deercountry | and for a brief moment, we could stop the time.

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peter graham: jhey

and for a brief moment, we could stop the time.

^{Who: Peter Graham / possessum + various!
What: Catchall through endgame. I'll be placing starters for folks here to indulge in. If at any time you would like to do something with Peter before the game ends, please hit me up ♡
When: June - August.
Where: Various places in Trench.}

BUT WITH THE STARS AND THE MOON, I WOKE UP IN THE NIGHT.

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— threads featuring deer form interactions. May be with Peter's deer form or others.

( Peter's still so afraid to be peeled back, exposed, reduced to the most "pure" form of himself. He's terrified of what it may be. His mind conjures up horrors, something burnt and small and frail, so grotesque and hurtful for Luna to be faced with.

Or maybe something ugly in a different way. Something raw and dangerous, something dripping with the demon. Maybe there's nothing of Peter left at all.

But maybe what he's most afraid of is if the thing he is beneath isn't the demon. Maybe what he's most afraid of is that it is just himself, only he's cold and unfeeling. That he regards Luna not with the gentleness that her own deer form displayed for him, but something harsh and unsafe. Something that would leave her feeling.... alone.

But it's important that he do this, too. And there's something perhaps funny to the fact he's more afraid of this than he is to have exposed his Beasthood form to her for the first time earlier in the month.

It took Peter a couple of times to make the initial ritual work, his heart such a shuddering thing, but when the door opened, this time, he stepped through.

When the stag returns, he moves very slowly, dark hooves quiet against floorboards. He stands tall, antlers stretching out, (difficult to get through doorways like this, really....) The deer's head turns slowly, cautious but calm, and with an eerie light seeping from his eyes, like tendrils fluttering, ghostlike. )

Edited 2023-07-03 01:45 (UTC)

[ Luna has been far less apprehensive over the whole thing. There's more of an excited anticipation that has her rocking on the balls of her feet a little as she helps direct Peter with the ritual needed to ask Doorway to show him the way. Peter will be fine; he'll be fine when he steps beyond the threshold into the dark, into the little void of space where Ramona exists. She had meant what she'd said to him over the network. Whatever it is she would be greeted with when he returned, she wouldn't be disappointed.

Why would she be? How could he disappoint her? To her, he's never been anything but wonderful at his core. She loves him, loves who he is. And to meet that in its rawest, purest form is something exciting, and deeply intimate in a way. It's something she feels honoured with.

It's enough to make her stop rocking when a deer returns, softly gasping at the sight. Part of her laughs slightly, deep down: she'd been right about him being tall. But there's so much more than that, almost overwhelming with something she cannot place. She's reminded gently of the deepest, darkest parts of the woods — a strange sensation she can't quite grasp: something silent and still and old. It swells within her, and her hands clasp tightly in front of her, expression softening. ]

Oh, look at you. [ She breathes it out softly. Emotion blooms in her chest, a soft exhale with the curve of a smile at her lips. ] Hello, Peter.

[ After a long moment, she takes a step forward — a hand reaching slowly out to him. He looks so soft. He looks magnificent. ]

[ Any trace of caution melts almost immediately as the deer steps back through the threshold. He's a shy thing to be sure, but— he knows what this place is, of course he does. It's home. He couldn't possibly be afraid of it.

And there's the girl, his girl, his wonderful person, waiting for him. The deer stares, calmly greeting her with its strange haunted stare. 'Hello, Peter.'

Gently, his head tips forwards, and he takes steps closer. Right to her hand, gently nudging his forehead against the girl's palm. There are no words, he can't verbally speak, though he remembers her echoing way of speaking when she's in this form, an ethereal chorus of whispers, single words at a time. He isn't worried. Luna will be able to understand his heart; he knows this.

As he nudges against her hand, those two fluttering ghost tendrils slowly lift, and gently reach out too — up, up, the ends of them seeking her. They don't hurt, don't feel like anything corporeal, a whisper of fog. But they do seem insistently curious, gently reaching out for her cheeks, and sliding up more. Heading— towards her eyes, maybe. Perhaps a little concerning. If batted or coaxed away, however, they will obey — slithering back into the stag's eyes. ]

Edited 2023-07-06 03:19 (UTC)

[ She'd remembered words being difficult. Odd ones, here and there. But communication in general hadn't been something that came easy. Perhaps the fact everything else seemed so simple, there was nothing complex like language in her when she was like this. Maybe it's the same case for Peter, but she isn't troubled by it. They have their own ways of talking.

