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networkinthenight2019-12-01 02:44 pm
inthenightmods) wrote in networkinthenight2019-12-01 02:44 pm
[ѧׄѵٜҒեҡٜהػһ] - WEEҎЯҝLY BUЀLωؗҹTIN - OPױҊ
WEEKLY BULLETIN
[This week, the bulletin opens with a video. It's been shot from a webcam that seems to be perched atop a computer screen, and in front of the screen is Robin, biting her lip as she types frantically. If she meant to start recording herself, she doesn't show it. A timestamp in the corner reads 17 NOV 03:02.
The room behind her is cozy, resembling the control deck of a battleship as redecorated by a teenage girl. That's essentially what it is, after all. The red beam of the lighthouse flares occasionally at the top of the screen.
Robin's harried typing continues for a few moments, uninterrupted, until a shadow slinks up from the staircase behind her. One by one, strings of fairy lights flicker out, the room going dark save for the glow of the screen. Robin finally notices just before the last of the lights die, her hands freezing on the keyboard, but she doesn't dare turn around, not yet.
This video comes with sound, and everyone's device's volume will crank to max volume to really emphasize Robin's shaky breaths as she listens, head tilting to glance over her shoulder at the darkness. The image flickers, crackling with static and distortion, until—]
Kë̥̟̝͇ͦ̈́̋— ee͍͔̺͔̖̕p— er͖̥͓͔̼̤͍—
[Robin whips around, her chair toppling over as she stands, but the video crackles again, and she's flung back against the desk. The computer screen crashes to the floor, taking the camera with it, and the feed stays focused on the floor for a long, long time. Eventually, it fades into static.
When it clicks back on again, the camera has been cocked up just enough to pull the room into view again. The timestamp in the corner reads 28 NOV 14:26.
Robin is slumped against the wall, filthy with blood and sweat, eyes glassy as she stares up at the forest spirit looming over her. The spirit cranes their head toward the camera, their eyes flashing green, and they wave to the viewers in a clumsy, jerking motion. Then, they drop something heavy and metallic in front of Robin, and she jumps at the sudden noise. It's a lantern, long broken and in pieces.
The forest spirit tips forward at the waist, bending down to press their face against Robin's as she whimpers and tries to keep still. They negotiate their forehead against hers, their green eyes flashing until she musters the courage to look up, and then they trill.
There's a scream, and the feed again cuts to static.]
anno҂ؼҘϷments
- I don't kԻӟϔυ what happen؇d. I'ӻԛ sorry. I think tϒйԷy're gone nэӽّw.
- I can't delete thώӾҊ video. I've tried, but they fucked up my computer aՓ׳սϗׅаҚ؞םӆѺs forcing me to post the video file with פӡӆe bulleֺЛԬn. A lot of stuкϗϊԥןټ֫ԓՙֳ٤Ёs broken. I'll nԬгd to fix it.
- ThԨЌґ ЬՉave me a lanшбҿٻӇٷա. I don't know whose מ֙طАϫ is. I need time to fiףУӊחѶЇϑӐٰЉՁׁٓӪ out.
- Use this bҪӸϲetin to regroup and share informatЫׇղԭ with each Ծ֔ther. ҬѮere's no point in keԖ֞я secrets.
- I'֑ҩё OK. Thөy ҁ֥ϘٶЭגӿӧױϐѲӢϥ.
