deercountry | Chrollo Catch All

Entry tags:

Chrollo Catch All | February [Open]

Who: Chrollo, & others
What: Various February happenings
When: All month
Where: Around Trench
Warnings: None in main post; Will be added to comments as needed

Wait For Me; backdated to the end of January

A month since Chrollo washed up from the sea, it was time for more Sleepers to come ashore. He had no interest in helping any wayward soul who happened to need a hand, so he lingered further back and let those with an interest in such things greet new arrivals.

The only people Chrollo cared to see were his own. If one of the Troupe washed ashore, he didn't want to miss their arrival. There was also a chance that a squid could take on a less than friendly face. Being unable to permanently kill them was a hindrance, but knowing sooner rather than later would still be better.

Wrapped up to wait out the cold, Chrollo watched, and waited. The sudden feeling of stiffness was a surprise, there was no obvious source of it. Soon, he couldn't move at all. There was no apparent source of danger, as the twelve legged spider omen on his shoulder remained small but visibly agitated. It looked like he'd be waiting longer than expected.

You Take My Breath Away

After the past month, Chrollo was becoming accustomed to the sudden onset of effects with no obvious source. Suddenly being unable to breathe was still surprising enough that Chrollo reached up to his throat to reassure himself there was nothing around his neck. Even though he hadn't anticipated holding his breath, he still had at least a few minutes before the situation was going to become desperate.

A nearby commotion made it obvious he wasn't the only one struggling, and as soon as he caught sight of someone else visibly struggling to breathe he was hit with a sudden need to reach that person.

As far as coercive abilities went, Chrollo didn't have much experience with being on the receiving end of them. But he didn't have many options, and the only risk was to himself. Without giving it more thought than that, Chrollo made his way over and reached out.

Speed Dating

Chrollo Lucilfer, emotionally unavailable and married to his work. He enjoys reading, acquiring antiques (especially books), spending time with his friends, and exploring the darkness in other people's souls.

Chrollo has never done regular dating, much less the 'fast' variety where you're given only a few moments to get to know someone. As far as ordeals go, he's had a much milder time with this month than the previous one even with his odd run of bad luck.

He knows the motions to go through well enough, he's met people and 'hit it off' to get close to them when a situation required it and he's stolen more than one priceless artifact or ability that way.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'll try not to make any childish jokes about it," Chrollo says to the comment about ass and head switching place. His first thought wasn't the structure of a squid but more interesting changes to the body, but he jumps to the right conclusion after a moment of pondering how unpleasant having one's body rearranged would be.

They're already touching, so Pyrrha's aura flowing doesn't give him much more than he would get from contact, but it's infinitely more comfortable to be around.

"I'm just limiting how much of my home falls victim to my presence. Making the place more comfortable has become hazardous to myself and anything I want to stay in one piece," Chrollo explains. He can scavenge well enough for himself that he hasn't needed to look into the building materials the outpost keeps in stock, but if he needs to shore up the walls that might change.

Pyrrha snorts, but she knows what the joke is doing. It's not a surprise, and the mental image is a funny one. "I won't hold it against you if you fail," she says, "At my age, if you can make a new joke, that's a feat."

Not to mention the too complicated to get into situation of having serious reasons for making butt jokes. Hilarious too in its own way. Even after she figured Nona out because there hasn't been a good moment to share. Life on New Rho was hard, untenable in the long term even and worse day by day, but Pyrrha misses those terrible times with her terribly small and jumbled together family. It was never going to last. Such is the case with so many situations. Sad but in a familiar way.

"Problematic," Pyrrha muses, "You can have my help if you'd like to risk it. It could double up instead of cancel out. On the other hand, I'd be squishy, so I might provide a cushion."

"I'm not in any hurry," Chrollo says with a shrug. "I can live with what I have, and it's more a project to pass the time than anything else."

And with bad luck stalking him, it's not even a very enjoyable way to pass the time.

"I think if a version of you I'd prefer to fall on or have something fall on I would pick Pyralis and not a small squid."

But he'd prefer not to let either into his home. There's no real security to be had here, but even an illusion of personal space is better than none at all.

