deercountry | break a few eggs

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break a few eggs | OPEN

Who: Bigby the Abomination, OPEN
What: The revelation of the truth of his world is a burden to bear. Perhaps it is too much for a man, or beast.
When: Catch-all for January, belatedly.
Where: Mostly just sadly in the forest

I. THE WOODS

[Objectively, he knows how foolish it is to be far away from others. In the back of his mouth he can taste his own words, the advice he'd give before when others had fallen to beasthood and their own demons. Meditate. Socialize. You are not alone. Ah, what naivete it was then! When he'd deluded himself enough into hope, the flickering candlelight in suffocating darkness.

It was not the first time Bigby's optimism had cursed him so. After all, it was his determination to aid man before that saddled him with his condition as it is now; once again, aiding to redeem himself in some way in the face of the darkest dungeon did he learn the horrible revelation.

How pointless it'd all been. Was it a mercy for him to be back here, in Trench? To escape that doomed existence? Who is to say that this place is not just in as much peril, though? Perhaps too this world is but an egg, waiting to crack and reveal what has been incubating for a millennia. Worse yet, is he to live to see such a day?

Why wasn't he chosen, dearest Heir? Why did you choose others? He was ready. He was ready.

The despair of it all hangs over him like a cloud, a dark gloom. In the woods, he sits in the dark, not having bothered with a fire. Instead, he's on the forest floor, his tattered shroud around his shoulders and cold chains locked tight, trying to smother back the beast rolling inside. No roof for him, no comfort. Why bother?

Bigby lifts his chin, sniffing the air, frowning, as if sensing someone's approach.]

Halt. Find yourself another path. This is no destination for you. Not by me.

II. COLD MOON

[Yet, too, it is inevitable that the Abomination emerges. Not that Bigby relinquishes complete control; what semblance of empathy he holds left for others keeps tabs on the creature. Just enough so that no one is at complete risk encountering him.

Not that they should.

The monstrosity is at shore, snuffling out a meal and growling in irritation. Bigby has given into neglect of himself, which means little to eat, too full of grief and devastation to be bothered with a crumb. But the Abomination is all instinct, especially hunger, thus it hunts for anything bearing meat.

He shoves his snout into the water suddenly, then emerges with a small crab in his jaws, crunching down on it. It crunches and squishes messily as he gobbles it up, the food too quickly gone. The beast snorts, as if grumbling to himself.

Too little for his empty belly.]

III. IN CUPS

[Sanguine Station is the closest to something that Bigby feels he can step into with little question. Most of the other tavern or inn abodes are too... nice for him. Too clean, too exquisite, not for someone who grieves in the forest for most of his time.

He barters himself a table in the corner, away from anyone he can manage to. True he could probably get a hot meal here, but instead he turns to drink, albeit it usually always takes him longer to feel any effect than most. Another miserable side effect of his curse, no doubt, but Light he shall try.

Three mugs in, and he's still working on that, sighing miserably to himself.]

So too this shall end. Yet how, I wonder...?

IV. WILDCARD

[choose your own adventure and make your own top level if you want, i'm not the boss of you]

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[mike spends less time here than he used to - having ventured out of the self imposed isolation of his room, stumbled his way into a friend group (still a surprise, ever a surprise) and also into a bit of a job (less of a surprise, but still) and further into more frequent bouts of sobriety.

he doesn't grieve in the forest (well, not all the time. he walks there, he collects leaves whilst his omen harvests mushrooms when they grow, when the weather isn't bitterly cold and full of ice. so lately? notsomuch with the walks) he prefers to grieve on the beach when he's able, and if not there, his room is just fine - there;s the small shrine he's built, the area where candles graced the wellness clinic, and every bedside he finds himself sitting at, reading.

then there's the videotape. sometimes a bout with drunkenness follows that one, and this time is only different because he's not quite there, yet. he's taken to cleaning up the bar without being asked, bussing tables, stoking the fire, sweeping and what have you. year's rent paid and old habits die hard - he doesn't need to work for his supper, but sometimes ...well, it busies the mind.

and so he hears things. and right now he happens to hear this, over his sweeping.]

That's rhetorical, right?

