josh "elixir" foley (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
goldtoxicity) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
f20202020-09-09 07:07 am
goldtoxicity) wrote in f20202020-09-09 07:07 am
they built paradise
WHO: Joshua Foley and YOU!
WHERE: Krakoa
WHEN: ~2019 and back
WHAT: Backdated events! Before his kidnapping.
WARNINGS: nsfw here and there!
OPEN PROMPTS.
a diplomatic visit. ~ two years ago
[ this is a necessary evil. if they want to maintain their independence then they need to be non-threatening, or at least enough of an asset that allies are willing to let them be in exchange for a few favors.
no wonder scott summers lost his mind. his life is nothing but moving parts now. so little is stable and nothing feels certain - this empire is built on sand and the slightest rumble will make it fall. all of this has given him newfound respect for the mutants who had come before him, understanding them in a way he never could have back home... but still with the determination not to repeat their mistakes. if sacrifices are to be made, he intends for them to be his.
and it doesn't leave a lot of time for himself - not when he feels like he's promising parts of his soul to people, and sacrificing what's left to maintain the balance. he's tired twenty-four seven.
and it only worsens when someone docks at their harbor. he could leave this to the rest of the council, but he's always found it better to be the first one to greet a new arrival. lest they decide to try to turn the five into a four. ]
So glad you could make it, [ he says, hoping it sounds genuine. golden hands clasp the outstretched hand, his lips curved into a smile. ] Krakoa welcomes you.
beach day. ~ a year and a half ago
[ keeping krakoa running is a full time job. most of the population is too young to really care for themselves. joshua foley has gone from a largely irresponsible mess to - well, still a mess, but a mess with a ton of responsibilities. david's technology keeps him tapped into almost the entire population of the island and their health.
but sometimes? sometimes he needs none of that. he needs quiet.
the beaches are quiet during school hours. josh is sprawled out on the sand in a pair of black swim trunks, one arm folded behind his head, his eyes shut behind a pair of stylish sunglasses. when the shadow falls across his face he groans low and turns away. ]
Oh come on. I know nobody is dead or dying. [ he pushes the glasses up his face. ] Today is me time. Did we not establish this was me time?
stress. ~ a year ago
[ he doesn't remember what set him off. an article, maybe. something small to feed into growing paranoia. realizing that there's yet another person now on krakoa that shouldn't be. something small, something that he can't catch, and he knows there's no point in having that fight because they've had that fight and he can't justify it.
and so his office is in shambles. his fingers tangled in his hair, eyes clenched shut as he breathes hard. ]
Fuck!
[ he sinks slowly down the wall, gritting his teeth. he hears the door open. ]
Not the time!
WILDCARD.
[ hit me up at minimoffs @ plurk or shoot me a dm if you'd like to plan something specific or something off krakoa! ]
WHERE: Krakoa
WHEN: ~2019 and back
WHAT: Backdated events! Before his kidnapping.
WARNINGS: nsfw here and there!
OPEN PROMPTS.
a diplomatic visit. ~ two years ago
[ this is a necessary evil. if they want to maintain their independence then they need to be non-threatening, or at least enough of an asset that allies are willing to let them be in exchange for a few favors.
no wonder scott summers lost his mind. his life is nothing but moving parts now. so little is stable and nothing feels certain - this empire is built on sand and the slightest rumble will make it fall. all of this has given him newfound respect for the mutants who had come before him, understanding them in a way he never could have back home... but still with the determination not to repeat their mistakes. if sacrifices are to be made, he intends for them to be his.
and it doesn't leave a lot of time for himself - not when he feels like he's promising parts of his soul to people, and sacrificing what's left to maintain the balance. he's tired twenty-four seven.
and it only worsens when someone docks at their harbor. he could leave this to the rest of the council, but he's always found it better to be the first one to greet a new arrival. lest they decide to try to turn the five into a four. ]
So glad you could make it, [ he says, hoping it sounds genuine. golden hands clasp the outstretched hand, his lips curved into a smile. ] Krakoa welcomes you.
beach day. ~ a year and a half ago
[ keeping krakoa running is a full time job. most of the population is too young to really care for themselves. joshua foley has gone from a largely irresponsible mess to - well, still a mess, but a mess with a ton of responsibilities. david's technology keeps him tapped into almost the entire population of the island and their health.
