September & October Catch-All

[spiritwalks]

Who: Vyng spiritwalks and YOU
What: Catch-All for September + October. See comments for prompts!
When: Various
Where: Various

Note: Style veers wildly between prose and brackets. Just choose whatever style feels good when responding, and I'll match it ♥

Content Warnings: Listed in subject lines when applicable

Comments

Growing Pains [September]

[spiritwalks]

Season of Change. A month of personal sacrifice...

No wonder his Blessed Day falls in September.

It takes Vyng time to settle on a suitable offering: His charm bracelet. Crocodile teeth, bits of vine, and all sorts of tiny tokens — from past adventures with his family — once dangled from his wrist. But that life is behind him now.

Letting the trinket go feels like twisting a knife into his stomach. So many memories. Of his little Billie. The hardships they endured together. Rub-a-dub-dub bathtime songs. And the cuddles he'll never have again.

That sharp pang is all the confirmation Vyng needs to know he chose well.

Reverently, he places the bracelet to rest in its freshly-dug grave. With each handful of dirt he scoops onto it, he silently says goodbye. After he's finished packing the soil in place, Vyng fishes a sewing needle from his pocket. The subsequent pin-prick of his finger makes him purse his lips for reasons he can't quite explain, but the blood is still offered willingly. Rusty red intermingles with the dirt beneath his hands.

What emerges from the soil makes Vyng's breath hitch: A single, orange compass rose.

River of Regret [September] (cw: animal corpses, vague emeto mention)

[spiritwalks]

When he catches a glimpse of ravens gathering around a single spot along the still river, a cold sense of foreboding washes over Vyng. As an outdoorsman who's well-acquainted with the brutal and unforgiving facets of mother nature, he can already imagine the gruesome scene waiting downstream. The foul stench of rot, coupled with flocks of scavenger birds, only points to death and decay.

But nothing prepares Vyng for what he soon discovers: A cramped graveyard of bloated, half-eaten bodies. Polar bears. Elk. Owls. Crocodiles. Crushed humming birds. Too many decomposing creatures for anyone to willingly count. All friends who deserved so much better.

It's too much.

His eyes water, his throat constricts, and Vyng hunches over the side of the canoe. Retching.

[jedies]

[ obi-wan didn't know what to make of it, and so he had kept quiet on the boat ride. he has never been one to pry into other people's wounds. it was a surprise to see animals instead of human corpses, but obi-wan found his heart moved to pity regardless. he has always had a close touch with creatures and this was an obscenity.

gently, he rubs vyng's back, a light, reassuring touch. ]

[spiritwalks]

[Vyng lightly jumps at the contact, but doesn't protest. His travel companion's gentle hand gives him an anchor to focus on...and a reason to pull himself back together, instead of staring miserably into the murky water.

So, he draws in a breath though his nose. Lets out a shaky exhale. It's an exercise he's led for others in the past, like fellow Sleepers and his own kid: Deep breath in — one, two, three, four. Hold it for two seconds. Aaaand let it out through your mouth. Nice and slow... Several minutes pass like this. Finally, the tension coiled in his stomach starts to unwind.

"Sorry," he silently tells the water. ("It happens," is the predictably go-with-the-flow answer that gets conveyed back to him, just as wordless as his apology.)

Once he feels ready, he lightly lifts his head from the edge of the canoe.]

Well... [Vyng's tone is dry.] There goes my lunch. Can't say those mushrooms tasted much different coming back up.

Bloodsport [September]

[spiritwalks]

A. Runner's High:

[Rain pounds against Vyng's face, wavy hair whipping behind him as he jogs through different parts of town. The weather is terrible for it...but the conditions are good for keeping his mind focused on the present.

The Blood Moon is making his muscles taut, his insides coil, and his blood sing with sheer possibility. He's already burned through several ways of gaining control of himself: Meditating in front of his tent, shadow boxing on the beach, and even random one-night tussles in the sack with a local or two. Nothing quite gives him peace. Even when he's calm, there's that niggling sense more unspent energy will come roaring back if he lets his guard down.

His coping strategies only keeps a lid on an otherwise boiling pot.

And as luck would have it—]

Oof!

[He's collided right into you. Vyng stumbles backward, disoriented for just a moment by his own carelessness.

What will you do? Fight him? Commiserate? Or maybe just yell at him for being an absolute ding-dong who doesn't pay attention. That's fine too.]



B. Wildcard: ((Open to other combat, arena-based, or otherwise bloodsport-related (mis)adventures. Hit me up at jackets for plottng or toss your own prompt here.))

