peklabog [OPEN]

[darkov]

WHO: Marty Peklabog, any
WHERE: Maurtia Falls (assorted locations/times)
WHEN: 8/2 (midnight) to 8/9
WHAT: Ferrying the dead, clearing consciences, enjoying being valued...thanks mind control!
WARNINGS: death/dying, suicide mentions probably, violence mentions
NOTE: Peklabog power detail here!


o1. Maurtia Falls General Hospital
[there are a couple times in that wild week of new purpose and power that Martin finds himself on the hospital campus, pulled by the call of the dying and dead. he may be seen on the lawn, head craned upward with his eyes fixed on the buildings ahead of him, listening to the calls in his head, pondering how best to reach them.

or, perhaps, he's seen inside already, skulking past busy residents and nurses to find his way toward those who are fading fast. he doesn't read much anyway, so all the 'NO ENTRY' signs that may bar his way aren't even a thought for concern.

one way or another, alone or with aid, he's getting to those souls. they need him.]


o2. A devastating car wreck
There you are...

[Peklabog manages to climb over one of the twisted guard rails on the hot, ruined freeway, evading the attention of the first responders currently fighting to pry open the roof of an upturned semi to retrieve its driver. he instead is carefully making his way toward the small cluster of cars which had crushed up against each other in vain efforts to avoid the semi's out-of-control swerving.

the living all around this scene are making quite a ruckus, but he can hear the dying a lot louder in his head. with his arrival comes a feeling of dread by way of Moros, who is not far away, having been wanting to keep near Peklabog and keep him safe as he does what he needs to. it gives the scene a more frantic feeling, a sense of time ticking by too fast.

not for him, though. this is exactly where he needs to be, and he's going to take care of things right. he settles on his knees beside an upside-down sedan, ducking to peer in through the shattered window at the one he heard calling, smiling slightly when they gurgle and look his way.

this sort of thing...it horrifies the Darkov in him, but purpose presses harder in his mind and overrides it, encouraging a better reward for all of this.]


o3. The Maurtia Falls government housing neighborhood
[despite his new calling, Peklabog hasn't abandoned his home. he doesn't want to dispose of what Martin had gained here -- the safety, the bonds of familiarity, a place to sleep -- rather, he wants to push away what he was, and truly deserve these things. after all, now he can actually contribute.

he's stowed the knitting and handicrafts away, as there are more important things to do. once he's tidied up his space and fed Rex the Fish, he grabs a pair of sunglasses off the table in the foyer and heads outside into the day, unafraid and only dreading how little time he can linger in the summer heat and sun.

rather than duck his head and hurry by, he has a smile for his neighbors.]

Hello.


o4. A cemetery
[here now is a quiet place, where the dead have already left on their way -- off to where the journey takes them next...or back to linger around the people or things that bind their restless souls to the earth. it's very warm out, and Peklabog still has that Darkov biology: it means he stays under the shade of the old oak trees scattered throughout the park.

it's been...a strange week. the joy of purpose stays firmly pressed in his mind, unyielding to the bubbling doubts and wandering thoughts of his old life, yet still that old edge of anxiety creeps in through his skin, inspired by the sound of his dying friend's cry.

what he does is good. he knows it. it's important. but...he doesn't want to bear witness to the passing of those he loves. it's a facet of him that so strongly informs so much of who Martin Darkov was, that even now it causes him to consciously balk when a new dying cry pierces through his mind.

it's why he's here -- away, quiet, laying on his back in the grass under the shade.]

Comments

closed to cass

[darkov]

[after the madness of Set's concert, Peklabog's returned back to the house to rest for the night. he sits up in the living room, legs crossed and hands folded in his lap, watching his goldfish swim idly around the little plastic castle in its bowl.]

...

[something about that crossing with Riptide...it doesn't sit right in his stomach for some reason. but...it shouldn't. this is what he's here for now, it's how he helps. it's...sad that Riptide died, but...not sad to have helped him pass. it was going to happen with or without him there; does he really think he could've stopped that? him? or even the small, pathetic thing he was?

he looks down at his hands and the arm warmers he'd knit, obscuring his Darkov scars from sight. but just because he can't see them, doesn't mean they're not there, does it? hm...]

