DUNGEON LOG: KEYSTONE SHORE

[phantasmods]

The morning of the 9th, everyone will get a message sent to their communication devices -

Okay, guys! I think we have enough stabilizers to try and get the shoreline stable. If you want to help out, grab your supplies and come on up to the roof!

When characters arrive at the roof, they'll find Top - with a wheeling table full of many copies of the same odd-looking device - the two exploratory drones, and a ramp down off the roof to the ground. (The latter looks a little hastily constructed.)

"Okay," Top says, picking up one of the devices. "Here's the stabilizers. Stick them to walls and stuff - mostly out of the way places where they're not going to get knocked off - and then press the buttons along the side."

They demonstrate, unfolding the set of legs at one end of the device before showing the buttons to anyone who's close enough. "Go ahead and take a couple, especially if you've got one of those space-saving inventories going on, I know there's like four of you with those? Strange got some first aid kits together, too, if you want."

Sure enough, another table nearby has the med kits... As well as traditional paper bag lunches, courtesy of Bottom. Don't question it too much.

"We'll be staying back here to keep track of the stabilization progress and work the drones," Top says, "but don't hesitate to call if you get in trouble! We'll send one of these guys down to get you an evac if you need it."

And with that, you're free to go down the ramp... Or to make for the beach however else you might choose to go.

Comments

[founderinglight]

Those six... Yes, I think probably so. There's more than a touch of magic in them, after all; it's not as though they're simply mechanical task-doers. They make decisions just like humans.

[Where are you leading, Prompto?]

[photoshooter]

[Prompto thinks about that, then comes to sit on the beach near Izunia, staring out at the snaking lights in the water.]

...What about daemons? ...The ones that used to be human.

[founderinglight]

If becoming a daemon erases one's soul, then all that I have ever done and loved has been for naught.

[Said fluidly and without an ounce of hesitation.]

Even the worst daemon you can think of has a soul buried deep within the muck.

[And they both know who the worst daemon Prompto can think of is - though to name him at this moment seems somehow wrong.]

[photoshooter]

[After a while to digest that, Prompto ends up nodding agreement. That makes sense. A soul doesn't have to be all good, anyway, right? Bad souls probably exist. Verstael Besithia probably had a soul, too, or else what ended up in Immortalis? Just... information? A copy of his brain patterns? No, that's not the same as immortality at all. He wouldn't have wanted that.

After a slow, steadying breath, Prompto finally asks:]

If... a baby turned into a daemon before it had time to... to develop an ego, would it have a soul?

[founderinglight]

[Ah, so that's the reason.]

I don't see any reason that child would be different from anyone else.

[photoshooter]

Even if they weren't, like--even if they weren't born from loving parents, or--not, even. That's not what I mean.

[He knows not everyone is that lucky. It's not just him. What he means is--]

Even if they weren't... born? Even if they were made for--all they were ever supposed to be were weapons, following orders and never...

[Never having a choice to do anything more. Be anything more. To ever have a choice.]

Even then?

[founderinglight]

I don't think that the exact method of your birth matters, Prompto.

[And perhaps that's a little too on the nose, a little too much cutting through the dancing around, but -

Someone needs to say it.]

[photoshooter]

[He cringes away from the sentence, then drops his chin with a quiet laugh.]

Yeah. That's what Noct said, too.

[They're not just talking about souls anymore, are they? Prompto rubs at his eyes beneath his glasses.]

You already know all about me, huh?

[founderinglight]

I know enough. As I said, I don't have any reason to think of you as different from any other person.

[photoshooter]

...It matters to me, you know.

[The light disappears as he draws his legs up and wraps his arms around them, resting his forehead on his knees.]

Where I come from. What I was made to do. Whether or not I--was born with a soul, or. Deserve my place, and stuff. It's easy for you guys to say I'm the same as everyone else, but I--I know I'm not.

[founderinglight]

Why wouldn't you be?

[To the heart of it.]

[photoshooter]

Because...

[He doesn't have a real answer ready, and it's only half because of course, there isn't any answer, he shouldn't be any different. The other half, the more paralyzing half, comes from twenty years of knowing he looks different, he feels different, he doesn't connect to people the same way. There's so much he's never been able to tell people. So much of himself he couldn't share, the way everyone else shares, the way people become part of people, collective.]

It's different for the guys, they know me. They'd keep me around even if I was some kind of soulless monster, probably. But how can you... How can anyone else trust me like a human, knowing I was... made, like that? That I'm something artificial, like--like those fake plastic plants people have in their offices, or, or soy bacon.

[founderinglight]

Because you think and feel the same as anyone else.

[To say things with this confidence is a skill required of a king. The unshakable belief - ]

You're not a plastic plant, for crystal's sake. At worst, you're one grown from a cutting instead of from seed. And those grown from cuttings have roots and leaves and flowers the same as any other.

[photoshooter]

...Plants can do that?

1/2

[founderinglight]

...Many of them, yes. Citrus trees in particular are known to accept branches spliced in from other trees, and so bear multiple kinds of fruit -

[founderinglight]

... Not the point.

[photoshooter]

You're the one who extended the metaphor!

[It's a simile, Prompto.]

[founderinglight]

Yes but let's not turn it into a full tangent on horticulture.

[photoshooter]

[He grumbles, but accedes.]

Fine. Whatever. I guess it's stupid to keep worrying about this.

[...Buuuut he's gonna keep worrying about it.]

[founderinglight]

People worry about all sorts of foolish things, Prompto. I'm two thousand years old and I can't sleep without a nightlight.

If it concerns you so, that's reason enough for it to matter.

[photoshooter]

...

[Prompto uncurls enough to look at him, then sits cross-legged once more as he fiddles with his jacket. Something comes free, and he hands his flashlight up to Izunia.]

Here. ...Just give it back in the morning, okay?

[founderinglight]

...Don't you have need of it?

[photoshooter]

[He shakes his head and then points at the lovely lights swimming through the lagoon.]

They remind me of the lights at a haven. I'll be okay.

[Nightmares come whether or not he's got a flashlight on hand.]

[founderinglight]

If you're sure.

[He tacks the light onto the scarf at his collar, where it won't flip over to shine into his chest.]

[photoshooter]

Sure I'm sure.

[He huddles up once more, trying to get warm in the blanket.]

My daemon terrors are different from your daemon terrors, and that's okay.