deercountry | 13 . autumn catch-all

The puzzles around here tend towards grade-school teambuilding exercises and away from being puzzles.

[ Reassuringly, he adds: ]

There will probably be something big and slimy to jump out at us on the walk.

Cool. [ A very unimpressed cool, a scoff given in a huff. ] You like fighting, or running? --This way.

[ This way is given with a nod, a note lower, and Robby walking in said direction that the compass is guiding them in. He isn't interested in dallying, even with the threat of something big and slimy along the way. ]

[ John follows without complaint. Still, he spreads his hands as if to draw attention to how muscular he isn't. ]

I'm not much good at either. We'll call it fight, if it comes to that.

[ it won't be much of a fight, but not in the way he's implying! ]

[ He eyes the motion, but what's said doesn't match its meaning. ]

You got a good idea then?

[ If he's picking fight than running. But it does remind Robby of another option he hadn't considered.

(Though, it would hopefully go hand in hand with running.) ]

A few tricks up my sleeve, maybe. Or I just know how sad I'll look trying to keep up with you at a sprint.

[ He seems pretty nonchalant about this. ]

I've been here about a year now. The jump scares start to lose their sting.

[ Yeah, the guy sure isn't worried about whatever's going on, or in maybes. It might annoy Robby, if they were impeding in any way; but the guy's given an answer in a few tricks, and Robby's more concerned about survival. He doesn't expect cooperation from a stranger just because, but he'll take what he can get.

(Himself, he's nervous; keeps it behind a face that looks annoyed, ears that are listening out, even with the soothing quality coming off their compass. He has a hand down on the same side that a handle pokes out from under his jacket. A short-ranged weapon.) ]

You can use all the tricks you want. I just want to get out of this in one piece, and if we get jumped, I'm not pretending I can take it on.

[ Simple as, straight-forward. But acknowledging that brings to mind the reason, one that comes far too easily; and his mouth tightens as he tries to blot out the thought.

He exhales sharply through his nose. ]

Fair enough. Fingers crossed for no surprises, then.

[ He notes the nerves, notes the weapon, and makes no comment on either. It's a spooky forest in a spooky town, run by hostile squid gods and populated by guys nobody wanted to get stuck hiking with. ]

You new to town?

Since last month. [ So, yes. ] We don't do monsters or getting dumped in woods where I'm from.

[ And the guy's already shared how long he's been here, so Robby doesn't feel any need to do the obligatory return of the question. The conversation doesn't bother him, however; he's more distracted by what ifs and general Trench bullshit than helping the flow of their talk, sounding rather annoyed at being dumped into this situation, actually.

If this turns into either the hallway maze or cult world, he's going to flip. ]

[ He makes a sympathetic noise, unruffled by the attitude. ]

Big adjustment, then. Not that we're big on either, where I'm from, but at least the decor is similar. [ He tips a hand to the spooky woods. ] Walking skeletons, viscera, all the usual. It's homey.

That's gross. [ You know, maybe not the words to pick after 'it's homey', but also: that's gross. The first thing to mind and out of his mouth. It's not a strong reaction, no scrunching of his nose or anything, but he does look at the man, as if this detail about his home world deserves it.

One look, and then back on the path, tree canopies rustling lightly above their heads. ]

What kind of life is that?

[ Vague, perhaps, but he isn't sure how else to phrase it. What kind of life does one have where walking skeletons and viscera are painted as the norm? ]

[ He huffs a little laugh, amused without offense. He doesn't break his stride as they walk, ambling along like this is a scenic afternoon. ]

One we scraped together even in rough circumstances. It's wild, the stuff people can come up with when they need to. Other worlds got flashier magic, I guess... fireballs and dragons, all that... we only ever got necromancy.

[ Necromancy. It's a word that Robby knows, but isn't exactly hearing in his day-to-day life, that it gives him pause. It's certainly making him less focused on everything about them, his expression quizzical, confused as he has to confirm with himself that he knows - and that is - what the word means. ]

You're the ones bringing the dead back?

[ He looks at the guy for longer than a moment this time. ]

[ He wobbles a hand. ]

With caveats.

[ Once this sinks in, he goes on: ]

Locally? No. This isn't my turf. If you have a bone to pick about the squid thing, I'm not the guy to take that complaint. Even back home, death is death... we mostly deal in ghosts, these days.

[ Everything revolving around Trench, even the people in it, were so beyond him that he's initially confused. And even when he realises where the wires have gotten crossed in communication, it doesn't make it much better. They're talking about skeletons. Everyone being dead-now-alive squids. Ghosts. ]

So, back home it's skeletons -- here it's ghosts? [ There's no outrage - moral outrage is for people who don't feel they're like talking about a movie concept. He's still firmly in baffled territory, confused. ] Do you even need ghosts here? Are there just-- ghosts?

[ Just ghost arounds to do a necromancy on?? He's so utterly, utterly confused. ]

[ So they're taking it from the top, then. He huffs a breath that is nearly a laugh, sympathetic. ]

I'll back up. Back home, we work with— let's call it 'death energy.' It doesn't just work on the dead. You can use it to work on the body, use it for healing... regrow flesh and bones, that kind of thing. Or take an old dead skeleton and give it instructions, get it up and walking around. Talking to ghosts, that's necromancy too, but proper resurrection is another league entirely.

[ His league, specifically. ]

The ghosts here are weird, locally. I much prefer our home-grown ghosts. At least the skeletons still work the same.

