Jedao (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deuceoftears) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lastvoyages2026-05-02 10:36 pm
deuceoftears) wrote in lastvoyages2026-05-02 10:36 pm
Entry tags:
Hexeris of Roses
[Voice, Jedao's Close Warden CR, a few minutes after the portal opens]
Check in. What do you need?
[Voice, Private to John, ~one minute after he goes through.]
I'm soaking wet and the foxes are out, but I'm still me.
[Public, voice, ~5 minutes after he goes through]
It's cold in here. Or - not terribly cold. But normally I don't feel cold at all, and I do feel it here. I'm not sure if that's psychosomatic or if...death means the normal strengths of my body don't apply here.
It reminds me a lot of the Old Kingdom, for anyone who remembers - with the charter, and the bells. I haven't seen any waves or 🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️ but I'll keep an eye out.
[He doesn't seem to realize part of that was obscured by static interference.
[Open Spam, in the Nethermere]
Jedao can be found anywhere in the Nethermere, because he has to go everywhere in the Nethermere. He has three foxes with him, each with nine tails: one with a shining yellow eye in every tail, for eleven total, one with blood dripping from her chest and muzzle, shockingly vivid red amidst the bleak greys, whites, and blacks that make up most of the Nethermere's palette, and one that looks to be made of half-burnt wood, black and grey char with the glow of orange embers shining between the cracks. That one whines unhappily, clinging close to Jedao's side in the boats, skittering away from the water's edge elsewhere - except when Jedao is walking with the Long March, where it yips and snarls, skipping happily along with the procession.
From some angles, it's possible to see the drips of black ichor slowly oozing from his head wound; from other angles, it seems like he might have the faintest halo of golden light.
And the longer his quest goes on, the more past lives of his inmate he has to wrangle in tow - most of them shepherded fiercely by the Ninefox Crowned With Eyes and the Vixen Vulning when they try to wander off or threaten to stop right here if one of the others won't do or stop doing something. Every once in awhile, one of them will sort of....fall over back into line.
Check in. What do you need?
[Voice, Private to John, ~one minute after he goes through.]
I'm soaking wet and the foxes are out, but I'm still me.
[Public, voice, ~5 minutes after he goes through]
It's cold in here. Or - not terribly cold. But normally I don't feel cold at all, and I do feel it here. I'm not sure if that's psychosomatic or if...death means the normal strengths of my body don't apply here.
It reminds me a lot of the Old Kingdom, for anyone who remembers - with the charter, and the bells. I haven't seen any waves or 🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️ but I'll keep an eye out.
[He doesn't seem to realize part of that was obscured by static interference.
[Open Spam, in the Nethermere]
Jedao can be found anywhere in the Nethermere, because he has to go everywhere in the Nethermere. He has three foxes with him, each with nine tails: one with a shining yellow eye in every tail, for eleven total, one with blood dripping from her chest and muzzle, shockingly vivid red amidst the bleak greys, whites, and blacks that make up most of the Nethermere's palette, and one that looks to be made of half-burnt wood, black and grey char with the glow of orange embers shining between the cracks. That one whines unhappily, clinging close to Jedao's side in the boats, skittering away from the water's edge elsewhere - except when Jedao is walking with the Long March, where it yips and snarls, skipping happily along with the procession.
From some angles, it's possible to see the drips of black ichor slowly oozing from his head wound; from other angles, it seems like he might have the faintest halo of golden light.
And the longer his quest goes on, the more past lives of his inmate he has to wrangle in tow - most of them shepherded fiercely by the Ninefox Crowned With Eyes and the Vixen Vulning when they try to wander off or threaten to stop right here if one of the others won't do or stop doing something. Every once in awhile, one of them will sort of....fall over back into line.
[voice, private]
Do you need anything?
Re: [voice, private]
I'm getting some just-in-case things from our place.
Re: [voice, private]
... I'll see you at our cabin in a few minutes?
Re: [voice, private]
He will, in fact, be in his study, in his little chimney swift form, on his back on the desk, tugging out loose feathers with his beak, and bleeding slightly from his tiny bird's head.
Re: [voice, private]
If it's anything like the stories of the afterlife in his own world, there will be demons to fight, too.
"--Jedao?" he calls again, and a moment later pokes his head through the door of the study as he registers the flicker of life-force there. The blood matting the feathers on the little bird's head has his eyes going suddenly wide. "You're hurt."
And not just from pulling out his own feathers, which Hakkai is going to assume has something to do with considering an anchor for himself here, somehow.
Re: [voice, private]
"Eleven brained me with a poker right before he keeled over," Jedao says, fond-growly exasperation. There's a little bag on the desk, a black velvet thing that looks like it might belong to a jeweler. Jedao sweeps most of the feathers into it, then holds out two for Hakkai.
"In case we need them to fly, or something. This place seems like sympathetic magic might work."
Re: [voice, private]
"I'm not particularly good at magic, but-- thank you. I'll keep them safe."
In case they work, and also, in case having something of Jedao's will help Hakkai find him there. If he needs to.
His monocle is humming against his skin, direction unfocused and confused, though he thinks part of it is tugging down: down towards the seventh floor, where the Admiral had said there would be a door.
Re: [voice, private]
"If you could take the edge off, that would be amazing."
With the crack in his not-a-skull fresh and pounding, it's hard to focus.
"But leave it not quite closed? It feels like - I don't know, something. Maybe I'll find him and say you did this, you owe me, come back with me. Or. I don't know."
Re: [voice, private]
"But just so you know," he murmurs, "if you find yourself in trouble because you went down into Hell with a cracked skull, I will be sarcastic about it later."
So: Jedao's not allowed to get himself in trouble.