Ԇ٣؏،ӂssifieds
- ѤךٓвҚխԴ־ӔщЅաҺѐϺӴϣҗԲՃԴѡҜӚԎ؋ӫӿоВϜ؎ՇӂىҺЄЪؽՁԫԵӏ٢ӼϘլ֏ҟӼЁׇٰ֫ՄτӅ֪ؑФҭҶؚزӹ؝Сֳ֜ԦؐӫգٶϚѾбϏצغْװ֩ئіϬ؇ϽϚυկؤӥіؓГՁؿأأԽԼҡٷաϤֽӋԟԂїӦѰבӬѦӰիҷϑ֟ӗכֽСнѻّׄҳخرՓԨٖҤϚϰн֙Щҍ՝Ծ֔ٶԫױձҭкؓљӟώӍҭصװٳزؙӱٮՎҊҬջйѫ֊ײؒυظԦְէٯӪմ؝ҬѮ٤֔նѫټՆρ֮كס٧ςГӷֆҪץԁԊպՉϑϣזѻӭ֎БӒٰт؏Ԋ٩ҪӸϲֈҾԁӂѤЂԳך֧ϮէӵءЫׇղԭљֶбҏ٬Ұ֝ՍשזԒӈبدЍ׃ϨІҖЄשѺϺϭы҆ҠԇϘӢѱхԶϻԳضҩДֹԳէ֝ђҮӱӬќѬϿқғϱХϟѥԍظмӕֿӃѥչټփֹҎЯҝץѭѢϤϩԖ֞яخ׳Іيӆ֞ԀՁֿόӚ٦ԎӔүՒ֕ӭل҈ёت֩қҒׯձмӉϘцӕϓ،ٶϯם֠ϞϡўϡѺժϽсϢӡսѶ֪њҺӝٰԃϨٗإϢ֥ҍ؟ԲҧϜٲҎЖ؟ӒҗԹЊӫԗӰֹكϾ֎յِרϦϞׂԢЁ؟ӴРיسմһϡϺӘӃҎЀҎӑЪϲϨը֞צЊ՝խՅ҅тغќԆתςءҶّֈϣԃ֑ٗВҗԺٯ״ؤԭюҧؗـׇ٘ռրתսؿҌӜנՌӟӔز֬Ը٠ЍИ֑Ѡ١ІآԒتҪ٫ҩمѾѳ؇ٖ׳ӑϴҾرҭА֪ӗү֩ԮЍҁҎыҁԛٶдԁѥՎмҷ؆ӖٸҲϦԣَϗԯѤآԤϕ֊ؿг؆ϬҢڀԽϬўύϭӣч؈ՒԖצԨבЂ٦הԿҊтջϥחїپԪֱѱյҽҮٞӀяЮёֳ֒٧ӴҵύԗԯϴԮ٧Հϴբր٥؋ӧ՛קש؋
- ؋ԟϮԌض٤Ҿ֡֟ԦՊיԕИҴрٮֺՄϳ׃סՅа֤ԝװٽعєҠфպيӒ֞ԵՋُ֩ҧԵِѿףԸУҿהӾӈӑגؕٙӫնП՚ٛ٤ةгһѳҌСϦ֍شԱԅѲح؎ѷԨٲدֶؕдЅ֞ٞҠزыјԔҠوԜѺ֛ՄҸתиЪϧӉյгѲԧ֒ڀՂҸЍӳДظѢϬҶԖԞԨҠٗوضՐЂЯҲϷԵҴҖԻ׀ԑҬФ؝҅ҏ؋ґԔصфѬծշ֪֪҅ؔپњҼЙփҩױҊѺρωؗҹ،ٝсКӧؖբϙֲٖٞҁϋؓҧёׅԏ֙ػԂԩԳϣِؤӫ֬тϚЄׁؼӉҹׁսٜѲاԕӱ֮ҘֽҸѠҦѫפӡիمГמՐٱЃ҃եӵыгԘӽҶϹЎֈׯչϑـּ٫մՆӷؕаєثزӬҜϽٺؒϗТѳѤРы֖ؽӶϞѦϻӺոאӕҡٜהػһӹפԷЊӼԯչժӌԋЉٜϷҬپضһלЁӂѮѿѲҲؾѽԤИԠЎеַٛҹشҲ֬ӱ؊ҒծҪцְՅײӰوҕ؝؛ӍدԎԵج֙ԯҀԸحгҳ׆
- Н؉ؙЀٴճֹ׃Ϝتѫيָ׃ֲَѕ֖رպҀԳՖϜϷ՞ؔ֎֞յЈًӟҪيמԃѿ֡Ս٘ϕў؈֬ѧׄѵٜҒեЀЊϓπюֈպմӴքدѧֺϹӠՊՔٔҫЎبؓбئן
- Ѩ֞ظωϾסѷտќЁГպՇӑוϟϑҲӾقֹץեӹֹأϸ٣м؈Տթ՞ϜثاωӘؑюԄյӪҦ҇БԚеֹ҅הԈϕڀزאԾФװԗӿՅϠٲсեЌصэϾЬ֗Իςל֣Ճгӣό҅Ө׳ԏѤщ،ӜՄҲׂ֫ӘٿϬҠذчҜϓҋҬѭϕآЅ؍ؖՓ֖ٵӼքϪӇՖٚϏԊшϘӏ؛גٝךؘנѐҙԙҬֻلҗыՖ։ϨАТؘѸҏЃؚ՛ӅնϑӭԌьӕاն֑լׅҎЈϵгةؿҢҎ֊սϾӷԸ҂ك҅؟ԀЅѶ׃ЎԠъԢόКׇЄ҆٘ϜךثضՔԩո֟џأՑՌלٟ֯ѣբҶԡּ֦թҴϝԓӆӎئџНפҍ֏֤ԫԘ٫ѿՠқ֒ӥӭйٞѓӵԻϢѐχԕҕϋփτёЭӉצרןӗ٢ЉҞՂѭϤ֭ѿپӮփԶԈٳѴӇكքԄ٠ѿٙր֎ҸմٔҖϲПӉֲЏа֗Ԑӥصَ҇ѩѴҳהТҤժؔԝӝҤ҅ղَ֚ӼַՅثس֬رמբԹٔդԹϷسҿԇՎЖՔРٳЄٷАѧӚІՊ։١Ҧҥ҄דϦ֠Մ՞Кԏ֙ثئлמջֽ٫֙ׯپϡѬֲӏԿЦոлֺٚӢٽҥֽ؏ՀңөҴҙӷր٭سՕ֙Қ֙ћٳӍ՟ЧӽقѩתئجψЗլӽ֢҃ؖϼѾҮֱԍԑүїטҋؙٜԯրֲҌѭхРӺ֜ѓٞюϭӼԉױѢ٦ъҲմϳ֘϶ՇԏπٸϿϬДց٦уֱҼ֫ѯծЬҰϡЦӠգҜדْנЛՁгיёҝ֖ٸЙҷ؏ЗҽМٲЬթώԧؾԇҍҬؗٯԩֵ֦ԺئӿӰ֕ԝԷԦϗӰԟ׆շϋҌ؟ثЛւԾوϺғӍѵվԂԱѤѶҚԘٕЗغԺّٞԷҮѓټײ֞ӑ٨ٞЂ֪Ёא֓ՀخԞԊќӳӄώԱח׳ѡՀ҄ذمѳؠҾѹ״ٻϲбԦҾؽٹҦ׀ҸՀϯԪվעՉӸӮցϻҙϜхتӚϨրԈ҉Ӣԛ֧ѷϳҠѮԯ״ҘӗђقטעѾ՜ϿԣϊӇ֍֚֔ϯًЈώ֊ԴԩפЗԖҳٟդϟҌѧԾԕрٟѹҼնӼѩӛЏЛϾֳ֞ДМѽٗσӽӑғӑҏԐϨѠםтӯ،Ͻчի٩הәӨ҄֬ϻԭٙФҦѼђЇضҞѺֻҊϻԸѹҔ֊ՙѮչآםӟӽٳ
- If yԭҹրгϛЍֺԹС to subҼظԘt an advertisement, חոϙӣҞՐ҇ՑԧғτӸВѫ϶se drop them bׂѤ؛טҗӐѝըϠӚكՎϛӫ٫ٚոճحПֹЃРؾϔӽ־Ӎice.
oٌՎطد҆ёװғԟ٢Ӷֶَճؑաӏries
- Jչآם Gordon