Boardwalk

[spiritwalks]

A. Under the Sea [Anytime in September]:

Even after his terrifying high-seas disaster with Shiro, there's something comforting about wading back into the water. This is the vessel by which new life enters Trench, after all. For plenty of unfortunate sailors, it's also a massive grave. And regardless of name or status, the few things Mariana can guarantee are contradictions, unpredictability, and impermanence.

Like so many things in life, the ocean is an uncertain place. And in that uncertainty, Vyng is strangely assured.

As he wades further from land, some of the wool hanging from his body bubbles toward the surface. Mouth clenched to avoid swallowing anything, he plunges himself under. The wind overhead is drowned by the distorted sound of waves vibrating through his very bones. Vyng folds his legs beneath himself, and he sinks toward the sandbar beneath him.

He doesn't dare try to connect with the Pthumerian Ocean. Not yet. He's still finding his equilibrium in this world. But Vyng tries to center himself all the same. In and out, the gills on the druid's neck flare with each breath he takes. Even as his senses become fuzzier from the water's disorienting effects, Vyng's heartbeat slows into a steady rhythm. He slips into a relaxed, meditative state.

But to passersby, it probably looks like some weirdo just dunked himself under the water. And...just isn't coming back up for air.



B. Fireside Chat [Anytime in September]:

Cozy bonfires dot the beach at night, while a warm cinnamon scent wafts through the air. One fire, however, is sitting away from the majority of people. For those overwhelmed by crowds, it's a calm refuge — peaceful, quiet, and the perfect distance for letting people's chatter fade under the gentle rush of rolling tides.

Anyone who sits here might be hoping to collect their thoughts and simply observe their surroundings. They would be forgiven for thinking they were alone. Until...

"Hey."

It's the fire.

"Mind tossing in a little more incense, please?"

The fire is talking.



C. Doggy Style [Anytime in September or early October]:

Some people on the boardwalk are treated to an odd sight: A white, pony-sized wolf bowing and prancing around Vyng, who's also on all fours and woofing with delight.

They both suddenly freeze, as if at a standstill. But the silence is broken when the wolf tackles Vyng — who laughs and wraps his lanky arms around the creature, burying his face in the wolf's soft, fluffy fur. Despite her wild nature, the wolf seems happy with this arrangement. She playfully and gently nips him like he's a pup, nuzzles him for pets, and fiercely wags her tail.

As soon as somebody approaches, though, the wolf's ears perk up, alert. Her bright blue eyes focus on the Sleeper up ahead, wordlessly directing Vyng to look into that direction as well.

"Heyo, neighbor!" he calls, waving in greeting.



D. Wildcard: ((Feel free to toss in your own boardwalk scenario! Or plot with me on Plurk or Discord.))

B!

[justoscar]

--w h a t.

Oscar looked up from his cocoa with the wide-eyed expression of a small woodland creature caught by surprise. The lack of sleep was getting to him... But talking fires was Not on his list of expected interactions that evening.

A quiet night and collecting some ash from the incense and bonfire was the plan, and he even had a little jar on hand expressly for that purpose. His boyfriend (and that was still such a cool thing to be able to say) Dipper Pines liked saving weird little things for use later on. Although Oscar didn't quite get it, he respected it and accepted his role.

Normally it didn't come with weird sidequests.

"Um. Okay..."

His reply trailed while he dug out more incense for the flames. Although fire could easily cause harm, Oscar didn't fear contained flames. Instead, with a healthy level of respect, he tipped a couple of sticks into the flame and closed his eyes as the fragrant smoke started to waft about with renewed strength.

Even talking fires couldn't be that bad. Or... Maybe he was just going mad from his lack of decent sleep all month.

Who could say anymore?

[spiritwalks]

Vyng doesn't reach for the incense. He doesn't need to, because he patiently trusts his companion will oblige. There's no need for greed to expand beyond the natural confines of his shape. Fire simply consumes what is placed in its path, and a contained fire feeds on what it is given.

As soon as they're dropped into him, the sticks wither and burn with a steady puff of smoke. Soon it will be ash, transformed into energy that helps sustain him. Of course, the incense is more for other people's benefit than Vyng's. But there's a comforting sort of satisfaction that comes from embodying fire's purest form: Serving a constructive purpose through destructive means.

"Thanks, buddy," the fire answers with a pleased pop. "Oscar, right? Pretty sure that's you, at least."