There's a bubble of amusement that escapes her throat as he bumps his head against her hand, her fingers gently curling into his fur for a moment before brushing back then down his neck. He does feel soft, she's delighted to find. Unsurprising in a way, especially considering how much she already enjoys playing with his hair. She leans in gently, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

She doesn't try to bat the tendrils away, but she does take a moment to study them briefly. Hm. Curious. She does try to touch them, however, raising her other hand to try to grasp at the wisps of light with her fingers, as if she might be able to curl them around them. ]

You look very beautiful. [ There's a pause. It's a small thing inside her. Something niggling. Her expression shifts into a quiet frown for a long beat. ] I told you I wouldn't be disappointed. Didn't I—? I just—

[ The words fall away and she inhales, looking at him for another long moment. She feels... sad, she thinks. She doesn't know why, at first. And then she thinks she does, her lips pursing. She doesn't want to upset him because she's upset. ]

Edited 2023-07-06 23:45 (UTC)

[ Everything does seem simple. The world exists just as it is — and he can see it quite clearly. See how he exists within it, too. There's no need for words, he can be silent, the way he feels most comfortable.

And he's here for her. That is the stag's purpose, the purpose of Peter's spirit like this, he knows. To comfort and protect Sleepers. When his precious person brushes her fingers along his neck and strokes him, the deer dips his head forwards a little more towards her, mindful of his antlers, but desiring to give her comfort in the sensation. Certainly, it feels good for him too, and his lean form ripples gently as she kisses his forehead. A familiar thing between them, a safety. He's right here for her.

Those odd tendrils of light seem to react to the girl's touch, not only allowing her to touch them but welcoming her to. One does curl gently around her hand, and despite not truly being corporeal, it seems to have an energy of its own. A faint, soft sensation. It winds slowly around her wrist, while the other continues its journey towards her cheek, brushing gently upwards. Examining her as much as she is them, maybe. Or maybe they know her, recognise her. Either way, there isn't any harm to come from them. They exist as a part of the deer — something unnatural, but a part of him.

Meanwhile, he's gazing solemnly at Luna as she speaks, listening. But her words seem to falter a little, and a quiet melancholy hangs in the air. He's a strange thing, there are soft aches that come with his presence. Slowly, he lifts his head again and moves his face to her other cheek (the odd tendril is still patting along one....), where he nuzzles there before giving her cheek a soft lick of his tongue. ]

[ It's surprising how easy this is, but in many ways it isn't surprising at all. Not in the slightest. It's Peter. So much of them comes so easily to them: the gentleness in the silence, mute understanding. She gives him another few gentle pets after the kiss, very much taking her time — his fur is so soft, she's truly enchanted. This is fine, she's just going to pet her deer!boyfriend, she's having a wonderful time.

The wisps of light are a curious thing, though. And curious of her, too. She watches as it wraps gently around her, a ghost-touch of sensation. Perhaps like how a sunbeam through a window feels when one passes by it, or something like it. She's not particularly startled by it, though. This is... just Peter, she supposes. There's nothing scary about him, certainly nothing about him that scares her. Why would this be any different?

There's a little sound: half-laugh, half-sob. She's briefly at a loss for words, then comes the very gentle lick at her cheek. She playfully brushes his muzzle away, a little bashful, but then moves to hold him in both hands. She utters a very gentle sigh of his name under her breath, staring at him for a long moment.

Finally, she lets the words tumble from her mouth, and it comes so incredibly easily now to let them slip: ]

I just wish you could see yourself how I see you. [ With it come tears, swelling from her eyes quickly and streaking down her face like falling stars. She barely recognises them. ] That you're something... good. Wonderful. You are perfectly you.

[ He had been so worried about being something bad, with this. That he would turn into something bad being a deer. It isn't something that's a new concept either; plenty of times before any of this she's known the kind of thoughts in his head. That he isn't something good, someone good. But it's not true, she's never believed it to be. And here? Merlin, look at him now. ]

I wish that the dark clouds inside you would stop not letting you see that.

