sad space dad had a bad (
shiro2hero) wrote in
deercountry2022-07-10 04:24 pm
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Entry tags:
i'm gonna leave my body ; i'm gonna lose my mind
Who: Shiro & YOU [open]
What: When the Beasthood hits like a truck.
When: July
Where: Throughout Trench
Content Warnings: property damage, grief, self-worth problems, to be updated as needed
BEFORE ;; The House
He's remade this cup of tea more times than he wants to admit. More times than he should have had to. He knows the motions. He knows exactly what to do. But it never seems to come together. He's not sure how or why. The water heats. The bag steeps. But it's wrong. It's not coming out like it's supposed to.
It's just wrong.
It's wrong, he's wrong, the hole in his chest is wrong, there's silence where there should be bubbling warmth there should be shoulders to lean on there are no more containers in the fridge that smell like home he can't stop thinking it should have been different, it was supposed to be different, he should have been able to change things to stop things it should be fine, he should be fine he has to be fine.
I'm fine.
Yet again, he throws the wasted tea into the sink. It's stained brown by now with the sheer volume of discarded liquid. His hands shake. The right one hurts and he can't figure out why. It feels like something is disconnected under the metallic layer, sparking painfully with every motion. He should ask Hunk - no ask Varian no ask Chloe no ask -
- who is gone.
Pain writhes down his back. Warring with the sudden, nauseating rush of guilt. Because he wasn't strong enough, he wasn't good enough, he'd promised and they were all gone. All he can do is clamp down on the feelings, try to block the mental connection from being flooded with his own guilt, his own doubt. The aching, anxious grief threatening to choke him where he stands at the kitchen sink. His eyes burn, and he refuses to blink, lest the tears boil over.
I̸̙͠'̴̓͜m̸̨͒ ̶̨̑f̷̠͝i̶͓̚n̷̳̏e̵͖̐ I̸̙͠'̴̓͜m̸̨͒ ̶̨̑f̷̠͝i̶͓̚n̷̳̏e̵͖̐ I̸̙͠'̴̓͜m̸̨͒ ̶̨̑f̷̠͝i̶͓̚n̷̳̏e̵͖̐ I̸̙͠'̴̓͜m̸̨͒ ̶̨̑f̷̠͝i̶͓̚n̷̳̏e̵͖̐
He has to be fine.
The ocean roars in his ears.
He starts the tea again. Ignoring the raging ache in his hands, the tremble in his arms, or the slithering feeling of something oozing down his skin.
I̴̳̹͚͝'̶̡̤͂̿̎̅m̵̜͒͑ͅ ̸̰̪͉͕̀f̴̣̄i̴͚̽̎̍n̵̨͚̾̓ë̸͙̼́̽̚͝
All he hears is the sea.
DURING ;; The Streets
The sun is a deadly laser. It's high in the sky, high noon. Because of course it is. There are no clouds to be seen. But that hardly matters - a cloud of dust rises instead. Or maybe it's smoke. From this distance, it's hard to tell. The closer you get, the more apparent the source becomes. Especially when you see the Trenchies running from it.
From him.

Oh, it looks like Shiro. If all the color fully drained from his body. If the scars coating his skin turned to thick tar, and his eyes glazed to empty, glowing white. Something flickers around him, like a camera glitch. A dark outline, a shadow, the after-image of a bright flash. It moves, and Shiro moves in an answering echo. Reaching a hand into a pile of rubble - his right hand - letting it catch and burn with white flames.
It - he? - turns, then, head lolling to one side on its neck. Its face is utterly blank, expressionless. But the flickering, the blinking, jittery shape around it just smiles. An expression with far too many teeth. It speaks, and it speaks with the cadence of mimicry. Of a beast not understanding human words, human vocal chords.
" i̴͖̓͑͌͐̏'̵̰̰̗̂̌͐̊ṃ̶̳̠̈̆̋̆̋̕m̸̨̝̥͎̯̚m̵̺̒͑ͅ ̴̧͖͔̟͂̐F̴̦̹͈̲̊̄̈́Í̴̹͒̃̔̇n̸̦̅̌͘e̸̜̮͋̂͑̃͝.̶̡̢̘̠͈̜̽͐͘ "
That's it. That's all the warning. Before the Beast launches itself forward at nearby bystanders. Be they Trenchies, Hunters, or Sleepers.