A

[schoolingfish]

Sure, breathing the ocean water here might make Luca feel weird and disoriented sometimes, but he ignores it, as always. After all, what does it matter if he has moments where he forgets where he is or which way he was going? He's a sea monster, and this is his natural environment. He'll be fine. Besides, there's plenty of food under here that he can eat and barter as needed.

Then he sees a man sitting cross legged underwater.

Luca swims closer, confused. He doesn't look like he's drowning, Luca would expect...well, more of a reaction if it was something like that. Still, he's concerned, because he doesn't see scales or fins or anything he's used to seeing in people who are meant to be underwater like this. So he swims closer.

And he sees gills.

"Woah...you have gills?"

Granted, Luca also has gills, but Luca looks far more like a creature that would be expected to have gills.

[spiritwalks]

He senses the new presence closing in on his position — bright in spirit, with serpentine movements that resemble a water dragon. Yet their approach is marked by gentle stops and starts that remind Vyng of a young, curious fish approaching something new.

But then a sudden question slices through the peaceful bubble he's built around himself. With a startled flare of his gills, Vyng's eyes snap open...only to be greeted by a mesmerizing sight: Green scales, blue fins, and irises that shimmer like tiger's eye.

Vyng flashes a closed-mouth smile. He has no idea what he's looking at, but they seem friendly. So he responds in kind, by pointing to both sides of his neck, giving two thumbs up, and nodding a silent "that's right!"

B

[frogfear]

She frequents the beach throughout September, watching for squid washing up on the shore, hoping one of them will either be someone she misses from home, or someone she knows from Deerington who has not yet emerged from the sea.

No luck tonight, apparently.

Willow wanders away from the rest of the crowd and down the beach, listening to the ocean as the waves wash on the shore. It's cold and wet, but the fires still seem to be burning brightly, and she takes a seat near the one set up apart from the others to warm up.

She pulls the red cloak from Oscar a little tighter around her shoulders and jumps suddenly as the fire speaks.

The fire speaks.

She looks around, wondering for a moment if someone's playing a trick, and throwing their voice, but there doesn't seem to be anyone nearby. After a moment, she peers into the flames with a mix of surprise and curiosity. She takes another look around to make sure no one is within earshot and going to think she's lost her mind if she answers.

"Uhhh. What? Did you - did you just talk to me?"

:B !!

[spiritwalks]

"What, you've never talked to a fire before?" Flames crackle in amusement. "Today's your lucky day, then."

Vyng, of course, doesn't have eyes. But he can sense this person's bright presence, along with a gentle push-and-pull between their essence and the moon. The second is an intriguing trait possessed by many Sleepers. (Hell if he knows what that actually means, though.)

"So how about it?" the fire adds with a curious pop. "Got any smokes you can spare?"

C

[vibing]

Yuri is more than a little bemused by what he's watching. Repede at his side is looking on with judgement in his eyes. How undignified, for both the wolf and the person.

But even so, the pair of them stay there watching. Yuri can't help but grin down at Repede. "You wanna join in?"

Repede turns his one eye up at Yuri, looking incredibly unimpressed.

When the guy waves to them, Yuri waves back, mostly just to piss Repede off. "Hey there. Think your pup wants a play date?"

[spiritwalks]

"Play date?" Vyng echoes with a grin and an arched brow. "This is training, friend. I could find them a stick, though. You know, for a game of tic-tac-toe?"

Slippers, meanwhile, straightens her posture and keeps her ears perked. At the same time, her tail sticks out and slightly raises in a show of confidence. Next to Vyng, who's still resting on the sand, she's quite large and doesn't bother hiding it.

Upon seeing the dog next to this stranger, though, Vyng's expression brightens. Without another word, he stretches out across the ground, belly up in a show of submission. At the same time, he gives a series of friendly whines and barks. To any humans, he sounds like a dog. But to Repede, his noises translate to something along the lines of:

"Greetings. Your scars and weapons tell many stories of hard-fought battles. You must be as powerful as your pipe is magnificent."

c.

[queenking]

[Saxsice has finally gotten off the beach and found her way to the boardwalk, and has made short work of all the various snacks available there. The sight of the huge white wolf is enough to distract her, though, since that's...more of less what she looks like in wolf form. It's almost a nostalgic feeling, seeing another wolf. It's been a long time.

Still, she's not dumb enough to go bounding forward in her canine form, instead lingering back with her corndog and waving it at the guy next to the wolf.]

Hey! Who's your buddy?

