Greg Universe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
panspermia) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hfm_logs2015-09-10 12:52 am
panspermia) wrote in hfm_logs2015-09-10 12:52 am
Don't camp the spawn point [CLOSED]
Warnings: Potential violence
Location: Atop the spire
Characters: Peridot, Greg Universe, eventually Agent Washington
When: The day after their deaths/disappearance, respectively
Summary: So, we got murdered. How 'bout that.
Everything hurt.
Greg registered that fact, before even registering he was awake. All parts of him ached just for being in existence, not the least of which was the throbbing in his head, muddying his thoughts from processing anything more than how deeply uncomfortable it was to be--
--alive.
He tried to open his eyes, and was met with further assault on his being, light attacking him and blurring out the world. He groaned, and felt it rattle through his chest in a piercing burn. The sound choked out with a whimper, and he curled on himself a little. Was he really alive? Was this how it was supposed to feel? Or was this actually just how things turned out, after...? Sucking in a breath, he felt newly-repaired lungs complaining for the effort, and Greg creaked his eyes open again.
It was... a nice place. Bright, and clean, and green, and... familiar. Greg blinked, and attempted sitting up, only to be hit with a wave of nausea. Oh wow, everything is terrible. Why is everything so terrible in such a nice place. Oooorgh. He curled in on himself further, waiting for the illness to pass, or at least lessen. It took a long time.
This was the spire, right? The garden on top. He had only been here once before, the months ago when he'd arrived. Since then, he'd only been to the lower levels, checking to see if missing friends had ended up like Wash had said. Slowly, carefully, Greg looked down to his chest. Even as it throbbed with sharp pain, it was in perfect condition. No wound, no scar, not even a bruise. Just like Wash had said, after all. So he really had...
For a long time, Greg didn't move. His brain was running in circles, trying to process all that happened, to remember it, to forget it. He'd died. He'd died. And now he wasn't dead. Regenerated. Weakly, he felt fingers nudging at his stomach, just making sure. Eventually, he gave sitting up another try--a creaky, queasy process, but successful in the end. It was necessary, just to properly take stock of everything, ensure he hadn't spawned a new haircut or outfit or something. But no, everything looked just the same as ever. He kept finding himself gingerly rubbing at his chest, double and triple checking that really nothing was there. Clean, smooth, kinda hairy, untouched skin.
He'd died, and he was back. And that meant... everything was fine? Was that how it was? That's how the Gems did it. It didn't even phase them. And here he was, good as new. So he should feel. Okay. Everything was... okay. He just had to go back to living, like nothing had happened. Return to his apartment, to his girlfriend, to--
"Rose--ooohohoooo, ow, oh, okay, no..."
Getting up too quickly brought another crash of vertigo, and his knees buckled under the effort, leaving him reeling on the ground again. Rose didn't know. Rose had seen--he was a human, she didn't know, she'd think... he'd left her to think the worst, he should have warned her. Even now that he was awake, he couldn't even get up, could hardly even move to let her know. He couldn't keep leaving her waiting. Damn it.
Location: Atop the spire
Characters: Peridot, Greg Universe, eventually Agent Washington
When: The day after their deaths/disappearance, respectively
Summary: So, we got murdered. How 'bout that.
Everything hurt.
Greg registered that fact, before even registering he was awake. All parts of him ached just for being in existence, not the least of which was the throbbing in his head, muddying his thoughts from processing anything more than how deeply uncomfortable it was to be--
--alive.
He tried to open his eyes, and was met with further assault on his being, light attacking him and blurring out the world. He groaned, and felt it rattle through his chest in a piercing burn. The sound choked out with a whimper, and he curled on himself a little. Was he really alive? Was this how it was supposed to feel? Or was this actually just how things turned out, after...? Sucking in a breath, he felt newly-repaired lungs complaining for the effort, and Greg creaked his eyes open again.
It was... a nice place. Bright, and clean, and green, and... familiar. Greg blinked, and attempted sitting up, only to be hit with a wave of nausea. Oh wow, everything is terrible. Why is everything so terrible in such a nice place. Oooorgh. He curled in on himself further, waiting for the illness to pass, or at least lessen. It took a long time.