Hakkai pulls his hand away when the wound has eased, the hot pulse of fresh injury fading to bruising, oozing, a half-healed crack still an ache against his own perception.
"We probably won't be going to the same places once we're there. I doubt Sebastian and the Eleven are likely to end up in the same corner of the afterlife."
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Wormwood
So, we've got a magical upside-down forest. Two possible points of entry, one is through the bottom of the river, one is up from where Marc splashed down when he let go last time River. Down is easier.
He's tapping a belay anchor into a rock near the edge of a narrow opening that drops down into the Wormwood's ceiling, reeling endless bandages out of a very patient Dancer. Multiple points of support, really the only thing he needed to bring was the carabiners and basic knowledge of how to tie knots.
It's amazing he's gotten this far with pure exhausted rational physics and hasn't had a secret magical rule eat him yet. There's already two guard-denizens, totally unmoving, rolled off to the side. Too nosy. They caught a case of these hands.
Oh. It's Jedao. Steven knows him on the Barge. This situation is too fucked to pretend he doesn't have Steven's memories. What's with the dogs? Foxes? Fluffy tail. Foxes.
"What's our last head count, upstairs? How many still missing?"
Not-Steven. Barge Twin guy. American, hair slicked back and a grim expression, blood under his fingernails and cuts from Wormwood thorns he's had treated upstairs before he returned to keep helping. Combat boots. Two days worth of stubble.
Re: Wormwood
"I suppose you think that was clever," drawls the Four from above him. The Nine is stuffing moss into his pockets.
no subject
Marc winces. "Yeahhhhh, I don't want to talk about it," he grumbles. He's embarrassed and defensive at how much that didn't work, but it was also Marc's first day, and he didn't have all the information.
Ugh. Nothing to do to fix it now.
His head whips around at the Four's voice. He's never seen their faces, but he really did a thorough dossier of them on the network.
"Four??"
no subject
"You haven't struct me as the most trustworthy operative," Jedao points out. "But as it happens, I have no idea. I haven't been back up and my communicator is being extremely temperamental."
no subject
Which he has.
Because all of them are dead except Jedao.
Marc's eyes slowly travel over to the other one.
"I got it on reasonably good authority that it's not a good idea for these guys to stay split up."
This is his way of probing for information. Is THAT the NINE? He's got such a babyface?? But like - he'd BE Jedao's inmate, right? And the kleptomania thing!
This is also a dodge about talking any more about whether or not Marc is a huge liar. Let's not do that conversation and say we did.
no subject
"Not until you un-distract Seven."
The Nine scrabbles back up a trunk like the accomplished cat burglar he is.
"That is why I'm collecting them all, yes. What authority, may I ask?"
no subject
"Them," Marc says, because this is also true; he knows vaguely that the Eight tried to suppress them and that it went badly. "I'm belaying down to the forest under here. If you're going the same way, we have the same goal."
The Four, the Seven, and the Nine. Not the worst three?
Marc is pretty sure he's one of the only damn people on the ship that bothers to remember which members of the Eleven system are which and even then he has to wring his brain for a second to remember which one the Seven is. He has a mental blueprint, but having numbers instead of names doesn't leave a lot of good mnemonic devices? RIGHT, he's the smart one. Right. Okay, that could be helpful. The Seven's pretty calm and you CAN have a rational conversation with the guy.
no subject
They talk far more about wanting to get rid of each other, but okay.
"So you're like them, is that the idea?"
"I wasn't that far behind," Seven grumbles as Nine tows him back down into view, moving reluctantly, obviously more cautious than Nine. "The structural integrity of the lignin really shouldn't -"
"Supersticks! This one is mine." There's a creak that sounds just a bit like a bitten-off yelp of pain as the Nine snaps a twig and stuffs it into the bag that, for better or for worse, Jedao has allowed him to carry.
"Don't be daft, it's a metaphor," sneers the Four.
"It's an imprecise metaphor," insists the Seven, disgruntled.
"Yeah, we're on our way down," Jedao confirms. "How'd you get loose, anyway?"
All the ghosts he's seen so far have been clinging with the same kind of miserable compulsion he'd seen from the birds, pecking on the beach.
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private
Thank fuck. Good.
[ Beat. ]
Are they being good?
[ Hopefully Jedao is aware from seeing John with the foxes a few times that his definition of 'good' is just 'them being them', complete with dancing on the ashes of what once was, nipping, and all the adorableness of avatars of destruction and/or Looking At You. If anything, knowing they're out is a temptation to go see them. ]
Re: private
They are utterly themselves.
Re: private
[ Does he sound like a very proud uncle? Yes. Is he going to make a point to invite Jedao in so that he can let the babies have some fun prancing around and burning through things time? Also yes. ]
I won't distract you anymore, then. Just call me if you need anything. The coin on you gives me a few options if you need help.
Re: private
Re: private
I'll... probably stay here, at least for the time being.
Re: private
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We're all doing what we can. I'm glad I can do this.
Private for Jake
The card he wears at his neck tugs him on, collar-compass, toward the Three and the Six, and the Immolation Fox yips in excitement, jumping up like a rowdy dog to put its glowing red ember-paws on Jake's pants. You! You, you, you! The Immolation Fox doesn't know him, but recognizes him anyway. Jedao knows the face, and knows instantly that he does not know the way he carries himself, a clear Kel to Marc's Shuos and Steven's strange-sweet barbarian mix of things, the cultural scholarship of a Vidona and the earnestness of a Liozh.
And yet - he is certain, also, that this is not a coincidence, not someone native to this place who simply looks the same. If they are two, why not three?
"Hello there," Jedao calls, jogging up to him. Anyone from the barge is worth speaking to. Most of them, he thinks, are less tightly held than the ghosts who belong here.