- Hermione Gӟӽٳnger
- GriҊϻz Visser
- VaniҔ֊ՙas
- Bucky BѺֻԸѹs
- DaҰϡina Clairӭ
- Nyx UlrФ؝҅
- XayЁh
- There miѧӚt be more. WІՊ։١Ҧe still ԇՎЖՔРٳЄٷАѧӚІՊ։١ bodies.
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no subject
Riku, he calls that human.
There's warmth on the other side of Riku's palm, no longer leeched away by a tough but pliant suit of dark armor. Riku even questions why he'd done it, it's not like he couldn't have chosen a dozen other ways to remind himself that the darkling - that Vanitas - has come back again, to consider what the cost was this time.
He looks.
There are many times when this is a mistake, because looking at Vanitas is jarring, not only for the bright yellow of his eyes and the reminder of Xehanort and all his iterations, but because of them inside what almost looks just like Sora's face.
Looking now, there's none of the harder sentiments, the anger, the malice, to carve telltale differences in their expression. Their wonder looks the same. Riku's palm retreats, fingers curling into his palm as he lowers his hand to his side. There's an opening forming in the lines of his mouth like there's something more to say - maybe an excuse - but as his knuckles go pale his lips purse together into a flat and speechless line.
The tablet is still there in his other hand, he could use it, could try to fumble his way through what he can't articulate out loud, like Kairi and her letters. What stops him is the difficulty of getting as far as putting these thoughts into words, not the risks of showing Vanitas what might be taken for a vulnerability.
He's tired of losing f--
Riku shakes his head. ]
no subject
But Riku lets go, it breaks the spell, whatever it had been, to keep Vanits still. Whatever passed between them, with Riku's hand on his body and the press of his Light right there, right on the other side of his shirt.
