of those blackholes & revelations

[capemods]

WHO: All imPorts.
WHERE: Atropos.
WHEN: January 7th to January 14th.
WARNINGS: Death and destruction.
SUMMARY: Atropos has risen in the night, and the inevitable has come: with her jaws she shears away the City from Earth and swallows it whole.

But the City is not yet dead.
FORMAT: Whatever you please.



The formless mass of metal haunting above, hovering like a lunar tombstone, begins to take shape. Asteroids plummet into the cheeks, the eyes, carving out bone structure. Her features howl with fury, with triumph, as she stares down below, savoring her conquest. A cavity opens. Metal swoops to form jagged, angry shears. Her teeth are born.

She waits as the world rotates, its spin more wobbly than it used to be.

And then she leans down to feast, her bite vampiric. She takes the City and then some, and all that it encompasses, so that every single imPort is captured. She takes the time to drink in any stragglers, any imPorts elusive to the City's thrall.

She holds the City on her tongue as she draws back her fist to punch the world.

And then teeth close to the shuddering, glass shattering vibration of a cosmic laugh. The jaws close, and there is no light for about an hour -- until Atropos begins to siphon solar energy from the sun into her veins. She is dissatisfied with its dying tint, or perhaps she cannot stand the redness of color, so once she injects this energy into her her body (her most intimate domain), she turns it bright yellow again. The universe within her is illuminated.

The City is a floating chunk of broken skyscrapers and puckered asphalt streets. The trauma of consumption has wrecked the usual infrastructure: buildings are half collapses, or skeletal, vehicles are flipped and strewn across the layout. Whatever vegetation that is still clinging onto life has rejoiced under the return of normal sunlight.

You can breathe. It isn't too hot, or too cold -- it's unusually pleasant, in fact. The sunshine veins that light your world are not overwhelming. There is no blue sky to complement the atmosphere, and whatever water still in the City will be constrained to the bottled kind found in shops.

But there are other floating pieces of worlds, and they might have water. Or food.

If you live in the City, your possessions should still be in the City. While about 76% of the natives have fled the City (which had gotten the brunt of focus over the past week), there are still some natives who were too sick, too sentimental or too stubborn to leave.

You'll find that your powers work normally, though you can't teleport within Atropos. You probably wouldn't want to teleport outside of her, anyway.

She swallows, and the City gentle glides down a slick throat. Dust and particles create stunning visuals, like the aurora borealis, except in warmer colors. Light reflects so easily from solar veins and starstrewn flesh.

While you can breathe easily, gravity is fickle. Physics is often defied. Atropos was never one to play by the rules.

Comments

[psychomancy]

[Stopping it had crossed Gemma's mind. She had wondered if she could somehow pocket the City, as she had once done London, and take it somewhere new. The strain would kill her, obviously, but dying to save others, even if it was just one person, had been easy enough before. But the fear of failing had stayed her hand, even as the magic roiled and fought for release.

She could not bear the responsibility of causing anyone's death, even if they were all to die anyway.

Her own cowardice had sickened her, but it had not stopped her from going into the streets to help where she could. She helped move rubble from roads to form pathways for those attempting to find shelter, helped repair locks on doors and windows for those who wanted to stay barred inside. Pippa is always at her side, the St. Bernard almost delicately picking her way around the debris littering the streets.

She almost does not recognize the jail when she approaches, instead focused on the girl smoking outside. She is young, and vaguely familiar, but otherwise, Gemma had been ready to pass her by until she hears her speak. A smile crosses her lips and she pauses, placing a hand on Pippa's head.]

I do not think anyone could have said it better.

[centurybaby]

[ she doesn't know what she's expecting when she hears someone speak to her, but it probably isn't a stranger's smiling face. the woman is vaguely familiar in the way that most imports become after they've been in this universe long enough, but jenny can't put a name to her-- or the large dog in her company.

she takes another puff or two off her cigarette before responding: ]

Too bad whoever's doing this probably doesn't give a fuck. [ she nods in the st. bernard's direction. ] That yours?

[psychomancy]

[Just a few years ago, seeing a lady smoke would have flustered Gemma beyond belief. But a modern era called for modern ideals, and if women wanted to smoke well, then there was nothing to stop them. To be fair, this girl did look a bit young, but since it appeared to be the end of the world, there was really no reason for anything to be said about it.