[there's a chance it isn't, but mike's not psychic. he doesn't know how any more than you do, bigby. but he does recognize a miserable soul on his way to a terrible hangover. and with the way this month has been going (not terrible, just very, very confusing).]

But on the off chance it doesn't, if you keep drinking it's probably going to end with the room spinning, and maybe a bucket. And that's if you're lucky.

[oh. a small rat has formed out of inky smoke and scampered up to peer at the man. she rises up on her haunches and tries to meet his gaze. if she can, she gives a little wave and a bit of a smile, as much as a rat can smile. it's quite a lot, actually.]

[His omen probably makes an appearance before he does. She's larger, while he's been changed - the size of a large dog, now. She's also chattering away in that crow-like voice of hers, albeit in dragonspeech.]

Kiir mey! Tahrodiis golt!

[And so on. Basically chastising her Sleeper, and telling him to get the heck out of the dangerous woods. But it doesn't seem to phase the approaching footsteps. Even when she lands on a rock within Bigby's line of sight, and her head snaps over to stare at him.]

[There is a long silence.]

Fuck. [She says, finally, as a small, green-and-purple scaled face pops into view. Several... dozen sizes smaller.]

[It's been awhile since he'd interacted with a complete and utter stranger. As soon as he'd returned to Trench, Bigby took the first moment he could to run into the forest and dwell and dwell and dwell. The inn is but one of the first places he's ventured to in public at last, just enough to be acceptable for a man such as he.

Bigby peers at Mike, in a way that's probably hard to tell if he's scowling or squinting. Fortunately, the sight of the omen is something of a pleasant surprise. His own forms at his side, a scraggily looking malnourished wolf that sniffs at the rat.]

Ha. If only! What luck it would be, a more forgiving fate than my comrades. Tis so that I've found Lady Luck then. So many years await, fortunes smiling.

[A bitter drink is had. It isn't Mike's fault. It's no one's fault, not here. Not anywhere. But the thinnest thread of hope and daydreaming of the future has long since been cut.

He wonders if he will ever find it again.]

( The woods hold strange things, and Peter is drawn there again. The way he was back when he first arrived to the place before this one: the Dream. He'd wander the woods, aimless, quiet. Lost, from the inside out. There was some sliver of comfort to the woods, simply for the familiarity of where he'd grown up. The window of his room back home faced Charlie's treehouse, and past that, the dark forest.

When he's restless in a particular way (is it a painful ache or a numb emptiness? The two shouldn't be able to exist as one, and yet somehow they do), he goes for walks out in the quiet parts of this city, and sometimes he steps a little further than he means. It's dangerous out here on his own, he knows that (and then, a second thought like the pinprick of a needle: he's never alone, not really). But it's a comfort, the chilly solitude away from other people. His mind roams, his body roams with it. At times, the demon does slip in front of his eyes and does its own wandering, picking up stray twigs and small rocks, slipping them into Peter's pockets to make things with later.

There's someone here.

Peter startles from an odd hazy daze, one that takes him a little too long to break free of. He's blinking glossily down at the figure sitting right there on the ground, confused more than he's frightened, but then a glimmer of fear does cross his dark eyes, and he takes a step back. )

I'm sorry— ( He means to take the direction and leave, find another path (head back home, he should be getting back), but something catches in the young man and he freezes. Taking in the slouched figure with wide eyes.

He can't remember a name. He could blame that on time passing by, and maybe some of it is — but most of it is because Peter's mind is no longer mostly his own, and things have recently been re-scrambled and torn and burned within it. He forgets more than he ever has. He's lost so much of himself.

But he does remember the appearance. He remembers that the man was kind to him, and deeply sad. )

I know you.

