Oscar 'Little Cute Boy' Pine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
justoscar) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2022-08-02 02:05 pm
justoscar) wrote in deercountry2022-08-02 02:05 pm
Entry tags:
Catch-all for July and August | Closed
Who: Oscar Pine + Close CR
What: Oscar's Body Hopping Misadventures + Plot Wrap Up -- Closed Prompts to be added throughout month
When: Throughout July and August
Where: Throughout Trench
Content Warning: character death references, body hopping, more to be added as needed
What: Oscar's Body Hopping Misadventures + Plot Wrap Up -- Closed Prompts to be added throughout month
When: Throughout July and August
Where: Throughout Trench
Content Warning: character death references, body hopping, more to be added as needed
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After all, what kind of man meets with his youngest student, gives her cookies, and tells her she's going to be something special mere moments after seeing her face?
The knowledge that he wasn't playing by any rules he understood won over his fear, and Oscar took a sip of the warm beverage. It tasted... Like tea, a tad astringent but lightly sweetened. Encouraged, Oscar took another sip to bolster himself for yet another round of explanations that made him really, truly wish that lying really was the easiest response.
"I'm really tired of explaining myself," he said finally, aware that the position he was in by accepting John's offered tea was analogous to a fairy tale.
There was no choice now but to play by the strange rules, if only because now hospitality was in play.
Sighing, he finally asked:
"Do you really want the full story, or an abridged version? Spoilers: it involves an undying witch whose eyes are like yours."
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An undying witch with his eyes. Funny; he's never met anyone with eyes as fucked-up as his, and very few people terrifying or unlucky enough to claim undying and really mean it.
"Abridged version, but heavy on my lookalike," he says. "If you're willing. I'll go out on a limb and assume you're not on good terms."
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He could play nice. He told Pyrrha that he would, and he trusted Pyrrha to be moderating matters on her end.
The cookie (another bit that was eeriely similar to Ozpin) was a great distraction. Uncertain what to do, he dipped it into his tea and took a bite.
"She wasn't always an immortal witch," He began finally, surmounting his temptation to link a recording of Vyng and Tuck's musical interlude in which they declared 'Salem is a biiiiiiiitch~' for their opening line. Instead, Oscar picked his words carefully, choosing instead to not give implication about the full scope of things or who all was involved.
"She started as a girl, one who spent her entire life in a tower before a wandering knight set her free. Salem, as she was named, was eager to explore the world with that knight, and they went on many adventures. Over time, they even fell in love."
He sighed, glancing down into the tea and the crumbs now floating on top. There were many ways this could go-- but he wanted to keep it simple.
"Unfortunately, luck wasn't on her side. Her knight fell ill and died-- and Salem, grieving and angry, went to the God of Light to petition that he be brought back to her....
"Naturally, the God of Light said 'No.'"
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"Did she," he murmurs. He sets down the cookie uneaten; he picks up the tea, but does not drink it. There is a faraway look to his horrible black-hole eyes. "And how did that go for them? The grieving woman and God."
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"She turned around and asked his brother, the God of Darkness. He was shocked, because no one asked the God of Darkness for anything."
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"Typical. No respect for the aesthetic." He gestures with his mug of tea, a little go on. Oscar has his full attention.
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Another cookie. Look, he was a teenager that liked sweets. A part of him still wondered if they were poisoned, but he was trusting Pyrrha to have a handle on that part of things. With a Bond, surely she would know.
"The God of Darkness decided to help, naturally. Salem's knight was returned right then and their-- confused, but alive. And, this made the God of Light angry. The Brothers had a balance between them, you see. Salem's wish had tipped that balance, and.... the Brother's fought."
He took a break to breathe, sipping at his tea while he gathered his thoughts.
"Eventually, the Brothers came to an agreement about how to fix things. Salem's knight was returned to his rest... and, Salem?
"She was cursed to never die and rejoin with her love, not until she understood the value of life and death."
