pennysheets | Afterlife PSL: Lilith and Samael

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Afterlife PSL: Lilith and Samael

Soldat struggles up the riverbank with a vague, bedraggled confusion. Rivers shouldn't have banks. They should be deep cuts in the ground, manufactured more than developed. And it's dark, but it's not too dark, not the kind of dark they expect from a dead world.

Does that mean they made it? Is the sun going to come up on Beacon at last? Is the World Eater dead? They didn't see, the explosion flooded their perch, and now--

--now they have no idea where they are or what happened. They sink to their knees among the trees to pull the lantern off their shoulder, but it looks undamaged, nothing worse than the two small cracks from the Asset and from their second death. Sora's wayfinder charm and Owl Friend's safe passage charm are even still attached, still whole, somehow. Water streams from the metal arm, but it doesn't feel like water made it past the shielding. It'll be fine once it dries out.

Looking up, there doesn't seem to be anyone nearby. Had they been thrown that far? Had the lake washed them up on some other shore, far away from the others? Their tablet has no signal, when they check it, though all the music and notes are still there. (Hate to lose those. Hate to lose a lot of things. Mission. Yeah, pal. Mission. I'm getting up.)

They struggle wearily back to their feet. Time to find the others.

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[ the body on the riverbank is unexpected.

the forest has been quiet for a long time, with the spreading black corruption that had made up the the Spill gone and the last batch of shades (Lilith's batch of shades) sent either back to their lives or forward to their final rest. the entire operation was supposed to have been shut down once everyone had left— and sure enough, there had been no more shades washing up after that. neither of them had been particularly inclined to try to seek more out, either: Samael had always preferred testing other Arbiter's shades rather than taking full responsibility for a group of her own, and Lilith...

...she had accepted Samael with the full knowledge that she'd be facilitating the Arbiter's duties. it had been a small price to pay to save them both, and as far as doing so made it possible for Samael to continue judging, it could have been much worse— she could have been one of the ones who liked to run the crueler games.

that doesn't mean Lilith had to enjoy the entire process of putting the dead to trial.

their personal feelings about the process don't matter, though. Samael's duties are written into her bones— literally carved into the giant snake-skull mask that makes up her body, unable to be changed without destroying her entirely. Lilith offers no protest as she tilts their head, and then makes her unhurried way over; only presents a wordless sense of resignation, followed by amusement as Samael conjures a towel out of nowhere. some routines don't change at all.

...even when the circumstances do. drastically. why is there only one shade? ]

Are you all right?

[That... is not anyone from Beacon. Nor is it a spirit. Soldat stops short, hand going to one of their various knives. The guns won't be of much use, not after the dunking, they'll have to dry out... but they still have plenty of knives.]

Who are you.

[They're not answering the question of how they are until they know who they're talking to.]

[ she tips her head to one side, blinking once— something that might look like surprise at the way they immediately went for the knife, but is really Samael's only outward reaction to the awful gut-punch of recognition that hits Lilith as she belatedly registers the metal arm, his face, his voice—

"who the hell is Bucky," she thinks in a wild burst of exhausted hysteria, and is very glad she isn't the one in control. there's next to no chance he's the person she'd known and she knows it, and it wouldn't be the first time a familiar face had looked at her with no recognition in their eyes, but. that isn't something that gets easier to handle with anything resembling grace, it turns out. ]

I am a judge. ... We do not usually take names.

[ aside from that initial blink, she doesn't really seem concerned about their weaponry. what can be made out of her expression under the skull mask is mostly blank, with a hint of what's either curiosity or interest in the wideness of her eyes. ]

[There are definite differences between any version of Bucky she might have seen before-- the hair is longer, pulled back, though currently messy from battle and the watery trip between dead worlds; there's the same tactical vest, though it's clearly been mended in a few places; there's that lantern hanging from their shoulder, along with a few odd charms made of feathers and metal. And now there's a flicker of horror that crosses their face before it shuts down tight again.

A judge? Did they die-- again? And not come back as a spirit in Beacon? (Does that mean they won?)

(Oh shit... Misty is gonna be so pissed.)

The hand stays on their knife, but they don't draw it. A fair judging would probably put them in some kind of hell, no matter what Misty might say. And they know it. Weighing all the lives they took... it's easy math. Expression tight but blank, they ask,]

What do you want.

[ she hums quietly, thoughtful. ]

It is not my desire or duty to judge you for your past deeds.

[ it didn't take a genius to see that momentary horror without having a good idea of what put it there— and Samael has been doing this for a very long time. ]

I would like to see you go home ... if that is what you want.

[Soldat is silent for a long moment, staring at the bottom of that skull mask. Go home. Maybe save Steve after all. Maybe find out if Misty is in his world somewhere, and save her, too. Their voice is hoarse when they ask:]

How.