Pyrrha inclines her head. She gets it. Even now she sets up new caches, gathers more supplies, and otherwise lives in this new world as ready as possible for anything. Anything simply has a wider range of options at higher probabilities than where she was before. For good or bad, that's exciting.

"At worst, the bad luck's for a month. At best, there's a ritual of some kind to get rid of it. That'll take checking with the arcane scholars and locals," Pyrrha says. Bad luck isn't so bad, even when she turns into a squid.

"Large, soft, and bonded with you as a kid. I don't blame you. I even got a whole house," Pyrrha says, "That takes more than a little squidding. I don't have the shedding ceremony under that tight of control. I wouldn't mind having Pyralis in rotation."

She likes Pyralis, the bonding with kids, the building a house, the introduction of a new way to code notes... most of all the happy life filled with no more than the normal kinds of sadness and loss. Nothing like— Nothing like what defined most of Pyrrha's existence.

"What interests you most: poker, catching crabs, beach combing, wrestling, a meal, or something else?" Wandering is something, when done on purpose.

"Poker or a meal would be difficult to play one handed, unless you suggest we get a little closer. Wrestling isn't my sport, but the rest of it sounds like a nice date. Cards, a walk on the beach, a meal, or did you mean wrestling on the first date?"

Chrollo sounds mostly serious as he speaks but there's a hint of teasing undertone.

"Crabs are a delicacy in many places where I'm from. Do you know how to make any interesting crab dishes?"

"It's ouch difficult to test this moment without giving you the wrong the idea," Pyrrha says, "but I'd bet that the rules here"—she squeezes his hand—"aren't specific as to where we're touching so long as it's skin to skin contact. Poker... a meal... you're a smart enough guy to figure out kid friendly options there."

Her tone's also teasing because truly, buddy, it's not like Pyrrha manipulated the situation so that they would be stuck together like this for an extended period of time, whatever it may be.

"No matter how nice and date-like it seems, Chrollo, it's not a date. It's a firm rule of mine that anytime I go on a date, anyone involved can leave at any time. Anyone wants to stop them, they can fight me—to the death if that's what it takes. Now if the date gets crashed by a hoard of beasts or something, whatever, we face that, but it's not the date holding them captive," Pyrrha smiles, and her tone is light. Her intent is firm and unmovable beneath it. "So long as you're stuck with me, you're firmly in the friendzone."

That handles, she rolls her head around her neck once.

"If we stop for the right supplies, yes, I can make great crab dishes. I've had a lot of practice the last half year."

Kid friendly options, what an odd way of saying it, but Chrollo just grins at it. He hadn't expected his joke about a date to get more than a polite denial. The fact that he doesn't get the denial he expects, but a refusal because they're mutually captive audiences is interesting. She knows the thing he most wants to keep hidden, and with that the rest of him is easily unraveled.

"You don't seem like the type to refuse someone indirectly. That's an odd word, friendzone. I am much closer to my friends than anyone I'd go on a date with."

Chrollo gives her a calm, neutral smile.

"Let's go get some supplies, then. I'm not much of a chef."

Pyrrha chuckles, thinking of her friends among others.

"You don't seem the like the type to ask someone indirectly," Pyrrha half-jokes, half-encourages him to put a foot forward if he means to, "I got my pre-Resurrection memories back late last month, to the great boon of understanding a fuckton more one of my best friends has been saying for a myriad. I've been trying out the lingo. Friendzone was only a negative place to those, usually men, who cared more about fucking someone than really being close with them."

Chrollo caring more about his friends than someone he'd date is only another good quality about him.

"This way." Pyrrha leads them to the market district, readily trading supplies for what she needs, foisting some of it off to Chrollo and carrying some of it herself. That includes a blanket for a picnic on the beach.

"Life as a saint was a lot less glamorous than most people realized," Pyrrha says, "Would you prefer to take any guesses why or hear the answer?"

"I've never had any time to consider asking for the sake of it, but I have far less to do here," Chrollo says. He's not interested in finding out if Pyrrha will say yes, because that's all it would be. A curiosity, a selfish entertainment when they do go on a date. He's not above playing games with her if he needs to, but not just for the sake of it.

