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deercountry2022-05-12 09:40 am
shiro2hero) wrote in deercountry2022-05-12 09:40 am
is this how it is? how it's always been?
Who: Shiro & Open
What: May Catch-All
When: All throughout the month
Where: Mouse House, The Beach, Willful Machine
Content Warnings: Grief, isolation, corruption symptoms, mild monstrous body horror
GRIEF | physical / emotional corruption signs
((ooc: if you want anything specific let me know !! Or throw your own starter in and I'll roll with it. I'll match format, too! Action or Prose.)
What: May Catch-All
When: All throughout the month
Where: Mouse House, The Beach, Willful Machine
Content Warnings: Grief, isolation, corruption symptoms, mild monstrous body horror
GRIEF | physical / emotional corruption signs
MOUSE HOUSE
A lot has happened. None of it has been particularly good. Like the blows keep coming and coming, while you're trying to dodge and weave around them all. And failing. Picking yourself up is almost impossible. But... he has to. Shiro has to. There are still people here who depend on him. There are still people here who need someone.
So he picks himself up. Every single day. He makes his rounds through the house, ostensibly checking on the occupants - What do you need? Can I do anything? How are you? But, privately, to make sure they're all still there. He is fine, because he has to be. Because the only person he can fall apart around is hurting just as badly. Or worse.
And if he wakes up to the multitude of scars crossing his body turning a darker shade, then... well. It's just the month. Just the Trench weirdness.
Anyone living or visiting the house is subject to the same questions - the same constant checking. Though his voice is tighter, the lines under his eyes heavier.
Are you okay? he'll ask.
He's fine.
MONSTERS | TDM Mirror Prompt
A lot has happened. None of it has been particularly good. Like the blows keep coming and coming, while you're trying to dodge and weave around them all. And failing. Picking yourself up is almost impossible. But... he has to. Shiro has to. There are still people here who depend on him. There are still people here who need someone.
So he picks himself up. Every single day. He makes his rounds through the house, ostensibly checking on the occupants - What do you need? Can I do anything? How are you? But, privately, to make sure they're all still there. He is fine, because he has to be. Because the only person he can fall apart around is hurting just as badly. Or worse.
And if he wakes up to the multitude of scars crossing his body turning a darker shade, then... well. It's just the month. Just the Trench weirdness.
Anyone living or visiting the house is subject to the same questions - the same constant checking. Though his voice is tighter, the lines under his eyes heavier.
Are you okay? he'll ask.
He's fine.
THE BEACH
His scars have blackened. Like marks of fire across his skin. He's been sitting on the shoreline so long, honestly, he hasn't noticed. I just need some air - he'd said. Just needed to step out. Step away from being ... he doesn't even know anymore. Wanting to be of service, wanting to make a difference and not being able to do a damned thing. The need to help, the need to do some good somewhere in this place has been driving him through the losses.
But what real difference has any of it made?
The guilt swirls in and out like the surf. Maybe he'd gotten too complacent. Maybe he'd done something wrong. Maybe if they'd acted faster on their plans against a certain familiar face here - a certain "Mother Mercy", then...
Maybes. What if's. Guilt. His shoulders ache, his scars itch.
Communicate, he'd been advised. Advised and bottled up. Put away on a shelf for a day when Shiro didn't have to shoulder the world. When he feels like two more names need to be added to the list of people he couldn't save.
But there's still people congregating on the boardwalk. There's still the plethora of spring food and celebration going on. Maybe he should go up there and grab some?
Maybe he needs some convincing - or, at least, someone to drag him off the sand.
His scars have blackened. Like marks of fire across his skin. He's been sitting on the shoreline so long, honestly, he hasn't noticed. I just need some air - he'd said. Just needed to step out. Step away from being ... he doesn't even know anymore. Wanting to be of service, wanting to make a difference and not being able to do a damned thing. The need to help, the need to do some good somewhere in this place has been driving him through the losses.
But what real difference has any of it made?
The guilt swirls in and out like the surf. Maybe he'd gotten too complacent. Maybe he'd done something wrong. Maybe if they'd acted faster on their plans against a certain familiar face here - a certain "Mother Mercy", then...
Maybes. What if's. Guilt. His shoulders ache, his scars itch.
Communicate, he'd been advised. Advised and bottled up. Put away on a shelf for a day when Shiro didn't have to shoulder the world. When he feels like two more names need to be added to the list of people he couldn't save.
But there's still people congregating on the boardwalk. There's still the plethora of spring food and celebration going on. Maybe he should go up there and grab some?
Maybe he needs some convincing - or, at least, someone to drag him off the sand.
MONSTERS | TDM Mirror Prompt
WILLFUL MACHINE | BEFORE
Those bottled up emotions feel as if they're drowning him. So he stalks through the city, now. On a mission he'd promised someone else he'd take up. One more thing to try and mitigate the loss. To try and make useless blood and we don't need you anymore into something worthwhile. Try to hunt a monster. A man on a mission.
Despite the fact he's still wearing his right arm tied to his chest in an immobilizing sling, but oh well. At least he's wearing his armor this time, black and white armor that probably stands out in the Trench streets. There's no other outlet for these feelings. Talking it out only puts the burden on other people, especially those that are also hurting.
So - he's out looking for the weird tentacle thing Min-Gi had told him about. He's not sure if he'll find it. But hey - he won't turn down backup, thankfully. Catch him about anywhere in this area, patrolling.
... You may have to be quick, because while Shiro won't turn down help, he has a tendency to duck his head away from familiar faces.
Those bottled up emotions feel as if they're drowning him. So he stalks through the city, now. On a mission he'd promised someone else he'd take up. One more thing to try and mitigate the loss. To try and make useless blood and we don't need you anymore into something worthwhile. Try to hunt a monster. A man on a mission.