It doesn't make a difference anymore. Nothing matters anymore.
DURING ;; The Shore
Ironically, the Beast's ultimate destination appears to be the Shore. The beach. The ocean. Where it continues to mutter and ramble to itself, pacing up and down the waterline. Occasionally, it will pick up a squid, examine it, and then hurl the creature back into the surf.
" Ń̵̛̪̍̄̈̈́Ö̷̙̦̲͈̜͔́T̴̮͍͕͚͑̎̄ ̴̢͈̻̙̟́̂͜g̶̢̼̘̃̇ọ̵͛͑̀͗ö̶̠́d̷͈̜̝̪̞̋̓ͅ ̸̰͙͋̒͛̚E̵̢̼̰͂N̵͚̦͉̝̿̆̈́́̌ȏ̸̡̮̖͖̤̠͌́̈́̀̌ȕ̶̱̗͛́̇̓̀g̵̘̪̪͍̑́h̴͓̰̣̤̣́̐̈́̂̕ "
At some points, it starts to race forward into the water, stopping when it gets knee-deep. Then it races back to the shore, almost scuttling. The black shadowy image around it snarling. Pulled back onto the sand by something it can't name, something it can't understand.
Whenever that happens, the Beast grabs rocks, or shells, or any kind of beach debris, hurling it into the ocean, angrily. Disrupting the Beast will cause it to turn that anger on any intruder. Anyone - friend, foe, new arrival, it doesn't matter. There's anger here, and it wishes to burn.
((ooc: Plotting comment is here, cure will be handled by Min-Gi, but all else welcome!))
What: When the Beasthood hits like a truck.
When: July
Where: Throughout Trench
Content Warnings: property damage, grief, self-worth problems, to be updated as needed
BEFORE ;; The House
He's remade this cup of tea more times than he wants to admit. More times than he should have had to. He knows the motions. He knows exactly what to do. But it never seems to come together. He's not sure how or why. The water heats. The bag steeps. But it's wrong. It's not coming out like it's supposed to.
It's just wrong.
It's wrong, he's wrong, the hole in his chest is wrong, there's silence where there should be bubbling warmth there should be shoulders to lean on there are no more containers in the fridge that smell like home he can't stop thinking it should have been different, it was supposed to be different, he should have been able to change things to stop things it should be fine, he should be fine he has to be fine.
I'm fine.
Yet again, he throws the wasted tea into the sink. It's stained brown by now with the sheer volume of discarded liquid. His hands shake. The right one hurts and he can't figure out why. It feels like something is disconnected under the metallic layer, sparking painfully with every motion. He should ask Hunk - no ask Varian no ask Chloe no ask -
- who is gone.
Pain writhes down his back. Warring with the sudden, nauseating rush of guilt. Because he wasn't strong enough, he wasn't good enough, he'd promised and they were all gone. All he can do is clamp down on the feelings, try to block the mental connection from being flooded with his own guilt, his own doubt. The aching, anxious grief threatening to choke him where he stands at the kitchen sink. His eyes burn, and he refuses to blink, lest the tears boil over.
I̸̙͠'̴̓͜m̸̨͒ ̶̨̑f̷̠͝i̶͓̚n̷̳̏e̵͖̐ I̸̙͠'̴̓͜m̸̨͒ ̶̨̑f̷̠͝i̶͓̚n̷̳̏e̵͖̐ I̸̙͠'̴̓͜m̸̨͒ ̶̨̑f̷̠͝i̶͓̚n̷̳̏e̵͖̐ I̸̙͠'̴̓͜m̸̨͒ ̶̨̑f̷̠͝i̶͓̚n̷̳̏e̵͖̐
He has to be fine.
The ocean roars in his ears.
He starts the tea again. Ignoring the raging ache in his hands, the tremble in his arms, or the slithering feeling of something oozing down his skin.
I̴̳̹͚͝'̶̡̤͂̿̎̅m̵̜͒͑ͅ ̸̰̪͉͕̀f̴̣̄i̴͚̽̎̍n̵̨͚̾̓ë̸͙̼́̽̚͝
All he hears is the sea.