( It comes in a hushed whisper, almost disbelieving. Maybe he's just a ghost of the past, a trick of the mind, another thing haunting Peter's peripheral. )

[sometimes mob wanders. it just happens when the house is empty and he starts to feel alone or restless, and more than a few people had tried to tell him maybe a middleschool kid should be a little more careful about that sort of thing. buddy system.

it's not that he doesn't listen, he thinks they're right just- well, sometimes it happens anyway. it's a little too easy to space out on a short walk and end up going farther than he meant.

like to the shore, taking a moment to look out to the water quietly. a sea supposedly full of squids like him, maybe his friends or family. where they all came from. he knows it bothers a lot of people to consider but he's never minded it that much. what he probably should mind is the squishing sound of something being devoured.

and, when he moves a bit further down, the sight of what he thinks might be a beast. but... well, it doesn't feel the same as the one beast he saw. he can't exactly put his finger on it, his sense for auras and souls here is pretty odd compared to back home, finicky. he prepares to put up a barrier if it is a beast that wants to hurt him, but the tail end of the creature's crab meal, the snort, reminds him a bit of a dog that didn't get enough in his bowl.

maybe it was hungry still? one crab wasn't a lot.

mob doesn't really like using his powers. for this it seems appropriate though to look out to the sea and raise his hand, making a large fish float out of the water waving its tail frantically, encased in a blue-purple. said fish gets floated to shore then plopped in front of the creature he isn't sure is a beast or not. in case he's right and it is hungry.

he blinks at the creature from the distance between them. enjoy? maybe?]

[Fuck indeed.

For a moment, Bigby is startled to see the younger argonian. Yet, he does recall what time of year it is in Trench. The shed. How fortunate that he hasn't torn off his own skin and become something worse. How lucky indeed.

Hesitantly, he asks:] Melius?

[Light, a child should not be out here, even if it is a friend.]

[No matter how long it has been since Bigby had been in the Hamlet last, he does remember his time in Trench. Of course he does. It's what makes parts of this more painful in many ways. For a moment, he is quiet as he gives the boy a proper look, his brows knitted.

Slowly, he uncurls from his position; he still stands hunched as always, his burden forever on his shoulders. Bigby is still withdrawn, but he cannot help himself. Too well he knows of this boy's plight.]

Peter.

[Yet, the Abomination does not reach out. Despite all temptation, he doesn't trust himself most of all. Nails always ready to be knives, carve into flesh--

He breathes in sharply, holding the air.]

You do. Despite how unfortunate that might be.

...I can lead you out of the woods, if you are lost.

[ the forest is tempting, but more than ever were walks in open space while he still could, both by day and night— they were different worlds to make note of, and not one did he want to neglect. falco could feel his limbs beginning to tire with ease, like pulling weights with every step despite being quite large and surely sturdy with the amount of height and bulk he's put on at now twenty-six years old. it's all a bit of an illusion beneath his clothes and within his body. bone and organ tissues dwindle in health. he's addopted a crutch to help move around. he wants to sit down, but not without finding a good place to see the sky in between dense canopies . . . . surely there's a nice place. it's also cold. frigid! he needs an extra blanket wrapped around his clothes, but decides against heavier fur coats— they're just too heavy, and a little numbness was alright.

what coaxes falco deeper into the woods (with a floating chaperone of a friend who happily serves as an aid when his crutch fails him) is the dim orange glow of a fire that dances vibrantly the closer he gets to it. warmth, and above all, it meant company at this hour. it was getting harder to sleep across the month's third week— the aches would keep him up, and the anxiety to do and see more before he no longer could plucked him right out of bed anyway.

who slowly pulls out of the wood's shadows and into the dancing light for bigby to see was a young man, sandy blond hair and skin as pale as some of the snow still stuck to the earth. the flickering colors of the embers may hide it, to his luck, but it couldn't hide how slow his steps were, the crutch he leans on— and his face, while aged, looks deathly familiar.

he manages a smile that swells with tired relief. it's someone he knows and hasn't seen yet. he's absolutely blessed. ]

I think I might have found it . . . Mister Bigby.

( The man says his name; yes, he knows him. They know one another. But everything still feels hazy and distant, like some faraway dream. Peter's never certain what's real and what isn't.

But then the man's moving and standing and things begin to feel more solid and here and real. Peter gives a soft exhale, a pent-up breath released. This is real. Someone who left... came back. It's an odd lump in his throat, and even if he can't remember much of this man besides his sadness, it's... nice to see someone like that again. It makes everything feel less... final. )

No, I— I'm glad to see you again, ( he says, when the man says it's unfortunate that he knows him. Peter's brow knits; he makes a soft motion forwards, subtle, a hand lifted. He's still anxious, a little caught off-guard, but there's this need to try to reassure the man; he seems so fragile, so... bruised. He'll return to thoughts of escaping the woods, but first— )

How long... have you been back? ( A brief pause, the realisation he's out here. ) Do you need some help...?

