MARCH STORY LOG

[monstertruckers]

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MARCH STORY LOG

A catch all post for any extra works created for the month of March. Art, short stories, etc can all be posted here. Please remember that you cannot use these entries for Activity Check, but may use them for Activity Check Reward Points. Each entry will yield 1 reward point, up to a maximum of four per month.

Feel free to use the following form:
<b>Character:</b> Character(s) involved. <b>Content:</b> Summary or warnings of subject matter. <details>Mini cut you may use to place your work under. Please use this for any NSFW content! Reminder that the <img src="IMAGE URL"> code is a good standby for posting images!</details>


NAVIGATION

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[constantvrunning]

Character(s): Just V this time!
Content: V muses on new information from the garage, and wonders about the importance of music.

One thing V dedicates theirself to collecting at the new stop isn't the kitchen equipment, or even the equipment for restoring their car.

(They make time for both, just to be clear.)

No; their first priority is going through all those message tags. Unlike where they first awoke, there's much more clearly context here.

By themselves for the moment, late at night, safely within the confines of the Convoy, they look out at the night sky and contemplate what they've digitized for the Convoy's archives.

'"Sharing your pain" - was that your idea? Did you ask them to do that?' they wonder, asking - well, probably whatever 'goddess' lives in or is associated with the moon. That's their best guess based on the information available. 'Or did they come up with it on their own, your followers? Summoning us to try and fix some part of this world?'

V shudders, and it isn't to do with the cold. They remember what using that strange music from the Convoy did to the Husks - rendering them inert, freeing whatever souls existed inside from turning into further monsters.

'Can music help you, too? Would you let us go, if you knew of a better way?'

They squeeze the feather, a small token of the storm's end. The only transformation they have now is the one they started with: two forms, one more monstrous than the other. Painful, but manageable, much more under their control.

'I'll sing anyway, it may help me think.'

With that - and, outwardly, seemingly unprompted - they start humming a melody they remember from their ad-hoc family on Tamaris - many adoptions, human, modified and Synth - a soft invocation that circles and builds upon itself.

The song is soothing, and soothing to remember. Not everything is lost.

Even here.