This was the spire, right? The garden on top. He had only been here once before, the months ago when he'd arrived. Since then, he'd only been to the lower levels, checking to see if missing friends had ended up like Wash had said. Slowly, carefully, Greg looked down to his chest. Even as it throbbed with sharp pain, it was in perfect condition. No wound, no scar, not even a bruise. Just like Wash had said, after all. So he really had...
For a long time, Greg didn't move. His brain was running in circles, trying to process all that happened, to remember it, to forget it. He'd died. He'd died. And now he wasn't dead. Regenerated. Weakly, he felt fingers nudging at his stomach, just making sure. Eventually, he gave sitting up another try--a creaky, queasy process, but successful in the end. It was necessary, just to properly take stock of everything, ensure he hadn't spawned a new haircut or outfit or something. But no, everything looked just the same as ever. He kept finding himself gingerly rubbing at his chest, double and triple checking that really nothing was there. Clean, smooth, kinda hairy, untouched skin.
He'd died, and he was back. And that meant... everything was fine? Was that how it was? That's how the Gems did it. It didn't even phase them. And here he was, good as new. So he should feel. Okay. Everything was... okay. He just had to go back to living, like nothing had happened. Return to his apartment, to his girlfriend, to--
"Rose--ooohohoooo, ow, oh, okay, no..."
Getting up too quickly brought another crash of vertigo, and his knees buckled under the effort, leaving him reeling on the ground again. Rose didn't know. Rose had seen--he was a human, she didn't know, she'd think... he'd left her to think the worst, he should have warned her. Even now that he was awake, he couldn't even get up, could hardly even move to let her know. He couldn't keep leaving her waiting. Damn it.
no subject
Her eyes were on Greg, except when they darted to the sides of the garden looking for escape routes. She was going to have to be ready to run. He was going to spill the beans. His actions during the fight had shown fairly clearly he didn't know what was good for him. How much could he care about what was good for her?
no subject
Months, though...? How long had he been out? Wash had mentioned, once, something about time moving differently between home and here, but now that he thought of it he hadn't actually checked if he'd been out an hour or a year.
The moment of confusion (one in a very long line of moments) was pushed aside for yet another moment of distress. Wash didn't know. He had to explain--but what could he say? He hardly wanted to put it in words himself, and Peridot... Greg cast a small, anxious glance at her, then to the ground.
"There... there was a... an accident." That's what it was, after all. Even that vague description, however, made his stomach twist. He didn't want to think about it. The less he said, the better. "We... we both made a mistake, and..."
no subject
But he remembered just how badly dying had fucked him up. It was another set of nightmares he'd never be able to forget. And if that had happened to Greg - worried, sensitive, not mentally suited for that kind of trauma Greg...
Priorities. Triage first; explanation later. "Do you think you can handle the stairs?"
no subject
Greg still hadn't told him.
Peridot was entertaining the idea that this might be a set-up. They both seemed to know that dying wasn't permanent. Perhaps Greg had died to bring her up where the other could take her out but...no. No, that didn't seem to be what was happening. This was simply...coincidence? Strangely apropos coincidence, but still coincidence?
This was the strangest thing that had happened yet.
The two humans seemed to have everything covered, or more precisely, Wash was paying more attention to Greg then her. Going with them increased the chance of Greg telling him everything which increased the chance of Wash killing her. She took two more experimental steps backwards. Perhaps she could just...quietly leave and figure this out by herself.
no subject
Shifting his weight, testing his legs, he gave a small nod. "Sure... yeah, I think so. Peri--"
He glanced back again, choking on her name. Ah. She was backing off. Greg couldn't deny, it was a bit of a relief. All this was... more than he'd bargained for, to say the least.
He swallowed around the queasy lump in his throat. "Take... take care of yourself, okay...?"
no subject
"Come on," he said, wrapping an arm around Greg's waist. The stairs were wide enough for two abreast, and odds were good that Greg would eventually need the support.