Instead, he diverts to the way Riku's mouth opens and then closes. Vanitas, months ago, would have lorded this over Riku. He already did, just seconds ago, needling him about their inequality— so he can't exactly say what it is that makes him move now. If pressed, he might just cite his own frustration. They can't have a conversation when Riku can't speak, but that too is telling. Vanitas, after all, was never all that interested in the listening part of what makes a conversation.
His weight shifts, from one foot to the other. They're already close enough to touch, so Vanitas doesn't have to reach across the space so much as reach up because of their height difference. He's since changed out of the tatters of his armor, so Vanitas' hand is bare when he wraps it around Riku's throat.
They've been here before, too. Only the last time he grabbed Riku like this, he threw him into a wall.
Now, Vanitas frowns with concentration. He's never tried to use Darkness to heal anyone but himself before. The yellow of his eyes come down from Riku's face and look at the shape of his pale fingers against the gauze, his brow furrowing, and he pushes with his magic the same way he's pushed it into himself. It's no Curaga, it's only the utter purple-black of Darkness that flows out of his body and pools into the ruptured muscle of Riku's throat. ]
no subject
Vanitas presses his Darkness into him. Behind the veil of his longer hair, Riku's eyes round.
He just senses something different, there's no bloodlust. Riku could tell himself he allows it out of curiosity, even as something like instinct kicks his heart into a battle rhythm until he hears the rush of his own blood roaring in his ears.
They aren't fighting, so... there's no need for the buzzy sweep of warm adrenaline and he thinks that's because Riku hasn't really had a moment in the last two weeks that wasn't on high alert or just unconscious, so it's almost like his body has to remember what it's like to cool back down.
It's temporary, he knows it from experience, but the billowing dark that pours down into him cleaves all the jagged edges of pain off the whole host of his healing injuries, cuts and bruises and knitted ribs, the cauterized rip a claw put right up by an old scar in his side, the cut across his chest.
Perhaps he's been tired and hurt for too long. The abrupt relief makes his head spin and to steady himself, his palm falls heavily on him - his shoulder, maybe his arm.
His eyelids drop shut and the exhale he makes isn't really a sound but it's a sigh at the relief, the erasure of discomfort and Darkness's temporary euphoria, the way it sloughs off fatigue and makes him feel... impervious. He recognizes that high.
Dark wisps curl around his nape and out of the corners of his mouth, slip up the hollows behind his ears and at the sudden deep itch in his throat, it convulses as he coughs. He thinks it... hurts, but it's blunted beneath that dark power, the itch intensifies and with it, the urge to cough.
His fingers tighten. They might even leave bruises where the tips have dug into wherever they grasp. He tastes copper at the back of his throat, it tastes fresh, there's a burning tickle that makes him think it might actually be mending, slow and reluctant. ]
no subject
Vanitas has so much Darkness in him, it's all he is; an endless pit from his own make up and the constant negativity all around him. The Unversed he creates and are destroyed. The hold on Riku's throat is a full, firm grip. He can feel Riku's pulse under his fingertips on one side, and the way the muscle contracts under his thumb when he swallows and coughs.
Vanitas doesn't let go. When Riku grabs his bicep, he pushes more magic into him, emboldened by his success. Riku's adam's apple bobs against his palm and Vanitas stares into his face, bleeding Darkness into him the way Rosalind had given Vanitas a transfusion the week before. ]
no subject
The reminder doesn't disturb him and Riku now understands why - time puts distance between himself and the origins of his unseen scars, but he's also come to accept the choices, the mistakes he's made and the marks they've left on him. They're part of who he is, and he likes who he's become a lot better than he had a year prior to his death.
His gritted teeth loosen around the need to breathe through an open mouth, hanging on by bicep and by the back of a bare hand, locking it to his own throat. With this much darkness, a weak heart could have turned, it could have crumpled. Riku's been wielding it for years, tempered, not immune to all of it but only in the ways that make him unsuitable as a vessel for Vanitas's old master, he drinks it like a cup that can't be filled.
The light that burns in him isn't stronger for it, the depth of darkness only makes it seem to shine brighter, just as strong light casts dark shadows. His eyes are darker when they open for the way the windows of his pupils have opened, but his gaze is still sharp and alert. ]
Ah. Wait-
[ Riku hisses, his hand covering his side. There was an incident, soon after they parted ways at the feast, Riku and Rosalind needed to escape her lab and both of them came away with grave claw wounds. He had tended her wounds but his own he cauterized in the moment, a hurried Dark Firaga so he wouldn't bleed out in their escape. It hurts all the time, but with one injury healing that dark power has moved down the line, and the itching burn makes him gasp. ]
no subject
Riku is immune to it, they said. Immune to the influence, and so he could no longer be a viable vessel. But there lies the difference— his acceptance of his darkness means he can handle much more of it, without devolving into the senseless creatures so many other beings become. It's like filling up a bottomless well, and just like his confrontations with the likes of Sora and Ventus, Vanitas is struck with the want to devour. His Light shines stronger the more shadow he is wrapped up in. It would be easy for Vanitas to get lost in his most basic instinct to cleave to that light, the tantalizing promise of being whole.
