redshiftrp | video; @Qubit

[One sigil. Evocation. He moves to the next: Reparation. Then to the third and the fourth, all with measured movements: he has done this before, knows this particular glyph by heart. His circles may be wobbly and uneven, but when it comes to their contents, he cannot help but relax as he works more from muscle memory than conscious thought. This world and his undead form are unfamiliar, but this? This is what he's used to. For the brief moment he is working, he feels like himself again.

Of the three zombies gnashing their teeth at Qubit, one suddenly stops, the feral wrath dissipating from his expression. Whatever hunger motivated him seems gone, his arms dropping to his sides. Several seconds later, a second one follows suit, no longer interested in Qubit in favor of... just standing there. Eyeball continues to gnash his teeth, and flail uselessly at his prey, but the other two loiter nearby, having seemingly forgotten what drew them over there in the first place.

Carlisle finishes his glyphs, four identical sets of circles and symbols lining the main aisle. Straightening up, he tucks his chalk away, giving his handiwork one more lookover before he turns his attention to his companion, polite worry weaving into his brow.]

Are you all right up there?

[Eyeball continues to hiss and spit at Qubit, but the other two turn toward Carlisle's voice, their heads lolling left and right as they try to detect the source of the sound. Though he's standing well within their visual range, they seem unable to determine where he is, as predicted.]

[ At first, the zombies losing interest is worrying - but when all they do is go idle, he tentatively relaxes. He debates provoking them again, but there's really no need. He's safe enough up here for the moment, and they aren't going after Carlisle. Odd that it's only two of them, though. Why's Eyeball behaving differently?

Well, he'll keep an eye on them. It's not as if undead behavior is his area of expertise. He keeps half an eye on Carlisle's work, too, though. It's interesting in its own way, despite his generalized distaste for magic. By all the laws of nature, those sigils ought to have no more power than a child's sidewalk doodles - but he's seen similar rituals bring about real, measurable effects far too many times to dismiss them.

Offhand, he finds himself wondering how Carlisle's glyphs might compare to Reynir's runes? Not that he'd expect them to follow anything like the same logic, since magic is wildly inconsistent by definition, but still...

... Oh, he's done. That was quick. ]

Never better. [ His knees aren't crazy about how he's kneeling up here, but whatever. ] You're done? Just in time, I think these two are getting bored.

Edited 2019-09-19 05:07 (UTC)

[Carlisle tucks his chalk away, dusting off his hands as he meanders over. 'Bored' is an apt description of the pair loitering near the shelves, whatever interest they had in Qubit seemingly gone as they idle beside their one-eyed companion.]

I don't believe they're capable of being bored, but they certainly do look the part.

[He flexes his fingers, raising his hands as he figures out where best to place them. What was once quick work for him -- dispatching the undead through use of his healing arts -- now makes him nervous, as he's not sure what the outcome will be given his current state. He suspects unpleasant for all parties involved.

He steels himself with a breath. Better to figure this out now rather than in a real emergency. He sets a hand upon the neck of one of the bored shamblers, bringing his palm to rest along the nape, and channels.

The reaction is immediate, and far more intense than he'd anticipated: his eyes ignite with light, bright like white-hot fire, his entire frame stiffening as that same light appears in the eyes of the zombie, transferred from one body to the other. It's there and gone in an instant, the walking corpse shriveling, crumbling, and collapsing into not much more than dust in the span of a second.

Carlisle steps back, retracting his arm with a pained grunt -- he had anticipated it wouldn't feel good, but the shock from it catches him off-guard. He grips his seizing limb from the wrist, his fingers digging into his radiation suit as he tries to regain his composure. Reacting to something unseen, the two remaining zombies suddenly come alive with furious energy, growling as they slam into the shelving, making the whole unit rock.]

[ Now that was effective! Initially Qubit wasn't sure what he was doing, or how that was going to draw them into the sigils, but wow. His enthusiasm lasts only a split second, though, as Carlisle recoils in obvious pain - and the remaining zombies choose this exact moment to go back on the offensive.