— info found at prelude & event

( Peter never thought he would end up back at that strange underwater city. It seems like an experience that belongs to someone from a different lifetime — but although memory is perpetually hazy within him, he remembers this place well enough.

He remembers.... losing Luna, and then finding her again. That was back before she came to mean what she does now, to him, although... perhaps even back then, it was there. Some part of it. They were connected via a literal red string, they were safe with one another. She's always been his safe place to return to, hasn't she.

There were others with them there. People they've lost now, and as Peter roams carefully through the ruins of this place (still just like how he remembers, so fresh, as though they've stepped into a warzone that's only just ended, or perhaps should still be going on), he remembers pieces of them. Names and faces, details that are so often lost to him, like glitchy static. But they're with him still, ghosts that he lets haunt himself, unable to ever say goodbye — Will and Ben, Clarisse. There are others. His heart hurts.

But that ache is dulled slightly by a pressing tension, a fear. Peter remembers how dangerous this place was, too. How... empty, how difficult it was to find food and a safe place to camp out. Holing up in abandoned rooms, searching corners for cans. And outside of this place, the ocean is some vast looming thing: beautiful, but a cage. There was no escaping then, and there isn't now. Not yet.

He isn't here alone. There are others, friends — it seems several of them have wound up in this place. Peter is one of the rare who have been here before, and so the role of a guide falls easily to him; he accepts it, despite his own nerves. He has to help keep his friends safe.

He's with Sansa now, the pair of them making a supply run, and everything is too-silent. There's only that tinny, old music playing overhead, and the occasional drip of a leaky pipe or groan in the wall. It's as they're passing by a news stand, sign illuminated with an eerie green glow, that a second song seems to leak forth, at an odd contrast with the music playing overhead. Peter comes to an abrupt halt, heart skipping an odd beat. It's someone singing — a quiet, soft voice, saccharine-sweet in its youthfulness. There's no mistaking that it's a young girl's voice, and it's coming from within the dark shadows of a bistro close by, the door torn off its hinges.

Peter visibly balks. He never actually encountered the "Little Sisters" that others spoke about bumping into... but he'd heard plenty of stories about them. About the slugs within them — and Peter had, unfortunately, also been host to one such slug..... The removal was surgical and done by someone who was most definitely not a licensed doctor; it wasn't his favourite experience....! In any case, he's not entirely sure what to expect with this, and not entirely sure that's what it may actually be. (Peter does tend to Hear Things, after all.... Perhaps there's nothing in those shadows but his own ghosts.) He turns to his friend, leaning in close, voice kept to a whisper. )

Did you hear that....?

Edited 2023-07-03 02:42 (UTC)

[sansa wants to hiss that she can't hear anything without lady, but that would be pointless and rude. instead sansa stills and listens. it does sound like a young girl, singing an earth song she recognizes from cellar door nightclubs and the wellness center kitchens about a green and yellow basket. she nods slowly, considering their options here. it could be a recording, a trap––if this were one of the moss king's puzzles, or riteoir's doing, it likely would be. sansa thinks remina wants them to make the right choice, but she'd likely have copied this entire situation out of the history of some world––more like never mind's books, and in them sansa had always done what was needed.

regardless, the basket song soon gives way to the old earth nursery rhyme with the boy and girl who go up the hill for a pail of water in a way too easy and natural to be a recording. it could be a recording of a real girl singing...sansa sets her jaw and sets about removing her makeshift pack, a suitcase tied across her body with a few strips of good wool cloth. lowly:]

It sounds like a little girl.

[sansa's chakra feels small and bounded in this place, but she has enough training to move quickly and quietly, even in her unwieldy outfit and slippery party shoes. she holds the pack out to peter––it occurs to her that if she can't even sense animals, paimon probably can't do magic either, and he likely has less experience surviving without it than sansa does. still, she passes over her pack.]

I can look.

[the crow-calling potion should be enough to fend off any dangers, but sansa doesn't know enough yet to form an idea of what she might be facing.]

There's magic medicine in the pack. You can take whatever you like. Don't follow me unless you hear the crows.

[hopefully she'll be back before she needs to call them...]