DURING ;; The Streets
The sun is a deadly laser. It's high in the sky, high noon. Because of course it is. There are no clouds to be seen. But that hardly matters - a cloud of dust rises instead. Or maybe it's smoke. From this distance, it's hard to tell. The closer you get, the more apparent the source becomes. Especially when you see the Trenchies running from it.
From him.

Oh, it looks like Shiro. If all the color fully drained from his body. If the scars coating his skin turned to thick tar, and his eyes glazed to empty, glowing white. Something flickers around him, like a camera glitch. A dark outline, a shadow, the after-image of a bright flash. It moves, and Shiro moves in an answering echo. Reaching a hand into a pile of rubble - his right hand - letting it catch and burn with white flames.
It - he? - turns, then, head lolling to one side on its neck. Its face is utterly blank, expressionless. But the flickering, the blinking, jittery shape around it just smiles. An expression with far too many teeth. It speaks, and it speaks with the cadence of mimicry. Of a beast not understanding human words, human vocal chords.
" i̴͖̓͑͌͐̏'̵̰̰̗̂̌͐̊ṃ̶̳̠̈̆̋̆̋̕m̸̨̝̥͎̯̚m̵̺̒͑ͅ ̴̧͖͔̟͂̐F̴̦̹͈̲̊̄̈́Í̴̹͒̃̔̇n̸̦̅̌͘e̸̜̮͋̂͑̃͝.̶̡̢̘̠͈̜̽͐͘ "
That's it. That's all the warning. Before the Beast launches itself forward at nearby bystanders. Be they Trenchies, Hunters, or Sleepers.
It doesn't make a difference anymore. Nothing matters anymore.
DURING ;; The Shore
Ironically, the Beast's ultimate destination appears to be the Shore. The beach. The ocean. Where it continues to mutter and ramble to itself, pacing up and down the waterline. Occasionally, it will pick up a squid, examine it, and then hurl the creature back into the surf.
" Ń̵̛̪̍̄̈̈́Ö̷̙̦̲͈̜͔́T̴̮͍͕͚͑̎̄ ̴̢͈̻̙̟́̂͜g̶̢̼̘̃̇ọ̵͛͑̀͗ö̶̠́d̷͈̜̝̪̞̋̓ͅ ̸̰͙͋̒͛̚E̵̢̼̰͂N̵͚̦͉̝̿̆̈́́̌ȏ̸̡̮̖͖̤̠͌́̈́̀̌ȕ̶̱̗͛́̇̓̀g̵̘̪̪͍̑́h̴͓̰̣̤̣́̐̈́̂̕ "
At some points, it starts to race forward into the water, stopping when it gets knee-deep. Then it races back to the shore, almost scuttling. The black shadowy image around it snarling. Pulled back onto the sand by something it can't name, something it can't understand.
Whenever that happens, the Beast grabs rocks, or shells, or any kind of beach debris, hurling it into the ocean, angrily. Disrupting the Beast will cause it to turn that anger on any intruder. Anyone - friend, foe, new arrival, it doesn't matter. There's anger here, and it wishes to burn.
((ooc: Plotting comment is here, cure will be handled by Min-Gi, but all else welcome!))
{ AFTERWARD }
[Everything is so far away.]
[He should reach out. He should try to recall what happened. Try to remember. But memories are always so elusive for him. They have been for a long time. It's easier just to close his eyes again. To sink into a fitful doze a while longer. And maybe when he wakes up, things will be clearer.]
[Eventually, he knows he'll need to get up. He'll need to get water, eventually. Aspirin for the headache threatening. And he'll need to confront what happened - and how it's changed him. Right now, he can't see the way his hair's bleached to white, or how even more pale he's gotten. He looks like a ghost. Dozing in place.]
[But the door's unlocked.]
no subject
Either way, he didn't just barge into the house, and waited to be let in. He was hesitant to go visit in the first place, blaming himself for playing a part in what happened to Shiro. He was even nervous about approaching Adam at this point. For now, though, Keith was just grateful that he wasn't being sent away.
(He knew it was unlikely he would be... deep down... but that surface guilt made him feel like he should be.)