They really do look like a nice couple, walking along with supplies for a beach picnic.

"Is it the responsibility, the pressure of living as a standard to aspire to, or the fact that everyone expects you to have answers?"

Chrollo is no saint in any sense of the word, but he does wear St. Peter's Cross on his back.

"Mmm, boredom's not a great reason to ask," Pyrrha says. Honestly, she doesn't really expect him to. It's fine. Even if he's not busy here, Chrollo doesn't give off the vibes of someone who goes on dates much, if ever. Jokes, sure, but how many times are they going to meet like this?

"None of those are easy, no," she says, "but it's because the primary space station for for God and the Saints was in bumfuck nowhere, even for space, manned by at least one person at all times to act as a beacon for the planetary revenants so they wouldn't eat planets full of people.

"You could only travel there via the River. If you weren't God or a Saint, traveling there would kill you. That means everything to do with a space station was handled by the Saints. Piloting, cargo unloading, space station maintenance, cooking, cleaning, swabbing the head, you name it. When you were there alone, you did all of it. Decade or two at a time.

"Congratulations, oh holy finger, you are cleaning out the air filters again." Pyrrha laughs. None of her jobs have ever been glamorous in her life.

"It isn't," Chrollo agrees. He has ideas about what dating should be, but he's so far removed from what life is meant to look like that he hasn't experienced most of it himself. And from his perspective, the reasons people ask and say yes are often worse than boredom.

The comment about what's actually the worst of it makes Chrollo laugh. As well as the line 'oh holy finger'.

"A mere finger? Not even a hand or a leg. Although, if there are five or ten of you, you'd have to reach for any other body part."

The tattoo, the twelve-legged spider with his number on it, hasn't come up, and Chrollo's beginning to doubt it will. Zero is less telling than most of the others would be.

Sending people out to be alone for a decade or two at a time sounds unbearably cruel. Chrollo doesn't send people on solo missions very often, usually when anyone goes off alone it's of their own choice. They all can operate alone but it's rare.

"Talking about entire worlds being devoured makes everything seem so... small." The world is a big place. Multiple worlds are bigger. Thirteen of them is barely enough to deal with a single known world full of people and monsters, there would need to be so many more of them if destruction on that scale was an option. "I'm guessing things like planetary revenants can't be killed with even a planet's worth of roses or you would've obliterated them already."

He has always constrained his goal in its scope. It's still an endless task, but not quite as out of reach as what it sounds like Pyrrha and the other saints were trying to grasp.

"We're the empire of necromancers, Chrollo," Pyrrha says, "John could grow as many fingers as he wanted, though it'd start getting unwieldy at some point and would be more efficient to grow more hands or whole arms. We're also his fists and gestures, so I'd say it's best not to take it too literally, except my husband and I were the third set. So..."

She flips Chrollo off with her free hand. "Holy finger, reporting for duty." Another pun in the name.

"It's ten thousand years after humanity spread to the stars. Everything may be small, but it still matters. Small lives, even when I don't get to be a part of them. Even when I don't get to give a fuck about them," Pyrrha stops a moment and motions around them at the boardwalk they've reached, "I know you're new here and still figuring out what you give a fuck about. I've had to pay attention to the big picture so long that caring what happens in this one city with its idiosyncratic people and problems feels like a luxury."

Pyrrha glances out at the beach and out at the ocean beyond. "Planetary revenants have physical bodies, as well as souls. Don't know what your roses are, but no, none of our weaponry's enough. It takes Saints." Or God. Fuck John in that moment. Her aura's on, so that momentary spike of anger's visible, immediately gone again. "That's not glamorous work either."

Growing extra fingers or even limbs doesn't sound that interesting, not as much as the mechanism behind it probably is. The rest of what she has to say interests Chrollo more. Her husband. Most likely Duty if Chrollo has to guess, but he's not going to ask about it. She hasn't asked about the spider, or about Sarasa.

"I hope that's just as rude where you're from." Is all Chrollo has to say in response to being flipped off.

"I know exactly what I care about, and none of what I care about is here," Chrollo says with a shrug. It's not what Pyrrha meant exactly. They could come here, though, and Chrollo has space waiting for them more or less. Even if the spider's purpose is absent, the spider can survive.