The shelves shake from the impact, and he has to grab hold of the edge to avoid falling. But that's just delaying the inevitable. One way or another, he's not going to be up here much longer. ]

Carlisle! Agh- What was that? Are you hurt?

[ Can they continue, or will something on the scale of the sigil hurt him even worse? That's Qubit's main concern. ]

Fine! I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine I just- desth, I was not expecting that to hurt so much!

[He swears again under his breath, grabbing hold of the other, once-idle zombie with his good hand, not bothering to wait for his seized arm to relax. No time for such things, unfortunately. Maybe this will hurt less with a larger pack on the glyphs, he considers, as channeling energy into a glyph is a less direct method of dispatching them; however, for individual undeads, this is likely not the best way to go about taking care of them. If nothing else, it is effective, the zombie crumbling to dust beneath his hand like the one before.

Grinding his teeth, Carlisle shakes his limbs, his eyes squeezing shut as he tries to block out the searing sting of volatile, opposing energies coursing through him. The restorative ones used to obliterate the undead butt against those keeping him animated, and he considers briefly that he's very, very lucky the manipulation of such magic doesn't cause a similar reaction in him, given what he is. He could be lying in a pile of ashen dust on the ground rather than some nameless shamblers, destroyed from the inside-out through improper control of his own energy. Maybe it is his level of expertise with healing arts that allows him to—

He shakes his head, interrupting his train of thought to consider that later, perhaps when they're not on a mission. For now, Eyeball remains furious, slamming into the shelf again, this time with his body, as one arm -- his right one, the first one Carlisle used -- hangs limply by his sides, deadened. He's too mindless to care, but Carlisle takes notice of it, his eyes narrowing. Was he like that before? Surely.

But there's that nagging feeling at the back of Carlisle's mind that he's not imagining things, and he doesn't like it one bit.]

Edited 2019-09-19 06:44 (UTC)

[ Oh! Okay! It hurt a lot, so obviously you should immediately do it again! That makes sense! (Never mind that that's exactly how Qubit reacted the first time his powers backfired, too. Do as I say, not as I do...)

He knows then that he can't let Carlisle keep doing this. It's echoing his own experience pretty hard - unexpected pain, a formerly reliable power turning against its wielder. Yesterday, though, he pushed his luck too far, incapacitated himself, and had to be bailed out by the very person he was trying to save. If this continues, he really might have to wheel Carlisle's corpse back to Anchor in a shopping cart. ]

Stop! It's not worth it!

[ He can take care of the last one himself. He stands and aims his gun into Eyeball's eyeball, but as he's trying to line up the shot - well, you know why you're not supposed to climb these shelves? Because they're not designed to support a human's weight. With a clang, the top shelf collapses under him.

He slides down as much as falls, and his legs get tangled with the zombie's, dragging them both to the floor. Eyeball ends up on top, pinning him, and goes straight to clawing at his radiation suit - though when it's only bringing one arm to bear, Qubit can kind of fend it off by interposing the gun - enough that he has time to wonder, why only one arm? And it's the same arm Carlisle injured...

Wait a second. Are they-? Okay "while pinned under an enraged zombie" is perhaps not the best time to analyze this, but it seems like, just maybe... ]

[Carlisle would argue whether or not slaying an undead and potentially saving his companion from being mauled by said undead is worth a minute or two of searing pain and seizing joints, but he doesn't get the chance as the shelving collapses, sending both Qubit and Eyeball to the floor. Hissing through his teeth, he shakes the tension out of his other arm, needing both to hoist the the zombie off Qubit. In good news, Eyeball only has one working arm, hindering his chances of escape from Carlisle's grasp; however, he is still flailing around, and Carlisle is not the sturdiest fellow. He might have considered other options in any other circumstance, but desperate times call for desperate measures... or ill-conceived improvisation.]

Oh no you donaugh!

[They both nearly go tumbling backwards as Eyeball lurches, trying to get away from a threat he's incapable of perceiving; Carlisle releases him just in time to catch himself, not wanting to end up pinned himself. Eyeball hits the floor, where Carlisle unceremoniously dispatches him by stomping directly on his skull. It's not the most elegant way of dealing with a shambler, and he immediately regrets his decision as Eyeball's skull caves in beneath his boot, crumpling with a sickening, wet crunch.