— random threads around the city, etc.

[Nara'a has been sitting on this for too long. Peter has been a good friend to him, but he'd disappeared quickly after he - or his Avatar - had threatened that woman. He'd never gotten the story, given that Peter was shaken and he'd decided it wasn't the best time to pry.]

[But things can always look up. He wanders over to Peter's with a basket of food - some jams, some fresh bread, and a few candies. He hesitates at the door and takes a deep breath. It's fine. He's fine. He's just going to talk to a friend about the things inside of his head and soul, it's totally normal.]

[It's not normal, and he knows it. His mind is teeming with too many things as if it were a forest and his thoughts the animals within it. But it's Peter. Peter of all people won't judge him.]

[He knocks on the door, calling out -]

Peter? It's Nara'a. Are you free?

[Maybe he should have texted first? That seems to be the 'modern' way. ... It's still hard to change customs sometimes.]

( Peter's fallen a bit out of touch, admittedly, with more than a few people. The days have been long and hot and strange. The month of The Reckoning looms closer and closer, and he remembers what happened to him last year. It still aches, and it's a horror and a dread. He keeps close to home.

....More people also seem to have been returning to the ocean as of late. He hasn't spoken much about it, just quietly carried that awareness. People leave him in cycles, it seems. They always have. Several loved ones at once. He grieves numbly.

He's thought about Nara'a, after what happened. It's still something he's been trying to recover from, slowly: the cultists coming here for him. That screaming woman whose name he'd only learned recently. They might come for him again, someday. They probably will. But there were friends who protected Peter, who helped him through it. He isn't alone.

When the knock comes, it's a lazy afternoon and Peter's lounging on a couch in the living room while Luna's taking care of some things up at Ritual Gig. He moves long legs to stand, and heads to the door, brows lifting when he hears the voice on the other end. Peter's opening it up to the other man, feeling an odd sweep of relief. Nara'a is still here. )

Nara'a— hey. Yeah dude, come on in...! ( He's opening the door wider, moving aside to welcome him inside the comfortable witchy townhouse that he and Luna have made theirs. )

How's it been?

[Nara'a has also fallen out of touch with more people than he'd like. He knows many have returned to the sea, but he's just... not sure when his time will come. He wants to go home, but he doesn't want to leave the people here. It tears at him, but he carries it as he always does.]

[He smiles as the door is opened, stepping inside and looking to see if he should take his boots off. ... Some people are more sensitive about that than others, and he's not sure how it is for Peter's culture.]

I've been... all right. Thinking over some things, and... I thought I should check in on you. Not that I'm trying to... hover or anything, just...

[He sets the basket down and pulls off his boots, having come to a decision. His claws can be seen just barely poking out his socks. ... He probably needs to trim those. But he sets his footware aside and straightens up, carrying the basket with him.]

... I wanted to talk about some things, but only if you're okay with that.

[ Peter waits until the other is in before closing the door, turning to watch him as he listens. A soft frown tugs at his mouth — worry bubbling up under the surface. Peter's prone to jumping to the worst conclusions, anxiety worn like a second skin. ]

Yeah— definitely. Here, it's comfy in the living room, we can go in there.

[ He'll lead the other over to where there's a nice sitting area, with a sofa and some plush chairs, bookshelves, and a fireplace — not that there's any need for that right now, with how hot it's been..... But overall it's a very comfortable space, cluttered in a cosy way. A few random knickknacks scattered around, mostly the handiwork of Luna (...and some being from Paimon....)

Peter settles into an arm chair, not wanting to push Nara'a in any way, but his worry for his friend prickles and flutters like too many little insects. ]

Is everything okay?

[He follows and looks around, a little cautious - for no reason, he knows there's no reason - and sits on the sofa near Peter. It's an instinct, something buzzing at him to keep his allies close and protect them, just in case - in case what? - and he sets the basket down near him.]

[... He's told Chizuru about some of this, but it's still scary every time.]

Well, first... I wanted to make sure that you were okay. You... weren't, the last time we were together. And... I wasn't in the best of ways either, having used up a lot of my aether.

[He'd had to hunt something after, if only to keep his Avatar satiated. The strange creature had never spoken much to him, and he had the sense that was the first time it had spoken at length in a long time.]