Gemma realizes that she has been taking this apocalypse quite in stride. Likely because it wasn't her first.

The dog looks up, appearing to inspect Jenny.]

Since she was a pup. Her name is Pippa.

[centurybaby]

[ she did always like dogs. simple, loyal, not too many expectations-- and a lot of times, a hell of a lot more tolerable than human beings. jenny presses her cigarette back between her lips and holds it there in her mouth, approaching pippa. she crouches, offering her hand to the dog for an inspectional sniff. ]

Must be nice, having some company at the end of the world.

[psychomancy]

[Pippa remains exactly where she is, and does give Jenny's hand a few sniffs (more like nuzzles, really) before giving it an approving lick. Gemma smiles, though it isn't nearly as cheerful as before.]

Bittersweet, really. I don't know if I can stand to see her die.

[centurybaby]

[ feeling that she's received pippa's permission, jenny lifts her hand to scratch the animal behind the ears, glancing up at gemma as she speaks. ]

It sucks. But there's not a whole lot anybody can fucking do right now either. At least you have time to say good-bye. Not everybody gets that.

[psychomancy]

[Gemma cannot fully hide the pain in her eyes. Her goodbyes had always come too late in her world. Jenny has a point, but that doesn't make the memories hurt any less.]

What about you? Do you have any goodbyes to make?

[centurybaby]

[ she watches gemma's face, noting the pain in her expression. her own face reflects nothing back, passive and unreadable, a well-constructed mimicry of unfazed teenage apathy. she's a hard one to ruffle. she keeps her sentimentality close to her chest.

at length, she responds a bit curtly: ]

I don't really like good-byes. [ a pause, before she continues: ] You've lost people before, huh?

[psychomancy]

[Gemma has never really had the luxury (if it can be called that) of apathy. While proper British ladies weren't supposed to feel anything except an ever-present sense of pleasant contentment. But once the secrets, lies, and responsibilities start piling up, well. Most of the girls at Spence had perfected the art of the fake smile.

She considers Jenny for a money, and decides that honesty can't hurt now.]

More than I like to think about.

[centurybaby]

[ somewhere along the line, jenny became desensitized to violence, to loss and destruction. the times that she does feel sadness, she buries it-- deeply. her mourning is private and her face is steeled against the weakness of emotion in times of crisis. anger is the one she allows herself. anger can be power.

in the moment, her expression and her voice remain more or less unreadable. ]

Yeah? What happened?

[psychomancy]

[And, for the first time since she's been in the City, the truth makes its way to her tongue.]

My mother took her own life on my sixteenth birthday to save herself from a fate worse than death, cliché as it sounds. Next was my friend Pippa, who took her own life as well, though on better terms. I saw both of them go. A girl I read poetry to at a psychiatric hospital was next, and then two of my former teachers. [She leaves out the part where she was the one to kill two of those three.] And just before I came here, there was a boy--he died to keep me alive, and it was so stupid that he did, but I loved him for it anyway. [Her speech has picked up in pace and by the end she needs a moment to catch her breath. It feels good to finally let it all out. She considers.] It all sounds very dramatic when put all at once like that.

[centurybaby]

[ truthfully, she does her best to connect with the words. but she keeps her emotions under such careful lock and key, sympathy doesn't come so readily-- at least not in a way that shows on her face. still, she isn't disrespectful. rudeness is by far easier, but even jenny isn't that callous. ]

I never knew my mom. Probably would've been really fucking sad if she killed herself though.

[ that's the best she can do without seeming too vulnerable. ]

You miss those people?

[psychomancy]

It was incredibly sad.

[And horrifying and confusing. Not to mention the guilt Gemma had felt for so long. That happens, when your last words to your mother are "I don't care if you come home at all." Regret for something like that never truly fades.]

I miss them every single day.

[centurybaby]

[ she identifies with that more than she wants to. not so much the loss by death-- but there's other ways to lose people. she dwells on the thought a second or two before responding a bit distantly: ]

Well, you have to get over it eventually.

[psychomancy]

I don't let it control my everyday life, if that's what you mean by "getting over it."

[centurybaby]

Do you still lose sleep over it?

[psychomancy]

I dream of them, but not often.

[centurybaby]

Good dreams or bad ones?

[psychomancy]

Not as bad as they used to be.

[centurybaby]

Do you think it's your fault? What happened to them.

[psychomancy]

[Without hesitation:]

I know it was.