Carlisle stiffens, lifting his foot out of the mess and giving it a horrified look. His voice matches.]

All right. Never do that again. It looked a lot more impressive in my head, but in practice, I'm left with a shoe that will never be fully cleaned. Probably stained forever. Noted. But at least they're dead. Again.

Edited 2019-09-19 17:04 (UTC)

[ Fortunately, Qubit has a strong stomach, and has witnessed much more sickening things. He had to dispatch a few of them with a crowbar the other day, which went about as cleanly as you'd imagine. He pulls himself upright, a little sore but no worse for wear, and checks his suit for holes, but it seems to be intact, luckily. ]

I wouldn't feel too bad. These suits have seen plenty of suspicious stains.

[ Don't take that line out of context. Qubit picks up a roll of paper towels from where he knocked it off the shelf and offers it to Carlisle. ]

So. That could've gone better, but it could've gone much worse. [ AND SPEAKING OF: ] How's your arm?

[True as Qubit's assessment of the suits may be, Carlisle still doesn't look pleased to have blood coating one foot, doomed to leave a trail of prints as they investigate the rest of the store. He gives it a shake, but the decaying brain matter remains; he shudders, definitely the more disgusted of the two men.]

It's fine. I suffer only the onset of nausea from having the inside of a shambler's head all over my foot. [And no, he does not want— okay maybe just one paper towel. He takes the roll begrudgingly.] I will admit I was not expecting it to hurt that much. That is abnormal.

[As is he, these days.]

Edited 2019-09-20 08:29 (UTC)

[ Yeah, um, ABOUT THAT. Qubit folds his arms, his expression stern. ]

But you were expecting it to hurt, and it's no great mystery why. Frankly, I'm amazed you didn't vaporize yourself.

[Carlisle gives Qubit a look that could cut through glass.]

I'm not sure what you're insinuating. Did you not believe me capable of handling them?

[ Qubit meets his glare head-on. Glass he ain't. He didn't mean to sound quite so dickish about it, but - I mean, this does need to be addressed. ]

No, I did. But I don't need to be an expert in magic to realize how risky that was. That spell you used destroys undead creatures, correct? So somehow, I doubt it was designed to be cast by them.

[ Does he have to spell it out, Carlisle? ]

[His glare remains, locked somewhere between apprehensivr and appalled as his shoulders stiffen.]

I am a cleric, Mister Qubit.

[ Qubit says nothing, and doesn't budge. ]

[Qubit says nothing, but Carlisle as enough words for both of them, his temper bubbling beneath his skin.]

I have sworn an oath to serve my goddess in any way I can, and it is my duty to rid the mortal plane of such vile abominations. The pain might have caught me off-guard, but I know what I am doing. That is- that is not indicative of anything- of whatever you are suggesting. And such a suggestion is not appreciated, by the way.

[From well over his shoulder, a corpse rises silently. Had that one been alive before? Perhaps he'd just been lying on the floor.]

And furthermore, I will not stand here and allow you to mock me, certainly not after I came out here to help you. Did you even need my help? Or did I traipse through the open wastes for nothing? You're armed enough, aren't you?

[Another undead rounds the corner behind him, her eyes glowing with a faint, sickly light. If zombies can feel ire, she certainly looks the part. A third emerges behind her, then a fourth, all of them drawn toward that spot -- toward the subject of a certain someone's wrath. Carlisle is too wrapped up in his denial to notice their growing numbers, not hearing the shuffling of their approach.]

And now, I've got blood on me! I'm here for all of a day, struggling to adjust to constructs and portals and technology, and when I finally find something familiar, no matter how horrible, look what happens! Say something, damn you!

Edited 2019-09-20 22:46 (UTC)

[ As the rant goes on, Qubit stands his ground. Admittedly, while he knew the undead were some sort of anathema in Carlisle's religion, he didn't realize how extreme it was - but is it, really, or is he just being defensive because Qubit's caught on to him?