The fact that Pyrrha calls caring about a single city a luxury is laughable, because that's all Chrollo has decided to care about. Not the people as an individual, though he does extend that some of the little care he has left to spread around. If he's not going to care about the people close to him more than the cause, he won't care about any stranger either. The spider doesn't exist to preserve any individual.

"You don't have- maybe it's a language issue? A miniature rose, or a poor man's rose. A cheap and easily produced weapon of mass destruction. It turns multiple city blocks into molten rock and metal, spreads a self-propagating contagious toxin that's faster and more lethal in its spread than most disease, and the blast cloud looks like a rose in bloom. Someone detonated one in a relatively isolated area recently, so the toxin didn't get to spread to populated areas before all the carriers died off."

Chrollo's curious if Pyrrha's society bypassed weapons like that in favor of necromancy. The spike of anger is interesting. She doesn't serve a distant god, and perhaps that's much worse than wondering if any divine being is out there watching or not.

Pyrrha grins at Chrollo. "Oh yes."

She squeezes Chrollo's hand in solidarity. Though Pyrrha had to be the last of her cohort standing, she was not the first of them to come to Trench. John and Augustine, Gideon and Harrow, they were all here before her. They had set up house, even if it were coming apart. Chrollo's the first. He has that burden and the uncertainty, the lack of any guarantee.

The description of the rose is close enough to nuclear weapons for Pyrrha to get the gist. She hates it, thanks. Not strongly, not with much of a reaction. That's Gideon. Simple fact. "Nuclear bombs," Pyrrha says, "Planetary revenants are the size of planets easily. No effective way to deliver the payload. Not for lack of trying. In ten thousand years, most ideas that aren't suicide runs and a few that are have been tried."

She guides the way onto the beach, packs away most of the supplies she carries onto her person, and passes the blanket over to Chrollo. His crab dinner is full service start to finish. "Don't worry about making noise. That'll attract them. Just don't let their attacks breach your bloodstream. As a darkblood, you'll get especially fun hallucination times. I have no doubt you can kill crabs, but allow me. Consider it part of dinner."

"Nuclear. Strange word to use for them," Chrollo says, trying to get from what he knows about the miniature rose to nuclear bombs and coming up short.

Suicide runs are a popular strategy with the leadership of Meteor City, something that Chrollo heavily disapproves of. Even when his inability to use two-handed abilities kept him from using Sun and Moon, it was a worthwhile investment to take it away from the elder.

When the blanket is handed over to him, Chrollo spreads it out with a flourish that uses only a small amount of nen. He is quite adept at manipulating cloth of about that size due to practice using yet another stolen ability, even if a conjured cloth was easier to control than a plain blanket.

"Watching is less fun, but, if that's what you prefer." If anything gets too close Chrollo can deal with it in any number of ways, but he is interested in seeing what Pyrrha does, too.

"You're splitting the nucleus of atoms," Pyrrha says. "At least in my world. They're... not popular among most people anymore. We only pulled them out due to the special circumstances and to avoid the suicide runs if we could."

She raises an eyebrow at the one handed blanket handling and gives a few claps against their bound hands—technically that makes it the back of his hand.

"I know, but they aren't a challenge for you. I do prefer it," Pyrrha says. They aren't practice for taking down D, not when they want to end up with well seasoned food. It's still the principle of the thing. Pyrrha's making him dinner. She leads them a little away from the blanket, taking out the bone baton, extending it to full length as a spear, and humming the theme song to a popular old series to attract the crabs. These she kills in sharp precise stabs, one hit one kill. Pyrrha kills enough for dinner and leftovers.

Sheathing the spear as a baton, Pyrrha pulls off her cloak, sweeps it under the crabs in a smooth move and crouches before the crabs to tie up the cloak and carry them back to the blanket. Is it showing off a bit? Certainly, but Pyrrha's definitely having fun.

"Those exist, too, but they're much more expensive and harder to use than the roses, so they never became popular," Chrollo says.

He doesn't comment one way or the other about crabs not being a challenge for him. He hasn't done much to show his strength to anyone except Sharon, but he hasn't hidden that he's capable, either.

