permission can cause comfort, a surge of happiness, or even pleasure, depending on the context of the contact and the relationship the two people have.
❅ Event Length: The plot will last an OOC and IC 2 weeks before they can figure out what's causing the change and reverse it, making the daemons internal again. During this time, allies of the Guardians will temporarily take over their duties and fortunately no major crises will happen. Players can set their own opens during this time as well as play out anything that happens over the whole 2 weeks in this post.
❅ New Characters: If your character is introing at this time, assume they arrived just in time for the magical wave to hit them, or walked into a cloud of its residual energy.
❅ Opt-out: Anyone that doesn't want to play in the plot or have a daemon can handwave Vasilisa's magical defenses caught on to the power surge and her glowing charms protected at least some people in the Pole from the transformation. You can ignore this and thread as if there's just a little extra chaos around the Pole.
❅ Jack Frost: There will also be a network post with Jack explaining what Vasilisa has magically discerned has happened. It will take time to find the source, as the altheiometer is very good at cloaking its readings and registered as "safe." (Technically, it is safe, it's just...inconvenient.)
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He pulls up near the shoreline and starts setting up his fluffy beach towel station on this premium real estate. ]
Every creative individual has their own process. Their own strengths and weaknesses. I think he did very well for himself.
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[Said with the vibe that the reasoning behind this thought process should be obvious, but also in the way where it's clear he is not going to be explaining himself.
Crowley miracles himself a black beach towel, drops down onto it with little ceremony, and then, just to be ridiculous, also summons up a ridiculously oversized wide-brimmed hat. It's comical, how large it is.
He is not going to discuss it.]
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He has no idea why Crowley said that with that tone like it's some very obvious conclusion, of course. So he'll need to percolate on that for four to six business days before he finally gets into enough of a snit about it to ask. That's just enrichment in Aziraphale's enclosure, though.
In any case, the hat choice (which earns at least two doubletakes) is more than enough to merit his active attention. Bitch... what. ]
You're going to strain your corporation's neck with that.
[ If Crowley's becoming a vampire, he has legal and moral obligations to tell Aziraphale immediately so that Aziraphale can capitalize on it. ]
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[Slut-shaming (affectionate) is something that can be so personal now that they're actually allowed to talk about their sex lives without it getting incredibly awkward. Not that he's jealous or anything. He's just chilling in his oversized hat.]
With what?
[The hat does not exist. He's committing to this bit and not even God could stop him.]
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[ Like, come on. He's got standards. He loved stage magic long before he slept with some magicians. He found footing in the queer community well before he took up at the Hundred Guineas Club. He-- alright, he didn't like French all that much before he took those night classes. Or at all, really. It was more that he was interested in learning it the human way as a concept and then maybe sleeping with his instructor was much more interesting in the practice.
Still, though.
He waves a hand towards the stupidest hat in the world with a flat expression. Partly for emphasis: with what indeed, oh isn't Crowley so funny and not insufferable at all, etc. But also partly for the purpose of putting very tacky artificial sunflowers around the brim. ]
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[The teasing hasn't gone anywhere, but there's a familiar sort of fondness to his tone, too. Aziraphale has loved literature and stories for a very long time, and while Crowley doesn't know the exact time he figured out that sex was fun, he doubts it was that long ago.]
I can tell you just did a miracle, angel. What have you done, turned it pink?
[This is obviously a joke because the brim is more than wide enough that he can look up and see it's still black.]
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And Crowley loves him for it... insane.
Aziraphale tries to look Extremely Innocent. Who him??? Miracle? He's never done a miracle in his life actually. What could be more proof of concept than his very innocent not-pleased-with-himself shift of the shoulders? ]
Turned what pink? We packed light. There's hardly anything to turn any color at all.
[ He should have turned it pink. That can stay in the back pocket for another time. Right now he'll just commit to Crowley's bit. ]
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My glasses, obviously, since you were so keen on the flamingos.
[If Aziraphale is now willing to commit to the bit, Crowley is going to run with it.]
