deercountry | 11 . clockhouse rebuilding!

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11 . clockhouse rebuilding!

Who: Those who have offered to help rebuild the Clockhouse, and anyone else who'd like to pitch in!
What: An open mingle log to repair after fires and floods.
When: Throughout September, precise dates not specified.
Where: In Gaze, at the forest's edge.

[ When the weather and chaos dies down, work on the Clockhouse picks up. The building was once an old Deerington mansion, luridly green and eccentric; age faded it into half a ruin, and July's fire did the rest. August's flooding came fast and hard, and now there's very little left to salvage.

The first step has been a damage assessment, with volunteers picking through the structurally unstable ruins, finding singed fiction novels, crisped houseplants, and a weird number of melted grandfather clocks. Demolition goes quickly, while Ozpin stands by and does not even try to control the situation.

Volunteers are needed to design the new structure, carry in materials, and build... and then to decorate and enchant what they've created. The few Sleepers with genuine construction experience provide direction, Ozpin sometimes among them, but things are largely chaotic. A few Sleepers provide snacks and cheerleading.

This is a mingle log. Please feel free to make a toplevel, and comment with your character's contributions below! ]

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( Something's wrong, Peter thinks. Knows. And of course something is very wrong here; Falco's physically wrong, but even... beyond that. Something's wrong. Something bubbles up under the younger boy's skin; something is choking him up. Something he isn't saying.

And then he does.

'I'm sick.'

For a moment, it stuns Peter because it's so obvious, because that's exactly what Falco clearly is right now, sick. He stares, and maybe his body understands before his mind catches up, because there's a weird knot in the hollow of his throat, and his palms feel weird, tingly. Peter feels waves of dissociation and his eyelids flutter through them. )

What does that— what do you mean? Sick.

( He says it oddly calmly, and very soft.

Something's wrong. )

[ there is a plainly audible hic in his breathing now, constant but at random. the little crack from keeping his breath held for too long slides through his teeth and makes his nose feel terribly wet. it's probably not blood, having most of the bleeding stopped, but it does still mix with translucent fluid and comes out a mess of dirty colors. luckily, he doesn't have to see too much of it, using the bunched fabric and muffling from the open space underneath it. ]

That I have until I'm— twenty-five? [ it's a long way there to be honest, nearly a decade. but when you have a timer set, time slips by so fast. he'll be fourteen soon. coupled with his reality, he realizes it may be difficult for him to get married. it may be difficult for him to do and experience many things. ] I just didn't— want to tell anyone—

( There's still that bit of distance between them, something Peter intentionally maintains out of some necessity, knowing that Vileblood is the most dangerous in its ways, but... he can't. Not anymore. Not after hearing those little hics, those soft sounds of upset, and he's moving closer even seconds before Falco responds.

Closer, towards his body, gently reaching out an arm to find Falco and coax him forwards, scooping him closer. There was a time once that Falco reached out for him, gently sought permission to be held. Now Peter finds him instead, pulling the smaller body (and not as small as it was the last time he embraced him, a little bigger, a little taller now) closer. )

Come here— It's all right.

( He says, gossamer-soft. Through the rippling waves of his own dissociation and the shock of what Falco Grice has just said to him. It slips in like a poison (ironic), down his throat and into his guts and it sits painful, but numb too. Somehow both. Nothing's been explicitly said but it doesn't take much to piece together the implications: I'm sick; I have until I'm twenty-five; didn't want to tell anyone—

Peter's touch is still careful, not pressing Falco firmly to his body, just... having him closer. He has to. And he can't crumble into whatever this really is, can't lose himself to his own throes of upset. Peter swallows, and steadies himself. He feels faraway when he asks, like someone else is talking instead. )

How long have you known about it? ( Is this something he's just been... carrying? )

[ falco's legs tug near immediately. if there was anything he could use to create some sort of barricade between them in the meantime, it was going to be peter's hoodie: rolled and bundled in front of his face while the rest of falco curves into his arms, needing to, at least for a moment. it allows him to breathe. ]

Before I even got it. [ muffled, but quieter, with effort to keep clear. ] We'd study it. Back home. We'd compete to be Warriors. That's the right to inherit a Titan. Our families would be safe that way— and each Warrior has a 13-year term— Because the lifespan is shortened. All of them— [ he shakes his head, because of the lack of a further answer. ] It just is.

[ biologically speaking— maybe metaphysically, too. it's a phenomenon that surpasses the sciences and dips into vaster territories. ]

Mine, um— Was an accident. I was planning to inherit anyway, to make sure Gabi didn't and . . . I don't regret it, but— Sometimes I just— Remember.

[ remember that he loves people here, and even if he managed to stay, that entire decade— it'd hurt, but it's only the worry of someone with a timer, really. ]

( There's so much about Falco's home world that's strange and horrifying and cruel. Peter's been putting together what he's glimpsed of it over time, but there are still lots of missing pieces, gaps.