In another second, though, the motion behind Carlisle catches his eye. Apparently, all the yelling is drawing more zombies - but wait, something's not right. Carlisle's the only one yelling, and they've already established the shamblers have no interest in him. And these don't - they're advancing, but their empty gazes are fixed on Qubit. Even though he's standing still and staying silent, they're coming for him in particular.

Well, that's alarming. (If it seems like Carlisle's lost his attention midway through, that's because he has.)

Panicking isn't his style, though, analysis is. And something's not adding up. It could be Carlisle's voice attracting them, but why now and not before? Is there some other trigger he's overlooked? And why do they look just as angry at him as...

Oh.

Well, of course.

Rather than responding to any of what Carlisle said - he missed half of it, anyway - Qubit slowly raises his hand and points over the man's shoulder. ]

We've got company.

[Carlisle's eyes land on Qubit's finger, and he turns to see just what it is that's more important than his little tirade. He's met with the gazes of no less than nine zombies, some of their pupils a milky white, others aglow with feral, furious energy. Not a single one of them is looking at him -- they all look past him, through him, their attention fully on Qubit.

One lets out a graveled roar, their voice ragged from their ruined vocal chords, and the others react without hesitation. Most are on the slower end, their legs stiff, their feet dragging along the ground as they shuffle toward the pair; at least three of them are much faster, their limbs still flexible enough to allow them to sprint.

And sprint they do, taking off toward Qubit with wild, ravenous ferocity. That's plenty to get Carlisle's priorities in order.]

Glyphs. Glyphs now.

[And with that, he takes off running, despite the fact they're not after him.]

[ Of course, Carlisle's decision to bolt leaves nothing between Qubit and those three fast zombies, and that leaves him no choice but to follow. Fortunately, they're not far from the glyphs, but it's going to be tight. Qubit has to slow as he dashes across it, taking care not to mess up the chalk, and by the time he gets clear and glances back, all three are fully inside the glyph - but in another second, they won't be. ]

Now!

Edited 2019-09-21 00:38 (UTC)

[Carlisle is a little less graceful crossing the first glyph, and ruins his linework with his own feet; thankfully, he made four of these, and he clears the second one without trouble, crouching beside it the moment he's on the other side. The back of his tabard hasn't even hit the ground before Qubit comes flying past him, the undead hot on his heels. A moment before they are all within the glyph, Carlisle slams his hand on the arch he's drawn at the top.

The glyph itself takes a second to activate, but the initial reaction is immediate, light pouring into it from Carlisle's point of contact: it fills the lines like an illuminated stream, erupting in a blaze of pure, blinding light once the flow meets itself on the other side. By then, the zombies are all within the confines of the circle, and much like the ones he'd taken out individually, they are left as not much more than ashes by the time the light dies down.

In good news, Carlisle is in much better shape after that one. Seems that the glyph manipulating the type of energy rather than him manually channeling it will have to be his method of dealing with them for now. He gets to his feet, practically giddy with satisfaction as he holds back a laugh.]

It worked!! I mean, I knew it would, but it worked as expected this time and didn't backfire on me in any way. A little draining, but no nasty surprises. And you're not dead. Great. That is great.

Edited 2019-09-21 00:57 (UTC)

[ Okay, that was objectively pretty badass. And it worked! Qubit can't help but smile about that - not only is it a good sign for their mission, but it's a genuine relief to see Carlisle find a workaround so quickly. (He's a little envious, to be honest.)

And also, yes, he does appreciate not being dead. ]

It is! Although I'm biased, of course.

[ Still, they're not out of the woods yet. He points urgently back at the remaining six shamblers, currently shuffling their way through the first glyph. ]

Focus. Only half a dozen to go.

[ Can they reuse this glyph, or do they have to move on? Whatever Carlisle decides, Qubit's ready to follow his lead. ]

[Party's over as Carlisle glances the shamblers' way.]

Oh. The rest of them. Right.

[He's not going to say he forgot about them in his terror over being chased by the fastest undeads he's ever seen and subsequent celebration over slaying them, but yeah. He totally forgot about them.