[This boy is not one that he knows. But then, who is to say how long he has been gone? Those who left, and those who have since arrived. Instinctively, he cannot help but be wary upon seeing the powers at work, yet in the end it seems harmless enough, the fish given to him.

The beast sniffs at the fish, still eyeing the boy hesitantly before hurriedly gobbling down the fish, chomping away until it's swallowed whole. The Abomination's hunger is constant, but this... this will do.

He licks his chops, then lowers himself to the ground on all fours, still watching the boy curiously, nostrils flaring.]

[when the beast notices him but focuses on the fish instead mob eases a little. that's probably not a beast- or a beast made from corruption and all that. not like the monsters he's seen around either, like evil santa claus. he's pretty sure any of them would have tried to hurt him first.

the beast even just watches him.] Do you want more? [he points at the sea, unsure if he could be understood, if the beast could communicate with him. worth a try. maybe he'll just float another fish over if he doesn't answer anyway, just to see.]

[For a moment, confusion plays across Bigby's face as he looks at this young man. Quietly, he frowns in thought, looking him over before the truth sinks in. Melius had been so young this shed, and so too Falco is now aged. The smell of him is about right as well.

Slowly, Bigby rises from where he sits, and he approaches.]

Tis a bit cold for most. What could possibly bring you out here, Falco?

[Despite how much more weary and downtrodden Bigby has been these days, he cannot hold back all of his affections. Falco means a great deal to him, and he could not be so cold as to shrug him away, even at his worst.

And upon returning to Trench, Bigby had truly been quite low.]

Hi!

[Well that's. Not usually how Melius responds. It's the cheerful greeting of maybe a ten year old. The kind who grabbed cheese sticks and ritz crackers and ran out into the woods on a quest. Except, in medieval terms. He doesn't look at all bothered by the chained man in the woods.]

[If anything, he just looks curious.]

Who're you? Why are you tied up?

I've not kept track of the time. Mayhap a moon or more. I did not seek to make it such a grand announcement. [That is to say, no one could be blamed for not knowing his return. Some few found him, and Bigby quickly became a hermit more than he'd ever been in Trench, huddling himself away and despairing and trying to make sense of all that'd come to pass in that dreadful estate back in his own world.

There is no satisfying answer. And he will live to see how that world shall rot away, most likely.

The offer of help earns a quiet noise, almost like a laugh. It isn't meant to be mocking, but rather he is reminded of why he'd become so quickly fond of Trench. For however cursed and burdened the Sleepers are, they have always been quick to aid one another. It made him feel so close to human.]

There is likely naught to be done for what ails me. I'd returned to whence I came, lived my life there for better or for worse, and now I am here again.

[FUCK. GOD DAMN IT. THIS IS A LITERAL CHILD NOW. What the hell is he supposed to do with this? Briefly, it makes him yearn for Rose, though gone she is now. A natural mother she'd been. Her advice would have been appreciated here, such as he is now.

It isn't that he lacks affection for children. Oh, far from it, but his dire mentality does little to make him that amendable for the company of youth.

So, he stiffly responds with:] To keep others safe from me, child. I am a dangerous thing, not one a child ought to be speaking freely to.

What are you doing in these woods alone?

[Good, brilliant Light, does he want more? Always, always he does. Especially now since he's been neglecting himself terribly. The Abomination gives a rumble and licks his chops again before hesitantly making his way closer to the boy while still keeping a few feet of distance between them.

Appearing out of an inky mess is his omen: a shaggy looking black wolf with bright green eyes, pacing around the beast's feet protectively.

Through the omen, Bigby speaks, even if he can only manage a word.

Yes.]

[the inky wolf appearing makes mob blink and realize that this must be a sleeper. that makes him relax his guard further, raising a hand to the sea again. this time two floating fish! pretty big ones that take a moment to sense under the waves and get plopped in front of the beast again.

enjoy.] You seem pretty hungry. [you think, mob?] You're a squid too?

[Melius tilts his head, pondering that. His omen flutters her wings, making a sort of "SEE? Let's GO" gesture. It's ignored. She's just a cool dragon buddy, as far as he knows.]