Eh-?

[his head snaps up at the sound of the front door knocking and, after a beat, shifts, climbing to his feet and heading over to open it, barely looking to see who it is as he speaks.]

Moros, did you forget someth-- [he stops.] Oh.

[that's not Moros.]

[queenofseers]

...Martin?

[ Oh no, no, no.

Cassandra looks like the wind has been taken out of her, and not just because she rushed here. Woden's posturing on the network had made her worried for the residents of Maurtia Falls #10, but she felt like a fool for not comprehending the full scope of what Woden had done- these new gods, even less in control than Cassandra's Pantheon, wreaking havoc. She's tried to catch the residents of this house, unable to contact Dionysus (normally not a problem, now more than just ominous), fearing the worst.

But she wasn't quite expecting...this. What use does Woden have for Martin? Because she knows the boy well enough to know he'd normally not wear an outfit like this- and the eyes. Is this just to torment the poor child? To use him?

For a moment she struggles for words. But there's not much else to say, right? ]

Fuck. Fuck. You- what- [ She takes a deep breath, and then realizes there's something bigger she needs to get to. ]

Martin, where's Rex? And Dio? Jesus Christ, are you- [ Who are you? What can you do? No, she can't be an academic right now. ] What the hell did Woden do to you? Are you alright?

[darkov]

[well. this is certainly a lot of fuss and questions. Peklabog may be less timid, but he's still the type to have to take things one-by-one.

wide, surprised gray eyes blink back at her for a beat after the barrage of questions and profanities as he steps away to give her room to enter.

one at a time then.]

Rex is...likely at work, as he usually is at this time. I, I haven't seen him. Or Dio, who...is away most of the time anyway.

What's wrong? [he asks, as if there's nothing odd about this at all.]

[queenofseers]

[ In her immediate fuss, she doesn't even really notice that Martin seems less scared, his stutter somewhat faded. She rushes in and makes sure the door is shut behind her, even more paranoid than usual. For all she knows Woden's got a bug in everyone and their dog. ]

What's wrong? What's wrong? Martin- you- unless I'm losing my mind, Woden just made you into an offbrand Pantheon god! I'm not wrong, right? My mental state hasn't completely dissolved?

[ She runs a hand through her hair, a bit haphazardly, jerkier than the usual motion Martin may have seen. ]

I asked you. Are you okay?

3!

[myownprice]

[After Rex’s awkward little dinner party, Boba is now very aware of just how close he lives to the clone—and his housemates. So it isn’t a total surprise when he’s heading out for work and runs into Martin on the sidewalk. The smile on the other boy's face though… That doesn’t look very familiar at all.]

...Hi, [Boba says after a moment, trying to figure out what it is about Martin that looks so off now. Physically, he looks much the same as he did a couple of weeks ago. But something about him still puts Boba ill at ease.] Uh… Did you want something?

[Because otherwise, Boba is going to be exiting this conversation sooner rather than later.]

[darkov]

Well, I...I'm trying to find someone.

[the slight stagger in his voice is still Martin's, but it lacks the nervous quality from before.

it just makes his remarks even stranger:] I can hear them. [he taps his temple.] In my head. But I can't figure out which direction it's coming from yet, so...I have to walk until I do, I think.

[myownprice]

[The discomfort in Boba’s expression only grows as Martin continues speaking. Something is very wrong here. This isn’t the timid boy he’d talked to over boiled vegetables a couple of weeks ago.]

I think maybe you should go home, [he says slowly.] Maybe Rex can help you. More than I can, anyway.

[He’s edging away as he says it, trying to get around Martin. Whatever’s going on here, Boba wants no part of it.]

01

[killtime]

[ Moros has been following at a leisurely pace behind Peklabog, puffing away at a dwindling cigarette. Smoking is probably frowned upon in a hospital, but it isn't as if she gives a damn. So someone might get lung cancer? There's worse ways to go. She would know. She's lived through a hundred thousand things that should've killed her. The final thing will come eventually — death won't abandon her, and it won't abandon the people in this hospital either — but in the meantime, it's best if she carries on her work, bringing dread along with her as she watches over the child formerly called Martin Darkov.