Despite the fact he's still wearing his right arm tied to his chest in an immobilizing sling, but oh well. At least he's wearing his armor this time, black and white armor that probably stands out in the Trench streets. There's no other outlet for these feelings. Talking it out only puts the burden on other people, especially those that are also hurting.
So - he's out looking for the weird tentacle thing Min-Gi had told him about. He's not sure if he'll find it. But hey - he won't turn down backup, thankfully. Catch him about anywhere in this area, patrolling.
... You may have to be quick, because while Shiro won't turn down help, he has a tendency to duck his head away from familiar faces.
ANYWHERE IN TRENCH | AFTER {cw: mild monstrous body horror}
Just some window shopping. Maybe bring something back home - brighten up his partner's day. Something like that.
Except... reflective glass. Reflections. The first time Shiro passes one, it's normal. He just looks as exhausted and scarred and weary as always. So he sighs, shakes his head. And keeps walking. Maybe he should just go home -
No sooner does he think that, then, abruptly, he sees another shape in the glass. It may have been himself, once. But now it's grown. It's turned from human to some awful monstrosity. Some sort of huge, hulking brute, its right arm a twisted mockery of metal and wire. The scar across its face mirrors his own, but deeper, more ragged, like something had attempted to cut its entire head in half. It stares at him, its eyes cold, glazed yellow.
Winks.
And suddenly, it is shambling down the streets. All the locked up, boiling restlessness in Shiro's chest itching to be released.
And no sooner does it find someone than it decides it would like to brawl. Right there in the street. With the real Shiro trapped along for the ride, locked in its head.
Perfect.
Just some window shopping. Maybe bring something back home - brighten up his partner's day. Something like that.
Except... reflective glass. Reflections. The first time Shiro passes one, it's normal. He just looks as exhausted and scarred and weary as always. So he sighs, shakes his head. And keeps walking. Maybe he should just go home -
No sooner does he think that, then, abruptly, he sees another shape in the glass. It may have been himself, once. But now it's grown. It's turned from human to some awful monstrosity. Some sort of huge, hulking brute, its right arm a twisted mockery of metal and wire. The scar across its face mirrors his own, but deeper, more ragged, like something had attempted to cut its entire head in half. It stares at him, its eyes cold, glazed yellow.
Winks.
And suddenly, it is shambling down the streets. All the locked up, boiling restlessness in Shiro's chest itching to be released.
And no sooner does it find someone than it decides it would like to brawl. Right there in the street. With the real Shiro trapped along for the ride, locked in its head.
Perfect.
((ooc: if you want anything specific let me know !! Or throw your own starter in and I'll roll with it. I'll match format, too! Action or Prose.)
no subject
Keith panicked.
No
Shit shit shit
Trapped inside himself, Keith screamed.
STOOOOOOOOOOOP!
His body hesitated...]
no subject
[He's conscious, thankfully. And has enough of a mind to keep rolling. The Not!Keith hesitating means Shiro has enough time to just keep on... rolling. Like a barrel. Into the dubious cover of the cabbage wagon remains.]
[Maybe if he's out of sight, it will mean Keith won't have to keep attacking?]
no subject
His body hunched forward, doubling over on itself on the ground.]
no subject
Come on. Come on, Keith. You can do it.
[It doesn't matter if Keith can hear him or not. He's... a quiet cheerleader from the sidelines.]
no subject
[Hands clenched in hair as the body trembled from the struggle, and then went slack, collapsing to the side with a soft thud. He laid there, breathing hard, reorienting himself, barely conscious. It took several long minutes before he started to move again, gingerly and slowly pushing himself back up with shaky arms. He was visibly exhausted, and his voice was a bit hoarse by the time he finally said anything.]
Shiro?
[When he looked up, Keith was back in control.]
no subject
[Neither of them sound great. But as soon as Keith looks up, Shiro's trying to work his way through the mess of debris. He hurts, yes, but it's more important he gets to his teammate - his brother. Check him over.]
Hey, are you okay?
[Says the guy with blackened scars, moving gingerly and sounding like he's gargled rocks.]
no subject
As Shiro got closer, he might spot that Keith's hair had developed a dark purple sheen to it and the fingertips of the gloves he was wearing looked like they were trying to hide that his fingernails were getting a little claw-like.]
I-I'm not hurt. [Well, not badly. He was definitely bruised up, maybe a few scrapes and cuts from getting tossed into the cart. But nothing serious. He shifted slowly, managing to get to his feet. His leg was sore where the reflection had grabbed him and threw him, having yanked on him pretty hard, but he controlled the wince as he put weight on it.] Are you?
[Keith knew he could kick hard. It was one of the reasons he used it often in melee. Hell, even in one of their first real melee fights as Paladins, he still managed to kick Sendak almost halfway across the control room of the Castle. Sendak wasn't exactly small.]
no subject
[Both of them know that much. He's just much more worried about Keith right now. Hoping he wasn't as badly hurt as he looked. Hoping the differences in how he looked were just Shiro being paranoid.]
[He eases himself over, holding a hand out. To help Keith. Always to help Keith - someone else. Anyone else. He can see that Keith's limping, so he's going to offer help. A shoulder to lean on. His ribs hurt, a lot. Breathing hurts, a lot. But - ]
Maybe we can call a cab? [A weak attempt at humor. It's Shiro's coping mechanism, right there.]
no subject
Do those even exist here?
[He did put a hand on Shiro's for balance, at least, because his leg did hurt, but he really didn't put much weight into it, not wanting to lean on Shiro too heavily right now.]