deercountry | Few Regrets (Open)

Entry tags:

Few Regrets (Open)

Who: Reaper (

no_reload) & Open
What: Post-death recovery & November catch-all
When: Month of November
Where: In & Around Disaster House

Content Warnings: Will add as they come up.

I. Squid Games

The remains of his body had fully inked and become crystallized. Then the smoke filled crystals cracked, shattered and broke apart to reveal a palm-sized squid that shook off bits of crystal and remaining ink. The black bloody ink did begin to resorb into the squid which seemed momentarily disoriented.

Then it lifted four tentacles and gave a soft hissing squeak to whomever happened to be close by. Another squeak and wiggling tentacles that clearly meant to be indication for picking up.

While he couldn’t communicate with words, Reaper was small enough and determined enough to be close to anyone. He would attempt to cling to feet or legs, and sometimes that meant the risk of getting under foot.

At other times, he would somehow clamber onto raised parts of furniture whether it was a table leg, couch arm or even a shoe and lift two tentacles to the air and wait for someone to pass by before trying to attach himself for a free ride to leg or hand.

II. Bedrest

Since leaving the squid state, Reaper had had a hell of a time adjusting back to his body. He had mostly confined himself to his bedroom, a place he hardly used as anything other than storage previously. Now he was there most of the time, sequestered to the bed as he didn’t have the available energy yet to perform his usual household activities.

After all, breathing was a laboured effort; that’s probably what was supposed to happen when one’s lungs had been vaporized. He could be found in his bedroom, sitting up to make breathing easier and clad in black track pants and a oversized black hoodie where the hood was constantly pulled up over his head, obscuring his bare and scarred face with shadow. The white of his goatee was the most obvious aspect of him to be seen.

"…death has always provided a reset, but you haven’t invested time to knowing how blood effects your abilities either. That was stupid of you…"

Reaper grunted softly as if replying to the scolding and exasperated Irish female voice that happened to be coming from a small laptop-sized device next to him on his bed. His bare hand with its blackened dead looking fingers reached out and patted the device as if he were trying to pat the Irish voice on the shoulder.

"I have this pain again." His voice was strained, nearly breathless.

"Expected. You died, Reyes. You will cope as you did before," the voice said with a touch of exasperation.

"Analysis on point, as always," he remarked with a soft nearly whimsical sigh that turned to a wheeze.

The voice was quiet, a reminder that the person behind it wasn’t actually here in Trench. That old friend had returned to their world and had never returned. He turned the medical device off with press of a button and leaned his head back against the headboard, shifting his weight as if unable to find a comfortable spot to sit in.

Then his chin tipped his head down again. "I know you’re out there."

III. Slow and Steady

Thankfully, the month so far had seemed calm and with little to no effects. He was slow to move around the house, less willing to take up some of his normal activities. He technically was the only adult in the house and that came with certain responsibilities he hadn’t been able to get back into. For one, he tired far too easily, like he was far older than he actually was. Or maybe this was how those of the SEP went out… tired, alone and shuffling around.

He spent much of his time in the house, but sometimes he wanted a chance of scenery. He was ease his way out of the house and seat himself on the ground or on a step. If he was having a particularly good day, he could get himself up to one of the edges of roof and seat himself there, legs dangling.

As soon as he went outside, his Omen, Wraith, would immediately appear. The black peacock would make a show of preening and walking around, shuffling long detailed tail feathers and issuing a low mournful swan song that was not normal for peacocks. Always, the Omen would be on high alert, never staying particularly close to him but clearly on guard to anyone who might know what to look for.

"Careful, his bite is as pathetic as his bark," he rumbled softly to anyone that might stop by to have a look or even appear from the house.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It's...fine," it is so not fine. "If I don't do it then who will?"

Anyone will, Varian, that's the point. Anyone. Of course, Varian's festering self-worth issues means he can't see that. Better to use his skills and experience to help people, and if it hurts, so what? He kind of deserves it- the reason he has such experience is from doing something awful, after all.

"Well, you never know- he might be able to get a vial of...smoke from you and study that? Maybe he can see if something's changed," he doesn't know, he's not the best with BODIES. "Maybe? You'd have thought when you came back you wouldn't have the...smoke problem after though."

"There will be others," he replied softly, aware there was a struggle here. "You can certainly assist with your knowledge without actually having to come in contact. After all, consultations exist."