[ "...let me." "Are you sure ...?" "You've never been particularly comfortable with this part. I can get over myself long enough to give him straighter answers than you would."

after a moment of her own silence, she shakes her head— not to brush him off, but to jar the lower jaw of the snake skull loose. it swings open enough to frame her own jawline, leaving her face mostly unobscured, and when she speaks again it's nearly with a different voice: lower, with a gravelly rasp to it, and more inflection than just "quietly neutral." ]

...Most of the crossings have been destroyed, but there was one that was at least intact when we left it. I can lead you back to it.

To be able to use it, however... only the worthy can cross back over. To that end, you will be tested.

[They take a minute to squint at her, recognizing the shift, and... well. (Is that what it's like for other people? I don't know. Maybe. You still kind of sound like me, though. No. You definitely sound like me, Asset. No.)

They finally let their hand fall from the knife sheath. They'll deal with the... testing thing in a minute.]

And who are you.

[ the stiff line of her shoulders smooths out as she blinks at him again, this time actually surprised. that's... possibly one of the most unfazed, accepting reactions she's gotten...?

...which really does not help the feelings issue, or her immediate inclination to get attached. wonderful. at least this little bit is just because she's pathetically weak to being seen for herself in general, as opposed to crossed wires over who he resembles. ]

Lilith, of Larkspur. ...My apologies for adding to everything else being dropped on you, but there are some answers I'm more suited to give, and I thought it would likely be obvious soon enough regardless.

[That's the joy of dealing with someone who is disassociated to all hell: they're used to the idea of switching off who's in control of a body at any given time.]

It's fine. I know how that works. I'm Soldat.

[Which is not the name she knows them by, but... he doesn't know that yet. Depending on how much she learned about the previous one, though, the word may be familiar.]

I'm also Sarge and the Asset and the Bottomless Pit. So.

[She gets a wan little smile.]

[ "Soldat" is not familiar, but "Sarge" gets a flicker of recognition in the slightest lowering of her eyelashes. how long had she spend stubbornly refusing to call Larkspur's Bucky anything other than "Sergeant" in an attempt to keep him at arm's length or further...?

the smile she gives him in return is wry, and a little lopsided. ]

Somewhat more crowded, then. ...I usually call my partner "Samael," for reference. You're welcome to use the same name, or give her another; she likes to collect them.

...ah. Did you want...?

[ she holds up the forgotten towel. ]

[All it means is "Soldier" in Russian, but they've adopted it as an actual name now. They've grown to the point where they can hear the name James or Bucky and not panic, but it doesn't feel like them. They're new. Different. Somewhat more crowded. So Soldat remains.

They hadn't even really registered the towel, but now they do, and after a beat of hesitation, they step closer to take it, and start by using it to wring out the long, half-undone tail of their hair. They sound significantly less on edge now, though they're not going to lose their wariness entirely for a long time.]

Thanks. I'll remember the names. Do you live here?

[ "less on edge" alone is more than either of them had expected— and as far as Lilith's opinion goes, wariness is objectively the correct response to everything in the forest anyway, her and her partner included. it might not be Hell anymore, but that doesn't make it Heaven.

still, after how long it's been since everyone else has left, a relatively friendly reaction is both a relief and something to be enjoyed for... well. likely only until they're told more about the way the forest works. but in the meantime, Lilith nods in response to the thanks, and tucks both hands into the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie. ]

Not really. There are a few places we've settled at for a while, but for the most part we follow the river.

[Someone who has to share their head and body with someone else... that's someone who can understand at least part of their weird experience. They continue to squeeze water from their hair, a little from the tactical vest-- though that's harder to dry; they're going to have to do some maintenance on that, get it properly waxed and maybe repair a buckle or two-- and watches her sidelong.]

So you're here. To collect dead people and send them... where, exactly. You said home.

...back to where they died, would be more accurate. Assuming that's what they want.

[ not everyone considers that place home, and not everyone wants to go back. Lilith certainly hadn't. ]

This is the country of the "unjustly dead." If you died when you weren't meant to, according to fate or God or whatever you might believe cares about such things— you end up here.

[ she doesn't bother keeping the sardonic edge out of her tone as she speaks. Samael knows she thinks the whole thing is senseless, and there's nothing to be gained in this cases by setting herself up as some sort of mysterious authority on the matter when the entire system has already been all but torn up by the roots. ]

I've been dead for. Eighteen months. Brought back in a new body by a scientist on a dead world to stop world eaters. Not sure if I can still... inhabit the body left on my world.

[There's a lot they're not sure about, but they do know pretty clearly how bodies in Beacon work. The joys of being on the team that helps restore the fallen through lantern technology. The towel is pretty soaked, now, but they bend to wring out the hems of their combat pants, anyway.]

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Afterlife PSL: Lilith and Samael

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