And... and it's not the only thing in my soul. It's... one of them is more complicated than the other, though they're both complicated in their way.

[ Peter eyes the basket for a moment, but for once, his black hole stomach isn't the dominating force here and he doesn't poke his nose into asking what's in it just yet (that'll come, for sure...) but for now, he's just worried. The last time someone came to him and asked to talk, it was to tell him a friend had died, and things were.... bad, hard, and something's clearly up. He's listening intently, keeping quiet for the moment, as Nara'a explains.

Ah. That time.... Peter's spent some time looking back on things since then, and.... thinking about a lot. But he hasn't openly talked about it much, not even with Luna. It's... a nightmare that's so difficult to face. But he hasn't forgotten, and certainly not how Nara'a (and the Other Thing inside of him) had come to his rescue. It all feels very dreamlike, hard to grasp, but he hasn't forgotten the glimpse he'd gotten of that thing.

Not the only thing in his soul....? That's a concept that certainly isn't unfamiliar to Peter, and has in fact been on his mind too, with everything he's been... learning and thinking about, regarding his own bizarrely complicated situation. He shifts, uneasy, brow furrowed. But he won't run away from this. Nara'a came to him. ]

I uh... truthfully, it's been on my mind a lot. What happened. [ Peter starts there, looking down at his hands. ] It all still feels like a bad dream. But I guess deep down, I always knew they'd come looking for me here.

...I never got to thank you. For— for saving me. If you hadn't been there, I don't know... what he might've done. [ Paimon. Would he have returned to that woman...?

He'll ask more about the second part of what Nara'a told him, but first— ]

Thank you, to um... both of you. The voidsent... Were you okay after that?

[He stays silent until Peter talks, unsure of how his friend is going to react. Sure, it'd be hypocritical of him to be weirded out, but he's experienced that so many times before. He takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.]

[... Right. They can get to that in a minute. Of course Peter's worried about them.]

A - ah, yes. We had to go hunt afterwards, since they felt weakened from being in my body for so long. So I had to go replenish its aether without spending more of my own... but it's all right.

[There's plenty of small game in the forest for them to hunt without hurting anyone. And it's been a long while since he'd tested the limits of their bond like that. This world has plenty of energy, but it's... different.]

It's... h... heh. Is it bad if I admit that this is the third thing that's taken up residence in me? ... Probably. I just...

... One is a personified part of my anger and frustration, and one is my counterpart from another world. I... um. It's been a - a long journey, as I've told you. But I'd be dead without any of the three of them, I think. Definitely without one of them.

Or...

[Well.]

I'd be totally unrecognizable and mindlessly trying to destroy an entire world, at least. Which is worse than dead.

[ Go hunt....? It's an ominous thought, and Peter almost asks how that works, but... he isn't sure that Nara'a would want to dwell on that too much. And with the other man being so visibly anxious as it is... the last thing Peter wants to do is add to his discomfort. So he swallows aside that thought for now, focusing on everything else. Listening, brow knit as he gives it his focus.

It all sounds extremely complicated, but of course, Peter is no stranger to that. He's learned by now that Paimon technically isn't the only thing inhabiting him, either. Though he's not... certain the exacts of it. Isn't sure he wants to know everything. (But oh, he can feel her there sometimes. Charlie, or some shadow of her. And others— how many are there?)

He swallows, thinking over what Nara'a has divulged to him, disturbed and concerned. That certainly sounds... dangerous. Upsetting, and dangerous. He'd lose himself without one of them....? Turn into something worse than dead. ]

Is there any danger that they could be..... removed from you? Or leave you? And that you'd end up like that?

No. No, they can't - well. If I use a certain ability then Fray can come out and fight, but he's not... removable as far as I know. It's not... like I've had a guide for any of this stuff. I've mostly been feeling things out. I don't... really know what I'm doing, truth be told. Even if I look like I do.

[He feels small and vulnerable right now, but Peter's okay. Peter's safe.]

As for Ardbert - my counterpart from another world... we're part of the same soul. A very very long time ago the world was split into fourteen pieces. My world has had several of those pieces rejoin, so those of us there have denser souls than those on the other worlds, but... I don't think anything can shatter us apart save for another sundering. And that's not going to happen.