[ Home is a place with skeletons walking around under instruction. Okay. Okay. It's a story that should be called out for bullshit, and Robby never quite knows if to accept things just because. Rather, he goes for allowing it: some person is telling him a fantastical story, and if it's true or not doesn't matter until it does.

How to react to it, however, doesn't come so easily. Robby's quiet as he processes it, a few heavy breaths through it. So, so beyond him; and the world they're in isn't any better in its dangers, or its extremes. ]

I'll pass a visit to your place, [ is what he lands on; dry humour, at least. He fiddles with his free hand, tapping a finger against the side of his jacket and trouser leg, a fist made, unmade. ] Must be a hit at Halloween.

[ He's quiet as Robby thinks on it. Good answer, in the end: he does laugh, this time. ]

We don't celebrate. Can you believe it? [ and whose fault is that, john ] But it means we were ready to go for a place like this... aside from all the squid stuff.

[ Of course. Why celebrate when your entire life is Halloween? ]

The squid stuff bother you? [ Robby doesn't even think about it. Maybe he should, but- ] Wasn't what I thought dying, or...whatever this is was gonna have. I don't know. We're here now.

[ That he knows, that he can work with, and everything before it can't be done anything about. So he says it like fact, nevermind the parts he can't understand. ]

[ This displays a level of willingness to accept squidly adversity that God himself does not possess. ]

Funny, right? That I'm rattled by tentacles when none of the rest does the trick. But I wouldn't call this the afterlife— more like something a little sideways of reality. Maybe a jump to the left and a step to the right.

But, hey, pragmatic attitude. I can appreciate it.

[ There's a huff, small as it is. ] I'm not a guy that can mess with the dead. If someone's going to crack reality, it's not me.

[ Which sounds dumb, but fuck it, they're in magical world land. Someone could probably do it with science and magic and whatever else they have.

But know what he can do? ]

Nice reference.

[ Acknowledge. ]

[ He huffs a laugh to be acknowledged, startled by it every time. ]

Cracking reality is overrated, let me tell you. Better to pass on it.

I heard it's the whole deal with the--

'Hello?'

[ A voice calls, somewhere in the farther trees, and Robby stops in his tracks and thought. Head turning in direction of the voice (young, male -- but maybe older than him?), but he can't see anything through the thicket in the way.

But he can hear a sound; of footsteps, and again: ] 'Hello?'

[ It isn't coming from the way their compass points them, but Robby isn't paying attention to that. He's trying to peer around the trunks, and unless he's stopped for any reason -- he'll answer back. ]

[ Here's the thing, though, with being a guy who can crack reality: John can perceive a human at range. He can perceive what isn't a human just as readily. Whatever this is, it's trouble.

But he kind of wants to see where this will go. This is it, right? The trap they've been thrown into, the monster of the week. He can yank the kid back if it's really dire, or clap a heal on him if it isn't.

John goes still, frowning, and lets Robby look. ]

[ When he'd first arrived, he'd taken the idea of Trench being the same as a horror movie close to literally: don't trust your surroundings, don't believe in what you see. Try and hit your former sensei in the head with a stapler, because why else would the guy be in a maze with you out of nowhere, it's obviously a fucking demon that just looks like him.

And there's a thought now in his head that this is a trap. Or that this has the possibility of leading trouble to them, but also, they showed up out of nowhere in this forest. But the call, that sounds human, and Robby -- he can't see them, and he doesn't break far too from their path, doesn't try to be seen when he makes the choice he does: ]

--Hey?

[ To call out. He sticks by the trees, listening out for what comes next. A voice-- a voice would be good, and safe. Maybe? A 50/50 chance, surely.

There's a rustling, something low and going high, and then Robby thinks he hears a thump of some sort, a weight that he can't quite distinguish. But there's a tickling at the back of his neck that makes him retreat, looking over his shoulder at the man with him, expression quizzical. The sound increases, clearer to Robby now where it comes as the canopies of the trees far off rustling and creak, heading in their direction.

He shoots John another look and shakes his head with alarm, and then he's waving a finger, pointing, feet ready to start moving with the intent of getting the fuck out of here. Except there isn't much time for it when a tree close to where Robby had called shakes and sighs, and a figure jumps between the two of them from above, into the space made from Robby's own jumping back. ]

'--Hey?' [ Comes Robby's voice from its open mouth, jaw hanging open as it twists its head like a dog listening intently. Its eyes are small, cloudy; unblinking, yet with pupils that don't shift or move.

(A voice, turned out, not to be good, surely.) ]

[ The inhuman something comes for them, quicker than he'd like it to be; sharp and loping, even in the treetops; it moves like a predator. He doesn't meet Robby's startled look because he's busy frowning into the middle distance, concern written dark and tight across his face.

The thing drops down between them, which isn't great. It isn't nice to look at, for one thing, and John's not sure about having the kid standing alone with it. It's not that John can't scruff him from here, hands-free, but that would open its own can of worms. The last thing he needs is to rile his shadow into trying to help: she only knows there should be blood on the ground, and too easily forgets who to cut.

Eyes on Robby, he presses a finger to his lips in shh, crooks his fingers in come back towards me. He means it as firm instruction. He forgets that it puts on display how he seems to be unarmed. ]

13 . autumn catch-all

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cw: eye injuries, wounds, all that fun jazz

cw: eye injuries, gore

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cw: bleeding

cw: gory healing

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