Either way, he was here now, and quietly knocked on the door to the bedroom.]
Shiro...?
no subject
[His voice sounds rusty, even to his own ears. Shiro clears his throat and tries again, a bit louder.]
Yeah?
[That's only slightly better. But it'll have to do. He's tired. Empty-feeling. Like something's been pulled out of him and hasn't managed to replace itself yet. He hasn't even noticed the new hair - the shock of it hanging in his eyes looks like the same color as always, anyway.]
no subject
Um... can I... come in?
[Yeah... he was asking permission and sounding very unsure if he was going to get it.]
no subject
[While he tries to figure out how to get his arms and legs to cooperate. They do not want to.]
[So instead of Shiro or Keith opening the door, it's his omen. The Lion. Who nudges her big head through the doorway, regarding Keith for a long moment. Before she steps aside to let him in, she deigns to bestow an affectionate face rub against him. See, no hard feelings from her.]
[Come in, bro.]
no subject
He gingerly stepped inside, looking very hesitant in general.]
Uh, hey...
[He was trying to not make a point of staring at Shiro's hair.]
You... you uh feeling better?
no subject
[Yeah, he kind of looks like he's gotten all the life wrung out of him. And color. His omen worms her way behind Keith with another headbutt. See? Everything is fine.]
[Shiro gets himself more or less propped up, thanks to pillows. Perfect.]
I'm awake. That's... something, yeah? [A pause, because neither of them are great at hiding anything from each other.] You?
no subject
It was definitely hard to hide things from Shiro, and Keith could see that Shiro was doing the same. He understood why, honestly, even if it frustrated him, and he knew it frustrated Shiro when he did the same in return. They were a lot alike sometimes.
But they also didn't really push about things, either.
Keith surprised himself at how steady his voice sounded when he finally answered.]
Well, I'm not a squid.
[AKA: He was alive. So, that was something, too.]
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good place to call it?
> ANGE
Shiro had kept meaning to visit there more often. Always meant to. But never really got around to it. Things came up. People needed him. He spent more time at Koz's. Just like life, in any sort of world - you put things off, other things happen, you put it off again.
This... definitely was not how he meant to visit said Archives. If this could even be considered Shiro by this point. It's the Beast, instead. Stalking through the streets, flinging objects, or Trenchies, aside. Out of his way. This creature, this Beast, has a mission. Do what Shiro could not. Would not.
Unfortunately for anyone in the area, its mission right now is arrival at the Archives. It won't be allowed inside, but it doesn't care. It just has to get there.
"P̸̜̓̍a̵͔̅̆ţ̷́̔í̶͍̭̕e̵͎͚̔n̶̡̤̊͂c̶̢͝e̵̺̫͑ ̵̹͐.̷͍͕̓.̶̦̽͋͜.̶̧̣̽ ̶̟̚á̸͈̣̅n̴̨̛͓d̷̞̭̉ ̵͉̥͠F̶̧̜̍́O̷̮̓̆͜C̸̠̱̊U̷̹̗͆Ś̶̨͉́!"
no subject
.. until she suddenly hears something strange, that is.
She mentally curses herself for jinxing it. Surely the thought that she got through this alright must have done it. Ange turns her head to look at the source of the sound, rather than actually heading inside.
That's the moment she freezes up. Because the person - no, the thing - moving down the street there is definitely Shiro, but at the same time also definitely not. It's like some sort of husk, like everything that makes Shiro Shiro left this person, leaving behind a dark after image, a shadow. Ange has seen a lot of beasts, but it's not often that she has witnessed a form that still looks so much like the person she knows.
Turning away from the doors to the Archives, Ange instead looks over at the approaching being.
"Shiro..!"
Does she know calling out to it maybe isn't the best idea? Sure. But if Shiro turned into this, then.. she can't just ignore that, right? She feels like she at least managed to somewhat get through to Orpheus when he was in his beast form, even if she didn't manage to turn him all the way back. Maybe she can do something here too.
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And it recognizes Ange.
The way it moves is reminiscent of a stuttering video. It jerks and lunges, starting and stopping and shaking. But every single little motion is fast. A high speed playback as it charges at her. This face is familiar. It knows her. It remembers what she can do. Speed is necessary - it has to overwhelm her if it wants any chance of the upper hand.