He also knew that Varian had a history of needing to make up for past mistakes no matter how painful they were. Seeing all those corpses on the beach had been indication enough of the extent of Varian's regrets. Someone that motivated to make up for past wrongs often times needed to be pulled off track just to make them realize how badly they were damaging themselves in the process of helping.

"Perhaps. Moira was the one who was most familiar with my cellular structure and how the degeneration process worked," he said, a little sigh leaving him. He did miss his old friend. She would have thoroughly enjoyed blood magic. "The smoke problem is who I am. It has benefits, but there are significant draw backs as well. Without mental control, I had better be contained in something."

"...I guess. I don't know if there is anyone to ask yet."

Reaper would be dead on the money, though. Varian's motivations are always to try and make the world better- to fix the wrong he put into it, even if he righted that balance a long time ago. Because so long as he's the judge on if he's done enough or not yet, he'll always feel like he should do more. Guilt is a monster he's never quite been able to shrug off.

"That makes sense. Honestly, your makeup sounds so complicated already, adding the blood magic to it has... it's only gotta make it even more complex. Hard to figure out how it all...ties together, you know?"

"You could put out a public inquiry. If anything, more minds and hands working to find answers is better than doing so alone."

He viewed it from the stand point that if Varian insisted on being apart of it that at least the younger man would have support from others involved. However, he knew all too well taking on personal battles alone, as if one had something to prove and also not wanting to seem weak while making amends.

"It is. Genetic tampering twice in my life probably wasn't one of my smartest moves, but both were necessary risks." Meaning that if given the choice, he probably would do both incidences of experimentation again. There were many things on his list left unfinished.

"...Yeah, I did mention it before but no one really expressed that much of an interest. But there are new people who've arrived since then."

Varian's never been good at accepting help for his personal battles. He dealt with the worst of them alone and he continues to do so. The only help he really accepted back home was Rapunzel and that was when he'd been backed into a corner and had no other choice.

"Necessary risks. That...does make some sense."

"Then the next time that you have to investigate the crystals, I will come and pester you with questions that are either unrelated or irrelevant."

He wasn't a scientist and never claimed to be, but he had been around Moira for enough years to know when to push for different directions for investigation. Also, sometimes distractions were as necessary as the research itself.

"My condition does feel stabilized compared to what I'm used to." Which might mean more future risk taking.

Varian opens his mouth to argue, but he knows that honestly, that's probably the best thing that can be done for him. He knows full well if he's left to his own devices, he's just going to dwell on everything that's happened in the past and make the whole experience a lot more traumatic.

"...Okay, I guess I can hold you to that."

Oh, but that's good news and he does brighten at it.

"Really? That's...well, that's good right? Finding some stability? That's...that's what your friend was aiming for, right?"

It honestly wouldn't have mattered if Varian agreed or not. Reaper was coming and was going to be so damn annoying to boot. It would be easier for Varian and far less exciting for him if they both just agreed that it was happening.

"Oh yes, it's guaranteed now."

He considered carefully, wriggling his fingers a little. He felt like warmed garbage right now, but he somehow knew that it would be relatively short lived.

"I think so. I've been living for a decade with constant pain, so not having it is... strange. I haven't explored the full limitations yet, so the jury is out if it's a perfect solution." But he was going to take what he could get at this point.

"...Ugh, why does that feel like a threat?"

He says that with very little venom, though. More teenage annoyance than anything else. Whiny.

"I guess that makes sense. You get used to it after a while, right? The...pain," he rubs the back of his neck. "I...I'm glad it's easier? If...it that's the right term for this."

"Because I'm me and threatening is the language I speak more often than not."

Reaper shook his head slightly because ugh whiny teenagers. He had very little time for them back when he actually had one, but perhaps he had softened slightly to the plight of those in this place.

"I did," he agreed simply. The pain had done a lot to sour his moods on the daily. "I want to explore my new limitations." Which meant he'd do something extreme. "But once I'm recovered."

"...That was mostly rhetorical, but yeah, fair point."

His life is just whiny teenagers now, that's all he gets.

"Yes, absolutely after you've recovered. If you want me to help you with tests, I can do that, but not while you're still...uh, dealing with the after-effects."

"Besides, all teenagers need their whiny moments..."