Training [Early October]

[spiritwalks]

Maybe you stumble across Vyng training. Or maybe you both decide ahead of time to help each other practice. It's equally likely he roped the first poor bastard saw on his way to the Farther Shores.

Regardless, this sudden rash of productivity is brought to you by: an ever-present sense of fragility and inadequacy, with a healthy dose of "oh shit, it's October".

As far as Vyng is concerned, there's no other choice. It's time to revisit the fundamentals.


A. is for Attack:

[...Which starts off with him pulling out a bottle of water. He turns to his companion, shaking the container a little to emphasize what he's about to say next:]

Alright, pal. Alls you gotta do is hold still. Keep this bottle on your head, and I'll try knocking it off.

[What could go wrong?]



B. is for Breathe:

[Of course, it's not just your body that needs honing. Your mind does too. Vyng sits cross-legged on the black sand, eyes closed and hands resting on his knees. An incense stick is perched in the sand. Lending a warm, earthy scent to the ocean are are wisps of smoke curling from the stick's smoldering tip.

Ever since the bloodsport bullshit in September, he's been offering to teach other people the benefits of meditation and mindfulness. Vyng has plenty of experience, after all. Under his tutelage, even the squirmiest of 9-year-old halflings have learned to focus and breathe through tumultuous thoughts.

Granted, Vyng's way of communicating a lesson can sometimes be...strange. For now, though, he gently guides his companion on a journey of peace and calm:]

Focus on the warmth of the sand beneath your feet. Feel the heat travel through your body. Listen to your heart beat against your ribs.

[Deep breath in — one, two, three, four. Hold it for two seconds, aaaand let it out through your mouth. Nice and slow, just like Vyng showed earlier. Soothingly, he continues:]

The air is cold in your lungs.

Are your nipples erect?

[A beat, his eyes still closed.]

That's a rhetorical question. Don't answer that, please.



C. is for...Charades played backwards?

[You've practiced your fighting forms. You've centered your mind. Now? The real work begins. Vyng looks at his training companion with a grave expression.]

We want to be ready for whatever happens next, right? Which means we need to learn to adapt to any situation. So...

[Vyng lets out a slow breath...and drops into a low crouch to the ground.]

Name an animal. Any animal.



D. is for DIY: ((Have another training-related idea? Go nuts! Or plot with me on Plurk or Discord.))

B

[survivalthroughhate]

[Maul taught a few people back in Deerington to meditate though for some reason he can't quite seem to get people to connect with it on the same spiritual level either. Even being connected to the Force doesn't guarantee someone will be good at it. His brother Savage tends to fall asleep more often than not when Maul asks him to do a session with him, so it really has to be something a person grasps on their own.

When Vyng appears to be looking for someone to meditate with, Maul immediately decides to do so with him. Vyng is probably (and oddly enough) the person here who has come closest to grasping what the Force is without actually being Force-sensitive himself, so Maul feels like he might understand meditation on a better level than some here. He's proven right as Vyng goes through a basic meditation exercise, clearing his mind as he feels the Dark Side of the Force flowing through him.

He feels connected to all things and is beginning to think Vyng really knows what he's talking about.]

You know, you're one of the only people here who know how to meditate properly.

[Then Vyng goes and asks.....that. Maul growls without opening his eyes.]

I take it back. You're a fruitcake.

A

[onekindsoul]

[Okay Ruby stands as still as she can. Which is actually pretty impressive for a girl with the amount of energy that she has. Her eye peers up but she obviously can't see see the bottle on her head.

Then she looks to Vyng and smirks.]

You got it! At least with me there's less chances of you getting it in my eye, right?

[One eyed jokes. She's making them.]

B, forgive me,

[unsheathedfromreality]

[It's been since Illarion died that he last meditated. Even when alive, he was always an inconstant practitioner of the art (much to a certain priest's amused dismay). Having someone experienced lead him through a session is exactly what he needed to take it up again, not that--oh, inconstant heart--he knew he wanted to take up meditation again until some stranger had offered to teach him.

So, here he is sitting on his heels in the sand in a crouch most comfortable for a shrike, wrists turned upward on his knees and eyes closed. His bare toes dig comfortably into the sand, and his shadow seems to have disappeared somewhere.

He's pretending to breathe more than he's really breathing, since breath control's part of the exercise even if one doesn't need the air. It is--pleasant, is the strongest word he can muster for the feeling, pleasant to feel his wider awareness slip into the beach and the underlying current of (grief/rage/pain) that was constant to the Unearthed slip away. A moment of silence inside his own head is a blessed thing, a thing to be held onto--

Ah.