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[ He does his best impression of one of those facetious "you poor dear" pouts that Crowley loves to aim at him when he's fussing about small things. ]
Darling, you have my solemn word that I'll never interfere with your glasses. [ ... well. ] In a public space. [ ........... WELL. ] Without permission.
[ Which this technically sort of would be. What if someone landed a parachute here after he messed with Crowley's Look™️. Caught vulnerable and unawares??? Unwilling? Perish the thought.
The bedroom is a different matter.
He can't believe he's getting away with this incredible prank. ]
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Those were an awful lot of addendums.
[Further commitment to the bit involves changing his glasses which really only serves to make him look like Widow Who Just Killed Her Husband Barbie.]
Nothing wrong with a little pink, I suppose.
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He does love the lighter lenses as a means to see Crowley's eyes, though. ]
What are two addendums in the grand scheme of things when you know them both well beforehand? Negligible, I think. [ So negligible. So communicated.
He takes his unofficial softdom position very seriously. ] You do flatter a bit of pink, though.
[ Pink should be grateful as a color to be chosen. ]
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[The... relationship?
Don't worry about it, he's just talking nonsense for the sake of talking nonsense. A familiar tune.]
Or does a bit of pink flatter me? [He takes the glasses off so he can inspect them, as if that might reveal the answer to the question.] Never figured it did, really, clashes with the hair.
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Everything flatters you. I'm sure it's all to do with the shade. [ Which. Hmmm. ] So probably not flamingo pink, in hindsight.
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That hair style I had in Rome did not flatter me, angel. [He's willing to accept that Aziraphale finds him attractive, but there has to be limits. That hair was awful.] Flamingo pink certainly wouldn't have worked.
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Your hair in Rome was-- [ Can't say flattering because it's an abject lie. Crowley's entire look in Rome was a sight to behold. Very sore thumb of him.
But what compliment remains? The hesitation has already lasted long enough to make it clear he's not looking to say "flattering and very handsome." ]
Well. It fit the time. Very precisely sculpted.
[ Not nearly as so-so as the 1793 Crowley hair, even. Not that Aziraphale has a tier list. ]
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He can see Aziraphale doing the mental math on trying to come up with a neutral thing to say and precisely sculpted isn't what he was going to guess, but it is, as expected, amazing.
Crowley laughs hard enough that he has to hold onto the hat lest it fall off.]
And here I was, hoping you were going to be a bitch about it.
[(affectionate)
He loves when Aziraphale is a bitch about things.]
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Meanwhile Timothy is probably glowing with obnoxious "made bae laugh" pride. ]
If you want a dancing monkey, you ought to get out the accordion and play for it.
[ Gottem. ]
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Unfortunately, he doesn't know how to play it, so he's sort of just holding it awkwardly and trying to puzzle out the mechanics as he continues to laugh.]
Might have to wait a minute or two for me to figure this out.
[This is what happens when he's happy and in love: he gets stupid.]
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[ Aziraphale loves him so much. It's despicable. Just look at this demon, he's beautiful and charming and annoying and has never done anything wrong ever. Aziraphale's never wanted to kiss someone so bad in his whole life. ]
And yet the flamingos were where you drew the line.
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As it turns out, this does not translate to playing the accordion, despite their shared quality of having keys. This poor instrument is being awkwardly murdered.]
The flamingoes were atrocious, this is just a bit of fun, if I can make it work.
[He cannot make it work.]
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[ Because damn it sure is not... being made to work. His love. His beloved. Please. ]
Pass it to me when you've finished. I think I still remember how to turn out "God Save The Queen."
[ One serenade deserves another of equal quality. ]
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Oh, you're talking about the anthem, aren't you?
[Not the song by the Sex Pistols.]
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You say that like the answer could possibly be no.
[ There's only one "God Save The Queen." He should know. It's got God in the title and it's about a queen. ]
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[It's easy to sing a couple of lines from a song by the Sex Pistols, since it's not like Johnny Rotten could sing.]
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Crowley is speaking English, he's certain of it. ]
The bloody sex pistols?
[ What the FUCK is a bloody sex pistol. Bebop? Presumably. In this economy? ]
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