[He knew what was happening here, and it was far better for a teenager to whine about having to deal with adult antics than adults doing it. At least he was mostly used to whiny teenagers, and his patience for them had grown considerably.]

Oh, you want to experiment on me? Well, well, who am I to deny scientific progress, hm?

[He might have sounded like he was dryly teasing, but in reality, he was mostly serious. He had been a scientific guinea pig for a good long while and always willingly.]

"I'm not being whiny!!!!"

He is absolutely being whiny! He's being so very whiny. He hesitates for a moment because he does kinda want to see what makes Reaper tick. He'd be lying if he said otherwise. He's always tried to respect that Reaper didn't want anyone other than Moria looking into him though, so this is...actually bolstering to hear.

"I mean... if you wouldn't mind? Definitely when you're better though!"

"Whiny and lying to yourself..."

He shook his head slightly, as much as he could with the soreness of his body. It was still a moment of feigned judgment that he would employ.

Reaper knew that Varian would likely to be interested in his condition. It was not something that one ran across often, and he was very secretive about it - aside from the abilities aspect. Moira was the only one that knew the full extent, and she wasn't here to trouble-shoot any errors or assumptions.

"You aren't a geneticist or a biologist... but perhaps fresh eyes on the matter will be beneficial."

"Wow, rude!"

But accurate! But Reaper has given him a gift here and delighted as he is to have it, he understands that it's something he needs to take seriously, too. It's a big responsibility and he doesn't want to mess it up.

"Okay! Great! I'll...I'll do my best to figure this out for you."

"Truth hurts that much, hmm?"

Reaper was hiding his apprehension, but he knew that Varian would take it seriously and likely wouldn't purposefully do things outside of his comfort zone. He had been through this kind of rodeo for enough years to know when to growl to force someone to back off.

"Fine. We can arrange meetings and testing when you have the time."

"I'm refraining from answering that lest I incriminate myself further."

Yes, Reaper, yes it does. He doesn't care for it at all. But Reaper was correct there, Varian would never cross any boundaries set out for him here- he doesn't want any of this to be painful for the man.

"Great! Once you're starting to feel better, I'll make sure to clear time for you to take priority."

Because this was important. It concerns the health of a family member, so it gets bumped up his list.

"Too late. A lack of committal is just as incriminating."

At least he knew that he was correct on that. Teenagers needed to be whiny now so that when they became adults they would hopefully whine less. And then they would be annoyed at themselves far later in life when also dealing with a whiny teenager. It was the cycle they all went through.

"Varian, it's not that much of a priority. My condition seems stable, so whenever you have time."

He was perfectly content pushing the boundaries of his own condition; he'd been doing it for years. What could possibly go more wrong?

"Says you!"

Because that's obviously going to sway Reaper's opinion in this, obviously. Varian's hitting eighteen in a few months, Reaper better not be holding his breath that the whining is gonna stop anytime soon.

"I disagree," he replies, stubborn as always. "You're a priority to me, so I'm gonna treat you as one."

So much could go wrong, he doesn't trust this world at all.

"Yes, and my being the oldest person you likely know, I think I know what I'm talking about."

This was literally all the wrong ways to talk to a teenager, and he was definitely doing it on purpose. It had been a long time since he could raz a teen and Varian happened to provide good reactions. It lifted his mood, especially being bed-ridden for now.

"Varian..." he trailed off and shook his head. Stubborn little bastard. "Fine, I've learned to not mess with science before."

"I'm pretty sure there are older people here than you, Reaper," probably- maybe.

Varian's good at falling right into teenage traps and being a great source of entertainment for all around him. But this- this is something he is stubbornly holding his ground on.

"Good. Thank you. "

"Probably, but how many of them do you talk to? Zero. Thanks."

The point was that Reaper was senior in the household, and that had to count for something. He sighed and leaned his head back a little, still shaking it. He knew better to contest too much when someone was going to insist. He had done that before and it just ended up hurting everyone involved.

Maybe age brought him some wisdom.

"I talk to Ford! I'm pretty sure he's older than you! So take that, HAH!"

He very almost added Stan in there for good measure but it would be pretty generous to call what he and Stan do 'talking'.

"How old is he?"

He squinted for a moment. He was used to being the oldest looking, if not the oldest around. He didn't count Vira because she was ageless.

"Um...somewhere in his sixties, I think?"

He's pretty sure Dipper mentioned that once.

Few Regrets (Open)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)