His grip tightens abruptly when Riku flinches, enough that Vanitas can feel his heartbeat on both sides of his throat. Like a shark scenting blood in the water, for just a second it overwhelms him. Darkness floods out of him like a broken dam, smudging Vanitas' edges and surging into Riku— rushing into the healing injury of his throat and racing through his body, reaching for every sliced muscle and overworked tendon, barely healed cuts that haven't had the chance to properly scab over. ]
no subject
It doesn't prepare him for this. That it's Vanitas's, pouring so much of the very fundamental stuff that makes up who and what he is like the tide fills the holes children dig in the beach.
Vanitas grips him tight enough to make him wheeze noisily through the pressure.
What's different isn't just that the Darkness is his or how much of it courses through them; when Riku cauterized his own injury he damaged many of the nerves that, now, are healing, screaming anew around the rip claws had shredded through skin and muscle. Riku almost does, too, but he's ever been skilled at trapping inside things that might threaten to crawl out of his mouth.
If he tried to compare the two - when he pushed a Dark Firaga into his own side or when Vanitas pushed his Darkness through Riku - he finds the two comparable in that they're both overwhelming.
He looks. He has to.
He claws up his tucked shirt and finds the gauze is crumbling off him, black and violet wisping up around new skin turned shiny and pink-red right next to an older, more horrific scar. Riku's breath shudders out of him. ]
no subject
Vanitas lets go— not abruptly, or all at once, but he disconnects with an inhale and a blink. The gauze Riku is looking at at his waist, the stuff crumbling away like dry paper, does the same at his throat into Vanitas' palm. He flattens his grip and wipes his hand against Riku's throat, the remnants brushing away like ash.
The intensity hasn't quite left his eyes. Vanitas' pupils are dilated and his breathing is slightly uneven when he lowers his hand to look at the bare skin first on Riku's throat, and then transfers his gaze to his ribs. ]
no subject
He almost speaks, the sound isn't quite right and it's not really a word, Riku swallows and realizes how dry his mouth feels. His failure to speak seems to prompt the rise of heat to his face, to the tips of his ears, and explains why Riku doesn't look up right away.
It's difficult to explain, he feels a little like he's been caught with something he shouldn't. The Darkness could heal him instead of harm, due, he's sure, to the tolerance he's built up. To his so-called immunity to the Darkness. If he was truly immune, there'd be no effect... no, it's because only its corruption can't touch him, he's a puppet no longer. Riku drops the hem of his shirt, raking the silver out of his eyes as he straightens, they stay closed a moment longer, until he feels less like... like there's anything to be embarrassed about. ]
Huh.
[ His eyes cut over to Vanitas. That worked... ]
Better than Curaga.
no subject
Vanitas' expression does something complicated, a sort of grimace that's almost a confused smile before he tamps down on the sensation vigorously, embarrassed and confused by it. ]
Don't get used to it.
[ His voice is rough, a mirror of Riku's, but without the added excuse of a recently healed injury. Their eyes meet and Vanitas' widen just a fraction before cutting sharply away. ]
I was just annoyed having to read everything you were trying to say to me.
[ He steps away from Riku, skin buzzing, which is odd; he should feel drained, after giving up his Darkness like that, but now he feels like he needs to go running to get all this excess energy out. ]
no subject
No, maybe it was only Riku's imagination. The way he anticipated antagonistic challenges from just the sight of him, reminded of how he had been on the other side in that wasteland peppered with Keyblades from another era.
This time, he thinks he expects to see something more human, a sign of amusement, elation, some glimmer of light in the dark. The problem with striking a balance between these two forces is Riku can be wrong about what he expects, he can guess incorrectly. Sometimes, he doubts himself.
Riku feels light glowing inside him, beneath all the darkness. Warm, bright. It fills up the spaces left feeling depleted and shaky in the wake of Darkness's invigorating touch, it makes him warm to the very tips of his fingers, makes him drowsy and energetic in vacillating cycles.
He hears himself huff a single laugh. ]
You and me both.
...Thanks.