The crabs are sizable enough to make a good meal, and Chrollo allows himself to be led along, he watches the use of the spear- interesting weapon, not one seen often among nen users except for conjurer.

The way continuing to hold hands subtly changes everything they have to do is more amusing than anything else.

"This is much more entertaining than last month. Even if it comes with a side of strangulation.

"Better off that that way," Pyrrha says. "Shame about the roses."

On the way back to their blanket, as well as the crabs, Pyrrha grabs some large rocks. These go in the cloak as well. It's heavy by the end, but she lifts it over one shoulder and walks along. It leaves her without any open hands to react to anything. If something attacks them, she's delayed at least a few fractions of a second to reach her spear, her gun, or her knife on that side, or she could let go of Chrollo's hand, lose the ability to breath, but reach the gun or knife over there. Alternatively, she's trusting Chrollo to take care of whatever attacks.

In any case, they get peaceably back to their blanket, where she sets down the burden.

"Not interested in strangulation, noted."

Pyrrha takes the rocks out of the cloak and eyes Chrollo. "Mind if I borrow our hands?" she asks. He assents, and she brings them over to the rock. Not breaking contact, she disentangles their fingers and rotates so his hand rests over hers. With each rock, Pyrrha meditates over them, biting her cheek, until they're heated up. That's quick, easy, over in a second. Longer is sealing it in so they stay hot a long time. At least she's not as exhausted (blood effect) as when she learned this process.

She sets them up in the sand and makes a flat surface on top of them. "Time to get water," she says cheerfully."

"There are worse things in the world, but I'm more grateful we don't have to deal with anything like what you described. My home isn't shy about suicide runs," Chrollo says. His tone makes it clear what he thinks about that. Even without Sun and Moon, the elders are far too quick to send people to blow themselves up for a chance to take out an enemy.

"Isn't that a bit forward to say to someone you're not on a date with?" In his head Chrollo does the math on how long they've been holding hands and how long this effect might last against how long he can hold his breath. Flirting and death threats go hand in hand sometimes, but killing is meaningless here. A brief blow to the ego, a reminder of fragile mortality, and then you wake back up again.

The display of cold blood magic is interesting. "Are heat and fire popular among cold bloods?" Chrollo asks as they go to get water.

"Sure, it's nice to have a shorter list of shit to deal with," Pyrrha says. Sometimes the little stuff, irritating and real as it is, is nice after all the epic big times. Whether to buy meat that's of questionable origin. How to convince a planetary soul in the body of an eighteen year old girl with less than six months of memory not scream her head off and get them all killed. Alternatively, to eat breakfast. The little things.

"Only if I misread the vibe of what you're comfortable with," Pyrrha said. She eyes him. "Did I make you uncomfortable (in a bad way)?"

She turns over how much to share, but it's definitely a hook. "Coldblood goes one of two ways, if not both—fire or ice, heat or cold. It's easier to heat those rocks, use them, etc than to make and maintain a large bonfire. Using direct elemental magic like that, the bonfire, is draining. Nap nap time for Coldbloods. Guh, which, I gotta say, frequently, the blood effects for Coldbloods are exhaustion—directly or indirectly. Pain in the neck when some of the strongest effects of your magic do that already. I get a lot of use out of bloodstones. Bullets. Grenades. They aren't as powerful as using my magic directly, but they don't make me need a nap either."

She steps far enough into the water to be able to fill the pot as deeply as she needs. Goal accomplished, Pyrrha turns right back around and walks back, unbothered by the cold wet water soaking her boots.

"Benefit though, we generally are unaffected by the weather. Don't feel it."

"Just trying to figure out if you playfully offer to strangle people you aren't dating," Chrollo says. Fond threats of violence that could easily turn into actual violence are common enough among his friends.

He listens to the explanation of coldblood magic, so far he's seen more fire than cold, but perhaps it's just personality of the coldbloods he's met. Sharon has the fiery, angry sort of wrath to her. Chrollo knows the cold kind of hate as well as he does the hot burning kind.

"That sounds useful, a natural benefit even when you're not actively using blood magic," Chrollo notes as they make their way back to the heated stones and crabs.