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God takes up fidgeting again, this time drumming his fingertips against the ceramic edge of his mug. He tips his head to Oscar in continued attention, his expression unreadable, his eyes still inhumanly dark.
"So what did she do?"
He has, of course, his suspicions.
I see you, Floral.
Oscar looked up at him, trying to gauge where this man who would be God sat on the matter of Remnant's lost history. There were so many ways to explain, but all of them were long, convoluted, and might not portray the breadth of her crimes.
"She was angry. She tried everything she could to die. Nothing worked. Upon realizing that nothing she could do herself would heal her pain, she found a way to unite humanity against those same Gods. Her plan, I think, was to cause them to destroy humanity-- and, with that, have her curse broken."
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"Well, there's a tidy finality to it. You have to respect that."
It is unclear to what degree he's joking. But he carries on:
"I take it humanity lost the fight."
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It was hard to guess where John was going with this-- but, the story continued.
"The gods checked out completely when they won the fight, because they realized their mistake with being active on the world they were watching over. But, before they left completely, they needed a safety in place to watch over things while they were gone. Without humanity, and Salem wandering through the Dust alone, they didn't have many options...
"So they asked her Knight if he wanted a chance to stop her."
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"And he said yes. He went to meet her in the ashes."
He says it like it's the simplest thing in the world.
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Oscar cut in, watching God's movements and expression change as he told more of the story.
"Salem was completely alone in the dust, and the Gods saw what that loneliness was doing to her. She even threw herself in the pools of darkness left in the remnants of the Brothers' lands in a bid to kill herself. It failed, but only transformed her pain into something more powerful "
Oscar contemplatively took another cookie, toying with it got a moment to avoid contact with those frigid, burning eyes.
"She became darkness and rage incarnate. So.... No. The knight was told that he wouldn't be alone in this. And, at some point in the thousands of years that passes, after humanity had rebuilt itself from the ash, he woke up on our world in the head of a stranger."
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It's mostly a joke. He'd know from titles, right? Scourge of Death, Vindicator of Death and all.
"So they returned his soul to the world, but not his body," he says. "What became of him after that? I'm guessing it doesn't end there."
He'd expect incorporation and subsumption of the soul by the host's own body, or degradation of the body by the spare soul: no one is meant to bear two distinct entities sharing real estate long-term. But his rules, very clearly, do not apply.
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"You've seen what I'm made of. I'm sure you can guess."
But, sighing, he elaborated.
"Early on, he took over the host bodies entirely. He reunited with Salem and, with the two of them still being lovelorn, they wed and did what married people do. They built a home, started a family... And, they were happy for a while. That is, until the knight realized that Salem wasn't joking when she suggested that they become gods of the new world. He took their children and tried to flee, but she killed them all."
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"I am really starting to feel for these characters," he murmurs, over his mug of tea. "It's very difficult to make a marriage work after years of apocalyptic solitude. Honestly, Salem did nothing wrong."
This is patently a joke, self-deprecating in its absurdity: in this story, John wouldn't be the knight.
1/2
2/2
"Over centuries and multiple host lifetimes, the Knight realized that there were better methods than just overtaking the host. After all, the point was for him to never be alone. If he worked with the host, instead of just taking them, he realized that the world wasn't so painful. However, the hosts were always changed by the experience-- and so was he. Eventually they both changed so much that it was hard to tell the difference between identities in his own head. Meanwhile, Salem just continued sitting in her anger, growing stronger and biding her time...
"And the rest of the details don't matter for this. The Grimm and the Relics have no influence here-- it's just me, what's leftover from Julia Sodder's dream, and the weight of everyone who came before me."
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"This is useful context," he says, finally. "I mean, I imagine it isn't fun to live through, don't get me wrong. I've seen early-days soul mélanges and it hasn't been pleasant. More than one person isn't meant to live in a body, not without," and here he makes a very vague gesture with one hand, fingers wiggled in the air as though to indicate something ephemeral, "achieving a sort of... homogeneity. It sounds like you're describing the same. The— what's the polite term? foreign soul?— will fully subsume the host, we'd probably call that possession, or they mingle into a unified being."