She's already taken care of a few for-hire security types. One or two uppity doctors. Her ability to seemingly vanish makes it tough to stop her, and it's been literal child's play, using her shadow portals to move herself and Peklabog around the building. This time, she transports them to the hallway for the ICU. ]

Alright. Time to do your thing, kid.

[darkov]

Tha-thank you...

[having Moros along really helps; no matter how loud the dying may cry, Peklabog can't just bully his way through security and staff on his own. he's still small and a bit faltering in everything else besides what he knows he must do. Moros picks up the slack, being completely unafraid to power through and barely bat an eye at authorities here.

he breathes a little easier now that they're in this quieter corridor, his ears buzzing with the gentle hum of electronics behind the call he's trying to pinpoint. clutching Moros' hand, he walks past closed doors until passing one changes the distance of the cry.

he looks back over toward it, then points.]

That one...

[killtime]

[ Even if she hadn't become Moros — even as Andromache of Scythia, she would have protected him wherever he went, no matter what his morbid mission. Loyalty is stronger than morals. Over the centuries, she's been a force of dark impulses and a ruthless vigilante in turns. But she's always believed in family. Whatever changes they've gone through to give them these new powers, some things remain the same. She would've killed for Martin Darkov without batting an eyelash. Moros would do the same for Peklabog.

The hospital entered some kind of lockdown once everyone had been alerted to their presence, but a locked door is no deterrent for Moros. She straight smashes her fist through the small glass window, hardly even flinching at the shards that imbed themselves between her knuckles. Reaching through, she turns the lock and nudges the door open. Glass crunches her her boots. She gestures for Peklabog to enter ahead of her, blood dripping form her hand as she waves him in. ]

03

[dun_moch]

[The elderly man wearing an eyepatch and a 3D-printed prosthetic hand does not smile back. Count Dooku is having a very bad week right now. Also a very bad life, if he's honest with himself.]

Is there something I may help you with, young man?

[His tone of voice makes it clear that he would prefer the answer to be 'no.']

[darkov]

[there's a beat where Peklabog just stares blankly, then blinks, then seems to realize he's actually said hello to someone. a stranger -- a spooky-looking stranger, at that.]

Oh-- [he steps aside onto a lawn.] N-no. Sorry. It's--gods' work...

[dun_moch]

[Oh good, someone who's shy and thus easily intimidated. It's been a while since Dooku felt like he had weight to throw around, and he steps forward so he looms over the boy.]

Gods' work? You are here on behalf of some local temple, then?

[The Count has acquired a passing knowledge of Earth's religions in his time here. Some Jehovah's Witnesses came to his door once to share their gospel. It did not end well for them.]

2 - For Moros and Peklabog

[drivesadesk]

He didn't drive it very often, because the Porter made it so convenient to go long distances without it, but Jonathan did buy a car with all the money he was making at Stark Industries for when he was traveling in and around Heropa. He'd been driving around trying to survey the extent of the craziness he'd seen on the news, a backpack holding his crowbar sitting in his passenger seat in case he needed it, when he found himsef stuck in the traffic jam behind the huge wreck.

Since no one is moving anyway, Jonathan puts his car into park, grabbing his backpack in case it's contents should prove useful, before heading up to see what was going on.

Seeing the boy and recognizing him as the easily terrified kid he saw once before when he was out of his skin suit, Jonathan moves quicker. He doesn't know why the boy is smiling, but it disturbs him and he decides to ignore it. "Hey, kid, what are you doing? You shouldn't see that."

He saw that the man clearly needs help as well, but Jonathan isn't sure if he can be moved without injuring him further. It's best to focus on getting the kid away for now.

[darkov]

Peklabog freezes when he hears the call of kid -- very distinctly not Moros' voice. His eyes widen and lock on the incoming stranger, fearful already of the situation, but moreso at the prospect of being pulled away. He can't go now; this person needs him.

"Moros--" he calls, already ducking down and stretching an arm in toward the dying man. She'll protect him. He believes that.

[killtime]

She will protect him. And the moment she hears the start of her name, she's moving towards him, swiftly stepping into the path of the man approaching. As far as gods go, she isn't the most intimidating to look at — an average-sized woman, apparently unarmed — but there's something hard in her eyes. She isn't likely to stand aside.

"That's close enough."