"Depends on the vibe of the relationship," Pyrrha says with a shrug, "I definitely have friends like that." Most of them not here. That sinks into the tone of her statement the tiniest amount. The absence of friends. The absence of people she'd have her usual dynamics with. Time apart. There's a dearth of a circle of people she can playfully threaten with violence. Step up, Chrollo. Dating or not, she could use it.

"I'm a bit more intense with people I'm actually dating," Pyrrha adds in a light tone, thinking of trepanation with filtering cerebral fluid with Gideon or public challenges from Nonius or murders (not only attempts) with Wake. The attempts were a lot too.

She sets the pot on the stones and sits on the blanket. "Can you pull out the other supplies—the spices?" Pyrrha asks. One handed will be fun.

"Makes up for the naps. Our blood also makes beautiful jewelry, and I've heard if you toss it in the dark, it'll glow if someone or something's feeling fear," Pyrrha says, "Haven't tried that one." She has made something that qualifies as jewelry, but that was personal—for Sharon. If Sharon ever feels the need to toss it in the dark, so be it.

It's almost too bad Pyrrha has so many claims on her loyalty already, but Chrollo doesn't know how ruthless she can be. Her moral compass seems to point towards doing good for everyone. He suspects she can do terrible things if needed, but probably wouldn't let the world burn for the sake of a smaller number of people. Unlike Sharon, he doesn't think she'll reach that point even if he pushes.

He understands the tone of missing friends clearly, because his own are all absent. Chrollo considers inquiring about how much more intense she is with her husband, but that topic has all the hallmarks of an emotional landmine. Whatever caused Duty and Pyrrha to be one person was probably not pleasant. She's left Sarasa alone, so he'll avoid bringing up the husband.

"This almost seems like something you'd see on a reality show," Chrollo says as he starts pulling out spices with one hand and setting them down where Pyrrha's one hand can reach them.

"Fear is an interesting thing. People use it too often when something more measured would do, but emotions don't listen to logic very often." Chrollo acts out of caution, but he knows what real fear feels like. He hasn't felt it very often since he truly came to understand it.

The vibe check gets dropped, which says something in and of itself. Pyrrha lets it, not applying pressure where it's not wanted so early in something half-information exchange half-not a date. Neither of those need that kind of pressure. He got real with Pyralis, but Chrollo's still playing in the kiddie pool with her. For some reason, he won't touch Duty or her husband. Why?

"I heard Palebloods got really into baking last June," Pyrrha says, "Baking competition and everything. Blood effects kicked it off, so it might be more difficult without that to get things going. Still, given the right circumstances, you could get it going."

She talks while working one handed—opening the spices, shaking them onto the laid out crabs and working them in. Once they're all on there, she even sears them slightly, so they don't come off in the water. Not proper cooking technique by everyone's standards, but spend enough centuries to reach millennia on the battlefield, and you adapt a lot.

The crabs don't all fit in the pot at once, which has almost reached boiling, so it'll be batch work. Pyrrha listens to Chrollo. "People have a lot more buttons than fear, if you want to use emotions, and emotions aren't the only tools out there," she says. "Fear's a pain in the ass once it roots itself into people. The sky could fall and kill us any day. That's great, Bob. How about we lay the next layer of concrete instead of you trying to kill Dick over there. He's not ending the world."

Not that fear's the worst. No, some people want to save everyone— or every dog. Real life doesn't work like that.

"I think I'd rather watch that show than host it," Chrollo says, dismissing it. The entertainment value doesn't seem worth the effort.

Pyrrha's words about fear sound like personal experience, but given the kinds of threats that exist in her universe it's not that far out there. Some of the spices Chrollo recognizes by scent and could name, others he knows but couldn't put a name to. He's not as resistant to poisons as the Zoldycks or their butlers, he has to be more aware of what he's putting in his mouth or inhaling.

"Fear spreads quickly, so it's a useful tool at a distance. But I am curious how many things people think are fear but really aren't would cause cold blood to glow. Or the things people think aren't fear, but are."

Chrollo Catch All | February [Open]

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cw: mention of suicide bombers

CW: reference to disordered eating

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CW: reference to potential dog harm

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