So it lunges.
It makes to grab Ange.
no subject
But really, she has no time for that. This decision is way too complicated to decide on so quickly. After all, either she vanishes herself into a cloud of golden butterflies and leaves this beastly version of Shiro to rampage by itself, or she allows it to approach her, risking getting hurt herself.
Neither of them feel like the right option here. And because Ange can't choose between them so quickly, it's much too late to do anything anymore. This beast version of Shiro is so fast, and he's already reached her before she's been able to do a single thing but stare at his current form in horror.
no subject
"y̷̗͋͐ö̸̜́Ǔ̶̬̝'̷͔͆L̸̢͛L̶͕̐ ̵͈̐͜b̵̼͑e̸̳̕e̸̼͑̍ȅ̷̲ ̶̧̣͐G̸̘͛́R̶͕̐̆E̶͕̮͗ȧ̴̖̗t̴̥̆..." it hisses. Around its head flickers images of other faces. Leering, snarling, staring in horror. All of the above. At once.
And then it reaches for her. With its left hand, the fingers curled as if they were claws.
no subject
That tone in the beast's voice, so ominous. At least he can still talk, but on the other hand, what good is that when it sounds nothing like the warm and caring Shiro she knows?
"Shiro!" Ange says, her tone sharp, but at the same time desperate. Like she's trying to appeal to something she still hopes is somewhere deep in there. Her hands glow golden with magic, but she doesn't cast anything just yet. "Snap out of it! This isn't you..!"
Maybe she's too weak. The idea of hitting Shiro with anything, even in this form, makes her stomach turn. It feels wrong.
Instead she tries to get away. It's hard, since she's basically stuck between Shiro and the wall at this point, but it doesn't feel right either to just stand there and see what that hand is about to do. When it might harm her.
So she tries to move in the opposite direction, trying to slip out from her precarious position, moving away from the hand as well as she can - though it might mean little when Ange is only human, no match for the speed of a beast.
no subject
The glow of her hands is another story.
It recoils from the light, briefly, snarling and babbling some sort of garbled nonsense. The words tripping and warping all around themselves. Angry. Just angry. As if Ange has done something truly offensive by bringing her magic to bear. But maybe there is still something of Shiro left in the Beast, because the metal hand doesn't move from where it's buried in the wall.
His left hand, though, that lunges for her. To grasp her by the arm, by the shirt collar. Anything it can reach. Anything it can wrap its hand around and haul. To drag her away.
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Streets
Shiro-
[As long as Ruby had known him, he had been a beacon of hope and support. It broke her heart a little to see him like this. Unfortunately she didn't have time to linger on those thoughts. She saw him dart before a group of Trenchies and she knew she had to act. She launches herself in their direction in a flurry of frosty rose petals with her semblance and stops between them and Shiro. Scythe raised up to defensively to take the brunt of his first attack.]
I'm not going to let you hurt anyone.
no subject
[The Beast is the one with the choices.]
[And right now, it chooses to throw itself at Ruby. At her defending scythe.]
Ṕ̸̪̋a̸͎͖̅̓ţ̴͎̀i̴̫̊̓e̷̞͖̎̚n̷͓̦̋̅ĉ̸͙̄e̵͙͝ ̸̠̐̐.̵̛̠͚.̶̯̤͝.̴̧͍͛̂ ̸̙̉͗a̵̬̎͝n̴̳͐̔d̵̟͘ ̵͍̜̐͆F̷̞̓Ö̶͕͍́͊C̸̦̈U̷̳̞͝Ṡ̷̼͒ ̵̙̮͑͊w̵̟̓ī̵͕ǹ̸̩s̴̳͛ ̵̹̀T̶̜͓͂H̴̗͝È̴̱͝ ̵̥̦̒̕D̴̠̲͑̈́Ä̵͕́͘Y̵̺͊!
[The words are garbled, a parody of how Shiro would usually speak. All rough and broken around the edges, snarled through pointed teeth. His voice jagged, harsh, where it would almost always be quiet and collected. Metal fingers gleam lurid and pale, grasping for the scythe, to try and pull it aside.]
the streets.