And what's in those gaps.... are things like this. Awful truths, things that make it hard to breathe, for a moment. Falco's cushioned and muffled close to him, a thick layer of material separating them, but Peter reaches up, fingertips shaking only a little, to graze the side of the younger boy's head. He's trying to keep himself together. He's halfway dissociating through some of it anyway, hazy and ghostlike and still feeling like someone else is sitting here.

But the reality of it put into word-form comes in suddenly and staggers him all over again right back into himself. Falco is going to die, when he's still a young man. That is what Peter's being told.

Suddenly, his eyes are full and wet and he's blinking too rapidly. His heart breaks; he feels it happen. It's like shards up under his ribs. )

Maybe— um. Maybe because you're here, it won't— it won't happen.

( Here as in Trench, as in not Falco's home world, as in the place that's supposed to be a rebirth.... but even as he says that, his voice is shaking. Falco's sick; Peter's just seen it for himself. Symptoms. Symptoms of something still there.

He starts crying, softly. )

[ it feels like a fairy tale he only wishes he could believe. live normally. it's not as if he already wouldn't. if he goes then, he goes then. it is a numbing reality, even as he cries— the tears felt raw on his face and burned his eyes, but they did not roll further. peter was crying more than him, at this point.

he uses it. he furls into himself and clings to arms over the fabric of his hoodie. he didn't know if he was doing the right thing, telling, but he did know what he perhaps wanted out of it. ]

I'd . . . Want to find some way.

( Peter tips forwards, head bowing down a little, grasping onto Falco like that. It's like a worst nightmare realised. All this time of wanting so desperately to keep him safe (and maybe some of it was a projection of Peter's own aches, some of it was initially fueled by the guilt of what he'd done to another little bird in his life, but he's also come to love him in wholly new ways. He's gotten to know him and enjoy him and see him as one of his dearest friends and maybe more than that, maybe something that feels like family, if Peter's ever allowed to have that word again).... and now here is a death sentence.

There's still a hundred questions. Death doesn't work the same way here in this place, so how would it happen for Falco? Would he be compelled to return to the ocean, possibly back to his own world, where he would die? Or maybe he'd stay here but... wither, maybe it's possible to die here after all; they don't know all the rules, they've only been here for such a short time. In the moment, Peter can't see any glimmers of light, only what heavy thing this is. Something terminal. Whispers of it remind him of his family, his own situation — it's not the same thing, but it's... an inevitability, of a life that will be made shorter, of days counted down for some ending. Maybe he's always felt that. Maybe his mother always had, too. )

A way...? ( He blinks through the gloss of his own thick, cold tears, which fall slowly. He's not sobbing, not anything like that, he's just... sad. This already feels like a loss, one he doesn't know what to do with, how to help. The concept finds him slowly, the idea of it, and Peter's not someone who functions through hope, so he sounds ever-miserable as he asks the question. )

Do you think... there could be one?

[ perhaps it was childish, and desperate, when falco mutters these simple, reaching words in the cusp of their misery: ]

I'd want there to be.

[ who knew. there was . . . so much magic here. so much knowledge, so many world converging in a single place that maybe— falco had always been realistic, but tilting into hopefulness. there was a good reason why agronaut had chosen him, and the little moth and his blessed gift gives him hope just about every day in his sleep, even at his worst. ]

It might be impossible, but . . . I never thought a place like this could be possible, so— Trying . . . Won't hurt.

( Peter hardly ever lets himself have that word, much less hold onto it. "Want". The few things he's actually allowed himself to want and try to have... he's carried some odd guilt through them. ....Even his relationship with Luna: the thing he wanted the most, to keep, to protect.

And even now.... hearing Falco say that, it makes something inside Peter curl tightly and painfully into itself. He gives a soft sound, a sort of gasp, an exhale, but it's very quiet. He wants that too, but it... hurts, to hear Falco say it, and to know that it's only that. A want.

And yet.... the younger teen has a point. "Impossible" in this place...? Might be a bit different. The rules are different, the powers and magics... Peter, the pessimist, hadn't even thought of that. But... Slowly his head lifts a little, frown tugging the corners of his mouth as the idea sinks in. )

Maybe.... there could be someone, or something here... that could help. This place... in the Archives, or the— school itself. Maybe—

—Maybe we could find you help. ( He voices it, barely above a whisper. "We", because he doesn't even have to consider it; he's there, he'll help. )

[ we. it is everything. his inhale is shaky, but his heart is settling. ]

Okay. I—Okay. [ he didn't know what would come from it. no one would know. when your brother has a knowledge demon by their side, you know. things might be a touch more possible. it might be wishful, what he's doing right now. it doesn't relieve the raw pricking around his eyes, but it gives him enough strength to consider the prospect. his nose has stopped its bleeding. the vileblood that stains the ball of fabric between is dry. falco's words are quiet when his embrace squeezes around the older boy to say: ] Thank you.