Oh. Are you s'posed to be in jail? [And then, more conspiratorial:] For stealing? Because, if you accidentally ate a sweetroll you can pay for it after and the shopkeeper is okay with that.

[He's not. Speaking from experience. Or anything.]

I'm on an adventure. For mushrooms. [... the obsession started early.]

[A sympathetic look is given to Mel's omen. Yeah. Yeah, he gets it.

Somehow, he didn't expect that kind of answer, and Bigby is stunned for a moment. It's almost endearing how terribly innocent that answer is.]

...Ah. Mushrooms. I sense I should have predicted that.

[Bigby cracks a faint smile. It's small, ready to fade with the wind, but it is there for a moment.]

I am no one's prisoner any longer, nor am I on the run from the law in this city. Though if it is mushrooms you seek, perhaps there are some I can show you. A kind friend of mine quite likes them too.

[The two large fish earns a strange, excited sounding growl and the snap of jaws. As they land, he's diving down to scarf them down, unfortunately quite messily, verdant saliva dribbling from his mouth.

Hungry. Yes.

Squid? Right. As they all emerge. Their true forms, such as it is claimed.

Yes. Sleeper. Words remain difficult to articulate as he is now, but he is trying to manage the conversation, such as it is.

So he offers a name: Bigby.]

[This is what happens when you have good parents who care about you. And, you know, live in a reasonably safe corner of Cyrodiil.]

Oh. Then you're not a bad guy. [There, it's decided. If he's not a prisoner, if no one's chasing him, then clearly, this guy is fine and just being a Weird Adult about it. He's probably some kind of Breton. They talk weird - must be a mage thing.]

You know some? [And there he goes, crashing out of the bushes over to Bigby. Sure enough, he has a bag slung over his shoulder. It's probably full of snacks.] What kind? I know a lot of kinds - do you know the one that tastes like chickens?

[The purity of children, he'd like to blame, but he thinks that even Melius as a grown individual would claim something similar. But there is still something profoundly charming at the way he just bravely marches up and starts asking him questions.

It does add a bit of perspective on his own woes. How much they matter less in the face of a child alone in the woods, even if Melius likely sees no threat in it. Still, it does force Bigby to action, to ensure that Mel remains safe.

His free hand is offered to Melius to take, if he should like.]

The one that grows like a shelf? I know not its name, but I know the sight of it. And another that tastes a bit like fish. I'm certain you can tell me about them, can't you?

[His parents tell him it's an Argonian thing. Like the ones who come from Black Marsh. Not like him - there's something different about him, he knows that. They measure time funny, and he does too, to a degree. He'd gotten confused about time a lot when he was smaller. But it's okay. His parents have his back.]

Like fish?

[Oh he just perked up more. And grasps onto Bigby's hand. Excited.] I don't know that one! I know - the sulfur shelf? That's the one that - that's the chicken one!

[super hungry it seems. mob glances to the ocean, trying to sense out more figures under the water. it's kind of weird trying to grab things he can't see from the water, he pulls out a few rocks or random far shore debris before finding a truly massive fish to bring in towards shore to add to things as well.

that seemed like a good bunch for now, placing that fish down nearby too by bigby- well, trying to hold it in his psychic grip because it's ready to try and flail into bigby's face, but still.

bigby though.] It's nice to meet you. I'm Kageyama Shigeo. People call me Mob. [a polite little tilt of his head. then a long beat before asking,] Are you a werewolf?

[this is his best guess, sorry.]

[mike has been a scowler and a squinter (lately it's more of the latter) so he doesn't care too much which it is, he's had his fair share of both and neither are off putting enough in the moment to make him flee.]

I probably shouldn't ask what happened to your comrades. [he guesses it's a bit worse than a hangover. maybe this guy's reasons are the kind of reasons he has for drinking. or worse. if so: yikes. so he ...won't. ask. but he will ask this:] Why don't I buy you a round, then?

[delmira is happy to lean into any sniffs, and she'll twitch her own very tiny nose and boop if she's allowed - more than that, she'll attempt a deft jump onto the wolf's snout with a whisper of "hi!"]

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break a few eggs | OPEN

iii

the woods - small lizard flavor

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I!

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i! (cw: terminal illness)

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