Moros doesn't know who this person is, and frankly, she doesn't give a damn either. Nobody interrupts Peklabog on her watch.

o4

[craftpunk]

[ Woden watched them.

He watched every single god that he had created, not just out of curiosity, but because he liked seeing what they were up to. No matter whether they were good, or bad, Woden wanted to see what they did, and so he found himself lingering in the cemetery, perched atop a crypt, somewhere close to Martin -- no, Peklabog. ]

So? How do you like it? This power?

[darkov]

Uh-!!

[he shoots up in alarm at the sound of that very distinct distortion. right away, his stomach goes into anxious knots, because the Darkov in him still remembers and understands, even if the god in him does not.]

S-sir? [it takes a second of looking about to get his eyes to settle on him. he sits up straighter, fingers curling into the grass as he processes the question in his subsiding shock.]

It...It's good, isn't it? [his eyes wince.] I can finally help, I mean. But...

[he hesitates, Cassandra's fury come to mind.]

But...some don't. Don't understand. Don't like it. But I thought this...was a good thing.

[craftpunk]

They don't.

[ Woden waved a hand, almost dismissive in body language and movement. He looked completely relaxed, leaning against a structure on the crypt, and he looked every part the teenager he wasn't squirreled and hidden away from the rest of the world. ]

They see someone who has gotten power, and they're jealous. You're helping, doing good things. You've been given a taste of godhood, and either they wish they could be there, or... [ He looked down at Martin, the reflection of the boy's face distorted in his helmet. ]

Or they don't want you to ascend to their same height.

01

[lesterzeppelin]

[ While Lester primarily attended to patients at O'Malley Clinic, sometimes, the hospital was particularly swamped, and he was called to take over a resident's shift. He had read each file from front to back, and he had followed the team's advice for most patients.

One patient, however, won't respond to any of the mortal treatments available. Lester can feel his heart fading as he realizes that they aren't long for this world. After four millennia, consoling the dying should have grown easier. He lacks the emotional connection that would make this even more difficult. Yet he can't bring himself to leave the room.

As he waits for the hospital chaplain to arrive and give the last rites, he hears the door open. Good. The chaplain's faster than he imagined and so he turns to greet them and - ]

Martin? [ Lester furrows his brow, folding his arms. ] What're you doing here?

[darkov]

[upon entering, Peklabog doesn't even register Lester there, his eyes already focused and fixed on the dying man. his fingers curl tightly on the door when he does notice him, though, surprised and immediately worried by his presence.

people don't seem to understand what he's here to do, but he tries to explain anyway.]

I...I came here to help. My job...

[lesterzeppelin]

Uh-huh. [ Somehow, Lester highly doubts that the kid moonlights as a chaplain or social worker. He pauses, trying to find a nicer way to word this, so he doesn't shut the kid out right away - ] Remind me what that is again?

04

[codeofiron]

[Brandon has been thinking about memory, lately. People can change here so easily, can forget in an instant the people they're close to in this world and even the ones they knew in their own. When he'd been changed into his younger self, he'd thought of the person everyone knew here as a different person. He was. Is? The instability is terrifying, the knowledge of that everything important can disappear.

He's been thinking about the dead. He misses the living, of course - even after half a year here, he finds himself trying to turn to people who aren't there. But he also misses the reassurances that he can never forget the ones who were lost. Photographs. Graves. Not having those feels a lot like forgetting.

So Brandon decides to stop in the cemetery today, rather than passing it by. Where he comes across another visitor. It's...odd to see someone lying down here (though it's probably odd for him to be here, as well).]

Are you alright?

[darkov]

[honestly, this is the best sleep Peklabog has gotten all week. being distanced from the cries of the dying - lonely, confused...scared. those are the ones who cry the most.

he’s drifted off enough that the sound of a voice so suddenly close startles him.]

Huh-!? Uh— who-? [he sits up, startled. it takes a couple head swivels for him to find the source, gray eyes locking on him with a mix of worry and uncertainty.]

Umh... hello? Sorry. What... Did you say something?

[codeofiron]

Are you alright?

[There's concern in Brandon's mild voice, matching the expression the boy's reaction has startled out of him. He can't think of a good reason for someone to be sleeping in a cemetery.]