but sometimes? sometimes he needs none of that. he needs quiet.
the beaches are quiet during school hours. josh is sprawled out on the sand in a pair of black swim trunks, one arm folded behind his head, his eyes shut behind a pair of stylish sunglasses. when the shadow falls across his face he groans low and turns away. ]
Oh come on. I know nobody is dead or dying. [ he pushes the glasses up his face. ] Today is me time. Did we not establish this was me time?
stress. ~ a year ago
[ he doesn't remember what set him off. an article, maybe. something small to feed into growing paranoia. realizing that there's yet another person now on krakoa that shouldn't be. something small, something that he can't catch, and he knows there's no point in having that fight because they've had that fight and he can't justify it.
and so his office is in shambles. his fingers tangled in his hair, eyes clenched shut as he breathes hard. ]
Fuck!
[ he sinks slowly down the wall, gritting his teeth. he hears the door open. ]
Not the time!
WILDCARD.
[ hit me up at minimoffs @ plurk or shoot me a dm if you'd like to plan something specific or something off krakoa! ]
immediately post rescue.
Or when the doorway still has people rushing back and forth in and out of it, carrying things, bringing in the people who can best do the job (all of them being directed by David), she stands a short distance inside the room, from the door, against the wall.
She can't help here.
But she can't not be here either.
She counts the bruises, cuts, contusions she can see from here. She listens to every notch of David's voice, tight and worried and tries not think of him on the beach. Sobs wracking his frame under her arms, terrified Josh would have forgotten he loved him, that he was looking. Listens closer than ever to his words about how 'they can't help him more', that his powers won't let them.
He's skin and bones. He's a testament to abuse.
She can't stop looking at him, and she can't walk away.Luther comes and goes, staying out of the way. Helpless to help here, too. As much as she pays attention to his words, the touch of his hand, she doesn't at all, and she knows he knows it even. That it's part of why he keeps coming back. He might be the only reason she actually knows time is passing. That there has to have been a duration he's made himself wait between the coming back.
She doesn't know if he's coming back and forth from Claire. She doesn't know if she's with one of the others. Their family. Somewhere out of the way, distracted and enchanted -- and never as oblivious as anyone could wish her to be this year. She can't get to her daughter's face without something cold, and still, and angry, and afraid, and more dangerous for all of that, starting to rattle in her chest.
She pushes it away.
It and the truth of this, but with any of their faces.
Her family. Luther. Claire. Fear never leads her to being afraid.
Allison doesn't know how long it is until the last time Luther comes back. The room is quiet and empty and still. Except for her. Except for David and Laurie, like parentheticals around Josh's body on the medical bed, fitting into a space they shouldn't, but always will. She can't remember the last time someone spoke, except to whisper something to Josh from inches from him. To will him better. To will him to wake up again.
It's the first time she moves. She doesn't know if Luther tugged her toward him, or she just folded in against his chest the first second she realized how close he was. It probably has something to do with the silence. With the low barely lit night of the room. She can feel the tension in him, just as much as the relief when his arms curl around her. She doesn't know if he kisses her hair or just tucks his face against it, but registers the words, You need to sleep.
And she could say she doesn't. They don't. They were born and built to be monsters. To be better machines than people. She could probably go on standing here another day. Or two. Lucidity would become more problematic, but it was controllable, too. She knows it's not the right answer, even if it is the true one. Just like his is. No lie in the words. In his touch. In his concern. Whispers, not loud enough to carry, still unable to look away from the body across the room, I know.
Her family is waiting. Claire is. No. She's probably long asleep. But she's probably worried, too. The only time she doesn't come home like clockwork at the end of even the long days is when she has to be off Krakoa for delegations and appearances. She needs to go home. She can't do anything. She still doesn't want to go. But she needs sleep. They need to decide what to do about this. Tomorrow. Or the next day. Or whenever Josh is fully awake. It's disjointed, late, but Allison finally turns her face into his chest, with a shaky breath, the first all day, too, and nods.
Even though the first thing she does is catch David's eye (still just as awake, even more refusal in those eyes: to move, to sleep, to stop looking at Josh only a breath's distance from him) and says only loud enough to carry, I'll be back.