( Truthfully, Paimon hasn't yet crossed Peter's mind as a potential assistance in this — at least not directly. There's still a distance from it, from that, his thoughts don't naturally go there. "We" is him and Falco, and others— Luna, Ange, lots of others, so many. They'll help Falco, Peter knows it. He won't face this alone.

But some part does belong to Paimon's assistance, on a level Peter's not even aware of. Because of course the demon is here, listening and absorbing, and of course he's easing in now. More gently than usual; there's only the faintest shudder that slips through Peter's body, hardly convulsive so much as a faint whispering ghost that moves. Peter's pushing his nose down against the younger boy's hair, giving a tight squeeze to his body in response, he's here—

—but Paimon is too. And Paimon has his own connection with the boy, one that's recently become stronger. Peter's desperate squeeze loosens into something calmer as the demon stirs, body stiff but not unwelcoming. He leans back enough so that he can see the boy, lifts his hands and smoothes them down Falco's cheeks, mindful of the stain of blood across his face. He won't stay long, just enough— )

For all puzzles, there is a key. I shall search for that treasure. And I shall not leave you.

( ....Maybe a little unsettling in its severity, but ultimately well-meaning... But he's already committed to helping the child with his parasite problems, and the demon king will not back down from this task, either. )

[ there's something— different. through all their crying, shivers weren't uncommon. falco doesn't think twice about that, but then the hold. the way the hold curdles and peter moves back to hold his face in his hands,

there is a difference in the young man's eyes made true with his words. ]

—Paimon?

[ he's helped so much already. they're all helping so much already, that falco almost feels that there's too much he's asking for. it makes his eyes pool up once more with watery veils, wordlessly swallowing his guilt to accept the kindness. ]

( He probably should have announced his presence more directly instead of just dramatically appear like that.... but it is the Demon King Way....

He gives a soft hum of affirmation as his name is spoken aloud, a hushed vibration rippling through his spirit at the mere sound of it. Yes, it is him — he is here, too. Watching. Watching over certain humans, and as he re-grows his true strength in this place, he will protect them. )

It is all right. ( His fingertips move slowly upwards as those eyes well up with tears again, the pads of them brushing against Falco's eyelids. )

You have fought very hard. For a very long time. Haven't you?

( Like Peter, Paimon has learned more about where the child comes from, what he's known. It's a life of... turmoil, and brutality. And there's also this... this terminal thing within him. There's time — to seek, to learn more about it, to try to find answers. )

I will help you.

[ falco did not know an entity as kind to him as paimon. his hands are kept hooked on peter’s arms as the demon smears the beads of his tears down under the pressure of his thumb— he had felt safe before, and now he feels safe twice.

what is said is a proclamation to him, and falco does not shy away any further from contact. whether paimon knows what an embrace is or not, it’s what he receives in turn, his his head tucked under peter’s chin, and his arms at their limits to wrap across his back. thank you, both is what mutters wet through his lips and layers of fabric he presses his mouth against.

maybe help could cause something to shift, after all. ]

( Is it kindness? To be called "kind", if anyone would use the term aloud for him, might be strange. What he is, is only meant to be objective, neutral — neither expressively cruel nor kind. Equal exchange, balance. His protectiveness and interest towards Falco is because of what the boy has provided to him, and a connection made deeper. If he were any unknown child on the street, Paimon would do no harm, but he would also not provide this assistance. Not like this. Not unless there were a reason for him to.

....And yet...

What he is, has been filtered through humans. Observing and absorbing emotions and feelings in different ways from how he's meant to function. He has known what it is to be cruel. And perhaps he has also known what it is to be kind. For when the boy reaches to him — arms wrapped securely, face pressed tight, uttering soft words... there is a warmth that blossoms from a heart that might belong to Peter, but currently reacts to Paimon's own emotions. To be held by a human this way is still strange; it's only happened once or twice for him. He's stunned for a moment.

But he enjoys it. The realisation is just as strange for him; he doesn't know when it happened, only that it has. There are ways he can reach humans now that are new — physically, through a body that can touch and feel. Slowly, the demon's fingers tighten into the boy's clothing as his arms circle around Falco's body in return. Embracing him, and it's a little odd and stiff around the edges, a thing that isn't human, imitating a human gesture.

But he breathes him in and holds him, and he will for awhile longer. There is no thought of reciprocation, only a quiet fierceness to protect and to assuage the boy's pain and fears. (When did that happen? Does it matter?)

He will keep this child safe, whether from beast or illness or a looming fate. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

11 . clockhouse rebuilding!

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cw demon but it's in a nice way bc he's adopted Falco too???

we welcome he

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i think that may be a good wrap! ❤️

IT'S A WRAP i just had to do a little thing bc... Feelings and Character Development™