He opens an unfocused eye at the question.]

I don't have these. [So, no, they are not by function of nonexistence.] Not being a mammal.

[He closes the eye again, resuming his simulacrum of breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth, ignore that most of the air doesn't make it to your lungs...

No, wait, he can't focus on this now that the thought's gotten into his head.] Does that usually happen, when you are meditating?

c

[arclightning]

...what?

[ Isn't this whole thing supposed to be about physicality and learning to connect motion to element? Why is Vyng asking him—

Wait, no, Mako. Think quick, on your feet. He's already shifting into something like a fighting stance when the question catches up to him. ]

Koalaotter.

A

[themuseabandonsyou]

Oh, okay! [ says Orpheus, brightly, taking the water bottle when it's handed to him and carefully balancing it on his head as instructed. It takes a tiny bit of adjustment to get it to stay, but he's got good posture and manages without much fuss. With that, he stands as still as he can manage, watching Vyng curiously and without any apparent trepidation. Obviously he knows what he's doing, right? So it's perfectly safe. ]

Emotional Support - Sanguine Station [Early October!]

[spiritwalks]

There, there...

[In the dimly-lit tavern, Vyng pats his table-companion's hand. Does he know why this other Sleeper suddenly got weepy? No, not really. Still, he didn't hesitate in finding a warm place to sit down and help them regain their bearings.

And here they sit. Kind of awkwardly, but hey. Everyone at this table is trying their best.

Vyng hands over a hankerchief.]

What's going on, huh? Do you want to talk about it?

[thinkfirst]

Not—not particularly.

[ At least it's an honest answer.

Flynn has been a fragile thing all month, and that is a feeling he hates. Even the comfortable, familiar weight of his armor—or, rather, armor that he and Yuri purchased, because his actual armor is a twisted unsalvageable mass in several places—can't seem to make him feel secure in any way, and with everything with Yuri being so vague and home being such a faraway thing, it is really sinking in that Flynn is here, untethered but for Yuri and Repede, for good: that he has abandoned his dreams and everything he worked for, that he has left all the people who were counting on him behind with no real way of knowing whether there is another version of himself back there to take care of them.

It's a lot to handle, all of the weight of home piled up on top of him, but Flynn hadn't meant for this to happen. He wipes hurriedly at his own eyes, frowning hard. ]

I'm really fine, please don't worry about me, it's—the moon? I believe?

[ It is not. Cloverfield isn't even his patron! He's just... feeling it.

And there is in fact a shadow behind him, an armored thing shaped like himself draped over his chair, pressing invisible fingers into Flynn's skin. ]

closed to Vyng

[bardbarous]

[ Tuck's sorry excuse of a flower is mocking him personally as it sits in a clay pot by one of the stained windows. Right beside it is Vyng's, a vibrant cardinal rose also mocking him. Both are mocking the shit out of him in tandem! They are tag teaming him and waiting for Tuck to tap out of the full nelson they've got him in.

But like hell he is tapping out! If anyone's tapping out it's these fucking flowers! Now fully immersed in a dark snit, Tuck's restless pacing finally stops him in front of the flower pots. The ones mocking him! So, to stop them, he quietly swipes his hand over the window sill and pushes Vyng's flower pot onto the floor. It shatters in a spread of clay and dirt that Tuck doesn't bat an eye over.

In fact, the sounds of shattering clay give him a rush of pleasure, but it doesn't last long. A spontaneous temper tantrum isn't going to fix how he feels. He steps over his mess and heads for the door without TLC. Likely a stupid move, but he's not thinking clearly, or maybe he is inviting danger to strike as he heads to the harsh sea shores where everyone washes up on. ]

[spiritwalks]

[Vyng is blissfully unaware of Tuck's agitated pacing. He's too busy meditating on the floor in his little corner, wedged between a wall and Francis's large, furry body.

But when pottery shatters on the ground, he's yanked from his peaceful contemplation, looking up just in time to see the tent's flaps settling back into place. Confused, he casts his eyes around the room. No Tuck, no other sign of his presence...nothing. Although when Vyng rises from the floor, his attention is drawn to a concerning sight: his own orange blossom laying sadly in a pile of soil and jagged glazeware. Tuck's flower — wilted and pitiful — remains untouched on the sill.

...Ah.

With one last affectionate scratch behind Francis's ears, Vyng calmly makes his way out into the ocean air. His eyes scan the shore, in search of his best friend's unmistakeable form.]