[Partly because he's pretty sure no one has the power to do so anymore, and partly because he won't let it happen.]

... We had trouble at first. He was trying to save his world, so he tried to doom mine. But he returned home and he had to see his friends give up their lives to help save their world... and then spent a hundred years as a spirit until I came along. ... We made up eventually. He sacrificed himself to help me control the energy I had absorbed.

He... was a good man. He deserved better. I don't really hear him, so I hope he's resting well.

Fray is... more of a problem. I've... run my mouth off with his words before. But I - I don't know. Maybe they're what I really think, if he's born from me...

[What is mental health? He still only has the faintest of ideas. The books are helping, but he's... still trying to grasp it.]

[ It's so many.... and they have names. Peter falls to silence again, listening, thinking. This isn't... exactly like what his grandmother had. His father explained it to him, the mental illness she'd been diagnosed with: dissociative identity disorder. Multiple selves, personalities. A trauma that a person dealt with when very young, one their mind couldn't handle — how it had to form other parts that were capable of helping the person.

But he hadn't known much. Had barely even talked to the woman while she was alive, a strange, estranged relationship. His mother kept him firmly away from Ellen, almost as if... she were afraid for him to be close to her. She could be... mean, sometimes. Horrible. She was horrible to Annie. Was it always her? Was it another "part?"

On the other side of things, it must have been awful for his grandmother, too. His father told him of the time lost, lapses in memory, the amnesia.... things that Peter now deals with on a regular basis. Parts of his existence almost seem to reflect his grandmothers', and it frightens him. And here's Nara'a, also dealing with so many different "people" inside of him. ]

That sounds.... really scary. [ He voices softly, staring down at his hands for a moment. ] Not knowing what's really 'you', or... how much those parts... those souls exist as their own person... being influenced by them. Sometimes it must feel like you're not really in control of yourself....?

[ He doesn't want to assume anything, tilting his head up to look at the older man. ]

I know it's... not the same exactly, because these are literal other souls you're dealing with, but... my grandmother had a mental disorder that reminds me kind of this. My dad told me about it. She was... a lot of people. Had a lot of people inside of her. Not literal other souls — but parts of her own personality...? It's complicated, but... they had names, too. And completely different personalities. Some of them even talked differently, I think.

...It's not something you can inherit, but.... sometimes I feel like that. Um. Especially when I can't remember what I've done, or... how much of it was really me. It's... scary.

[ He takes a moment to collect himself, swallow. Peter's never spoken about this to anyone, before. ]

....Are all of those.. parts, those souls... aware of each other?

It... the only one that can take control anymore is the voidsent, but I can feel them... I know it sounds crazy, but...

[Should he be using that word? He's not even sure. But his life is a series of unbelievable events so he can't even really blame anyone for not believing him. But Peter believes him. Believes in him, but without elevating him as a hero like so many other people have.]

... The only one that's a part of my personality is Fray, but... but it's complicated. They seem aware of each other, but I haven't really had conversations with them. Not... in a while, at least. I... when I had to go back to Ardbert's world I tried to talk to him. To tell him he was home, if only for a moment.

[He misses the ghost he used to talk to, but he understands that Ardbert deserves rest. He can't hear him so much as feel him - a slight urging in his soul and mind. He takes a deep breath and frowns, thinking about it.]

I guess I never tried asking. I'm sure the voidsent knows, and I'm sure Fray knows... I suppose Ardbert must know, too. He's more...

[He raises his hands and clasps them together.]

Fused? With me? If that makes sense. But... you experience this, too? It's...

[He'd had to learn how to lose control in a number of different ways. Training as a reaper was maybe the hardest to grasp, because he'd had to learn how to watch his body move around without him controlling it. Like he was in a cart that was thundering down the road, but he couldn't drive it.]

... It's hard to learn how to do. You do, though... with Paimon, I mean. You don't remember things? It's... is Paimon hiding it from you? Maybe for his own reasons?

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and for a brief moment, we could stop the time.

deer forms.

( Luna)

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rapture.

( Sansa )

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misc.

cw: Dark Knight spoilers, spoilers up to 6.3 possible

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cw: reference to / introspection / discussion on severe mental illness (DID)

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