deercountry | 12 . july catch-all

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12 . july catch-all

Who: John Gaius and an assortment of people trying to kick his ass.
What: Designated spot for boatgate fallout. Note the closed log and player plot catchall log as needed. And the move-out log.
When: July
Where: Mostly Gaze.

Content Warnings: Tagged in headers as needed. Note all the usual warnings of this character.

Threaded | Flat

Edited 2022-07-06 18:21 (UTC)

Edited 2022-07-06 22:28 (UTC)

Edited 2022-07-06 18:23 (UTC)

Edited 2022-07-06 18:24 (UTC)

[The figure that shows up on the doorstep of the tidy little house looks like he walked through hell to be there.

He's coated from head to toe in black and grey ash, clinging to every inch of skin and caking his loose black sleeping clothes down to his seared black boots. A grinning once-white skull wearing sunglasses is barely visible on his chest, the words printed above it lost, and the only marring color in his monochrome are the dull blue coals of his eyes. Even in Trench, he is an aberration on a slowly warming summer morning, the brushing fingers of light sinking uselessly into his matte darkness.

He knocks on the door in a quick, sharp rhythm and steps back, hands in fists at his sides, spine spear-straight. He is calm, he is cold.]

Even after Gideon comes back, Paul keeps going down to the beach with his evolving gear. There's still work to be done there, and besides. He has so much to think about as the waves roll in seething discontent against the shore.

Given the violence of the blood tide moon above them, he stays prepared to come across Sleepers on the threshold of the sea, one way or another. He comes across a handful, some newly awakened, others turned away from a return to sleep.

He waits for it to sing to him, too, but it never does.

It's in a preoccupied state of mind that he first makes out the huddled form of someone else on the beach ahead of him. He quickens his stride in the low evening light, his Omen bounding ahead of him. When she stops, so does he, the sharp stab of recognition she transmits to him enough to cut him dead in his tracks. He stares, eyes catching the first soft beams of moonlight, at the monstrous body alone on the sand, seething with Corruption of more than one kind. A set of choices unfolds for him at the brush of his sight, a hundred possible next moments. (But only ever one past, fixed in amber.)

He picks one. The sand whispers under his boots as he closes the distance between them.

"Hello, Teacher," he says, quietly.

Threaded | Flat

(early-month) at bone house.

(early- to mid-month) cws for grief, vengeance, murder.

(mid-month) cws for violence, murder, loss of bodily autonomy.

(mid-month) cws for weaponized intimacy, murder, grief, vengeance.

(late-month) cws for torture, maiming, murder.