It turns out his glyph can't be used as second time, the lines evaporating away from the floor as though they were written in steam rather than chalk. He steps back across the third one, waiting for Qubit to follow before kneeling beside the contact point. Unfortunately, this pack is significantly slower, and getting them all into the same glyph more troublesome as a result. Carlisle actually stands up and pushes the first one to reach him backward, the undead not even reacting to his touch, more agitated by its fellow undeads as it tumbles into them. Four more go down in that glyph, leaving the slowest ones still coming after them.

Or the slowest one, as one of the remaining pair got his arm caught on a shelf at the end, the corner tearing his sleeve as he struggles against it. He pulls again, and down comes the display on him, sending him and a number of bottles of vinegar smashing into the ground.

Carlisle activates the fourth and final glyph on the shambler that does manage to make it to them, a little wobbly as he straightens up.]

Would you like the honors, or should I dirty my other boot?

[If the looks he gives Qubit says anything, it's to not make him have to dirty his other boot.]

[ Qubit sticks to the plan, baiting the shamblers into the traps with renewed optimism. Yes, yes, excellent work! That allows them to wrap things up quickly and tidily, and with Carlisle not much worse for wear.

It's so satisfying when a plan comes together! Why, it's almost enough to make him forget that Carlisle sicced the damn things on him in the first place. (Almost.)

So that leaves just the one, flailing ineffectually in a puddle of vinegar with his bottom half trapped under the fallen shelving. Easy pickings, fish in a barrel. But he's got a better idea... ]

Actually... come with me.

[ He approaches the final zombie, motioning for Carlisle to follow, and scoping out the area as they go. It seems they've handily cleared out the front of the store with that little stunt, at least. He can see some milling about at the far end of the aisles, but they haven't noticed the commotion up here. Perfect. He stops a few feet outside its reach, turning to Carlisle. ]

Care for a little experiment?

[Carlisle gives Qubit a quizzical look, but does as he's told, a little relieved that he may not be stomping in another husk's skull. He gives the zombie a disgusted look as they approach, the fellow thoroughly pinned beneath the shelves and bottles. It'd be a piteous sight if it hadn't happened to such an abhorrent creature.

Not that Carlisle has much room to talk, much to his chagrin. His eyes go from the pinned undead to his companion, wondering where he's going with this. At least they aren't arguing anymore, and Qubit isn't accusing him of... well.]

I suppose it depends on what said experiment is and what it entails.

Edited 2019-09-22 01:14 (UTC)

Well, you said you're imperceptible to them, correct? But I'm not so sure. That last batch was definitely responding to you in some way.

[ And he's got a hypothesis: that Carlisle has some sort of unconscious influence over them, and further, that it's tied to his emotional state. Actually divulging that hypothesis at this point, though, would taint the experiment. On the plus side, this is a much more controlled setting: a single zombie, immobilized, and they've already eliminated whatever others would fall within his sphere of influence. They'll have no better opportunity to try this.

The simplest test: nothing more than replicating a previous observation. Which, in layman's terms, means he'll need to provoke Carlisle again. And he knows exactly what'll do it. ]

I could be wrong, but I assume it's got something to do with your undead state.

[ Which is part of his hypothesis, true, but also possibly the least diplomatic way he could have worded it. ]

[Carlisle doesn't like the notion that the undead were responding to him, especially as a man who has never managed to get a purposeful response out of an undead in his life. It's one of the few perks of his affliction, and something that ended up aiding him in his work, both with the church and for hire. It took him far too long to figure out that the best way for him to live up to his family's lineage was to deal with the shamblers that plagued the region himself, just as they would have done. The key difference between someone like himself and his uncles was that he could get close to the undead without provoking them. He didn't need evocation magic or a weapon when he was practically invisible to them. It made his work easy -- almost trivial.

Well, it's not trivial now, and neither is the way Qubit addresses him. True as it may be, he feels his hackles rise immediately, the bait taken wholesale.]

And here I thought we may have more pressing matters than circling back to your insults. I am a cleric, I have an affliction, and you should leave well enough alone.

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