He regards Oscar with a new, thoughtful consideration.
"Still, I'd like to hear how the story ends."
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He hasn't completed his mission yet-- but the price their rag-tag little team was paying was too high. Oscar wasn't sure how he felt about Remnant anymore-- and it didn't matter.
Trench was home.
"The Knight, over all of his lives, had found a way to control the threads of history-- through fairy tales, and wars that came and wiped out so much of our culture and history. He even has some information hidden from me still, but I know he's got reason for that."
He huffed a breath, fingers tightening around the tea cup while he stared within it's depths.
"He was a King once. That gave him more access and control than he had expected, and everything he did was to protect the world from despairing over Salem-- and, I think, to hide some of his own hurt and shame.
"My last memories of being in Remnant are of being captured by Salem. The team I'm working with found out the entire truth, but it's not enough to just save us. There's still things that Salem doesn't have... And even though she acts like I'm one of the Knight's youngest hosts in all that time, it doesn't mean she's a gentle interrogator."
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He drinks his tea, and considers. He can see why Pyrrha's taken a liking to this kid: he's scrappy, interesting, and not afraid to tell off something a lot bigger than himself. He's trying in a way that is painfully apparent. John's not blind.
He knows to hear every He as also We, both self and separate. Not many people have a good frame of reference for that. Lyctorhood is subsumption, not homogeneity; but he is not exactly a lyctor.
"Darkness and rage incarnate," he agrees. "I don't imagine she would be."
no subject
Oscar said quietly. The amount of people that understood even his baseline trials always astounded him. Pyrrha, and others like her, understanding the deeper issues left him shaken.
Just as John had gained some insight into Pyrrha's decisions, Oscar had as well. Pyrrha hadn't been joking when she suggested that he and John were fairly alike. How many people could talk about world shattering affairs so plainly over tea? How many of them would try to explain via metaphor and have it understood.
... He didn't like this. But, Oscar always knew he was a few poor decisions away from being a war criminal.
"My predecessor still speaks to me in my head. We were starting to work together at the time we were taken into the Dream. But, as Salem said herself, I'm not him. Not yet. But, since the only condition is that this eternal Knight always joins with a 'like-minded soul', I don't think the gap between us is as wide as I had imagined."
no subject
He sets down the tea mug with a soft clunk, and tips his head in consideration.
"Personal question: is it still progressing? How does the squid situation play in? Not to be callous, here," he raises his eyebrows like it's a joke, after July— "but you've got a fascinating case study going on, when it comes to puzzling out the way Sleeper souls interact with the local patterns of death and rebirth."
And: "I imagine this has something to do with the way things played out, back in the spring." When Oscar fell out of his body and couldn't find his way back in. No wonder; the link between soul and body isn't straightforward, in his case, least of all if this greater revenant has deeper roots in his body than he does. He's in a constant flux state of possession.
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Oscar explained, carefully omitting the fact that his predecessor had a physical body due to the circumstances. Sitting a little straighter underneath that curious gaze, Oscar frantically looked everywhere but John's face.
He was a known liar, even to Salem. There was no telling what this man who dared to call himself God would divine.
"What's done is done. We can't reverse it. And when Deerington fell apart, we made decisions that we hoped would earn our freedom from the agreements with the Gods that bound us-- like how we freed Cynthia Sodder to become the Moon."
Oscar shifted awkwardly, and tried to cover his unease with a big gulp from the tea cup.
"I think a lot of things are involved... the kinda things that you're probably familiar with. Honestly, I wasn't even sure about coming. But...
"Pyrrha said that you'd be nice."
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Here, they're, what? Powerful squid among other powerful squid. The landscape is cluttered with ghosts and gods.
"Did she," he says. "I'll have to take that up with her later." It's a toothless threat. He's more interested in this kid squirming with something he isn't saying, anyway. "And what is it you think I can do?"
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