And that's the thing: this is familiar. It's so familiar, one more instance of the feeling that has haunted him since he first opened his eyes on this shore and still felt blind: there is something on the tip of his tongue, at the edge of his awareness, just behind a closed door. He almost knows this. He's supposed to know this.
Jon steps onto the street and does not know why he expects purple light. He doesn't find it. Instead: smoke, and chaos, and people running.
He isn't a Hunter. But he hurries down the cobblestone streets towards the danger, all the same, and what he sees freezes him right there on the road. ]
Shiro?
no subject
[Leering at Jon. Focused on him.]
[And then the Beast moves.]
[It moves with the same rapid, start-stop motion of an old VHS on fast forward. Jerky and too fast to be normal. And it lunges out with its right hand, grasping for him.]
i̷̲̇̑ ̶̢͆̔A̵̹̤͌̈́M̷̫̓M̵̟̣͋ ̸͔̱̕͠f̴̭́i̷̞̟͝i̸̮̮͝i̸̘̿N̴̗̅Ẻ̴̥̫!!
no subject
It's distracting. So he doesn't move quick enough, not by half, when it goes for him.
Jon recoils too late and struggles too weakly: for all his fragmented memories of power, he's really nothing more than a stick-thin human with no athletic talent to speak of. When the Beast catches him by the arm, he scrabbles at its hands to try to make it let go. He tries to run.
He does not succeed. ]
Don't— let go of me—!
[ There's no power in the command. Just the panicky tone of a man who has realized he's made a significant mistake. ]
no subject
[It leans in, instead, its jaw dropping into a too-wide parody of a grin. Too wide, the teeth too sharp, and nothing but a lurid, painfully white glow in the eyes. Not a single speck of recognition. Not like the metal monster in the dream. This is worse, somehow, this is past the tipping point, drowning in the abyss.]
p̶̰̆a̸̲̍T̵͈͠͠Ȉ̸͍͔Ë̵́ͅN̷̹͔̍͝C̸͇͑̓e̸̳͐̕ ̴̝̑A̴̬͉͋N̴͕̠̈́̈́n̴̫͈͆͌n̸̳̐͘Ǹ̵̟̀D̷̬̦̊ ̴̖̥̌F̶̢͎͊Ô̴̬̹C̵̖͆U̷̢̗͋S̵̡̃S̷̩̈̅
[Its whole face seems to jitter to one side, the image of it smearing. And then, in one motion, it jerks the poor man up and onto its shoulders. Normal-feeling shoulders. Not deformed with muscle like the monster's had been. Though something squirms beneath fabric.]
[Black scars churning, animated, moving across the skin.]
[It runs. It bolts. Carrying its prey as if Jon doesn't weigh more than a couple grapes. Which, comparatively, may as well be true.]
no subject
He feels the squirming movements along the skin and Knows exactly what they are. (It stirs a horrible fascination in him, a vast surge of longing he does not understand.)
When it picks him up he flails, inelegant. Jon is just disoriented enough to cling as the movement starts. When he thinks to struggle again, its grip is like iron.
And so Jon Sims is kidnapped. Again. ]
no subject
[It runs. It doesn't stop running.]
[That, at least, is partially a Shiro response to a problem.]
[It ducks into alleys. Through narrow streets. It's moving too quickly for the Hunters to catch, now. If it has a destination in mind, nothing in that mockery of a voice is open to discussion. But they are moving out of the city. Toward less and less populated areas. Toward the woods. Far away from help.]
[And far from the sea.]
no subject
But it's Shiro. It's Shiro, and he still has a certainty that he saved Shiro, once. He looks away from its weak spots, and he struggles ineffectively, and he fails not to panic. ]
Shiro, please—
[ He can't get much of a word in edgewise, and the thing doesn't listen, anyway.
It'll embarrass him, later, that he let a monster just pick him up and run off with him. ]
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cw: references to Galra captivity; spooky eyes; truth compulsion
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later, at the sanctuary.
And then Allen is beset by a skinny man with greying hair tangled around his face, a dozen little scars pockmarking his cheeks and throat, and utterly frantic eyes. ]
I— m-my friend, he needs help— you can cure Beasts?