open | the old, old winds blowing you back around

[creidim]

Who: Luna Lovegood + you!
What: September Catch-all + Event Prompts to follow.
When: Late-August; the month of September.
Where: The Farther Shores; Gaze; Others.

☽ the pale morning sings of forgotten things | the farther shores | arrival
cw: thalassophobia; refs to drowning; possible nudity / partial nudity; amnesia-related themes

---

[ It's strange, remembering. At first, a little frightening — the waters all around her, the ocean floor falling away from her feet. She'd walked into the sea, her hand in another's, following the moon, the mother — she'd felt cold, at first. And she'd been frightened despite herself; feet kicking uselessly, trying to find a surface to stand upon but finding nothing there. Nothing at all; only the murky, heavy feeling of water all around her. But after a while, something seemed to wash over her — it didn't feel so scary anymore. The moon had said so, hadn't she—? It didn't feel like anything, anymore. She remembers the ocean swallowing her whole, and then being alone — bobbing silently along with the waves.

She'd felt small, quiet. She is little more than that. But— oh, she will be Something. She swims with purpose, drawn one direction. She will be Something! Something that is far more than just small and quiet. She wants to know what it is. And soon enough, she will find out — the endless ocean sweeps into shore and there's sand beneath her. Hands reach for her, soft and warm and safe. The woman smiles, her words are soft and warm, too.

Hello, old friend. It is so good to see you again. I have missed you. And she believes it, she does. And the process begins: gentle coaxing to remember, the strangeness of it all. She remembers the feeling of the cold air on her skin; paint on her fingertips, under her nails; how the forest floor feels beneath her bare feet; she remembers silver of her eyes, so wide and so curious, the curve of her smile and the taste of sugar on her tongue. She remembers, faintly, the feeling of fingers coaxing her hair — how long and pale, scraggly curls tucked carefully behind her ear. The woman is kind and patient with her, wrapping her up in the dark robe — exclaiming gently: Aren't you a small thing? Just as I remember. It's a little big for you but it'll do.

She still feels strange, different. But whole. A girl. She is... here.

The woman leaves her be after a while, and the girl sits on the warm black sand — still strange but content. Her legs stretch before her, she tries to wriggle her toes. She seems enthralled by her fingers, and bends to start drawing shapes in the sand: stars, a crescent moon, a rabbit, a leaf, all sorts of things — although they don't quite look how they're supposed to. She'll stretch as far as she can, long blonde hair covering her face and drifting lazily in the sea breeze, fighting against the fabric of her robe, partially disrobed the longer she works. Still, she seems quite happy in her own world making soft little chirrups and babbling sounds, relatively subdued. And that's where she'll stay, where she can be find by others.

At some point, perhaps after you've come across her — this strange, partially dressed girl drawing so intensely in the sand — a dog will arrive. Huge, almost wolf-like. Some kind of large husky or malamute. Maybe you followed the dog as she searched along the shore, looking for someone, or maybe the dog recognised you and is bringing you along as she looks for her owner. She's excited to see the girl, licking at her face and whining. But the girl just pets the dog, still making her little sounds — no words coming yet — looking up with wide eyes and pointing at you. Oh! It's you! Whoever you are!

Or perhaps it's much later, the day shifting to night. The girl remains on the beach amongst the drawings in the sand, the dog resting at her side. She continues to pet the dog absently; she doesn't know the dog's name but she seems know that the dog does belong to her. Has it always? Or is it just now? She doesn't know. But she's still relatively calm and quiet until she catches sight of the pale red moon that hangs in the skies. And then, the girl comes alive. She stares at the moon peeking over the horizon and after a long moment, something clicks inside of her. Recognition washes over her face, sheer delight and excitement lighting up her eyes. She starts shrieking gleefully, growing louder and louder and more incessant.

It's gibberish that comes out, but there's a few words here and there that sound like sense: Moon! I am Moon! Moon! Mum! Mum, Moon! ]

☽ every once in a while I'd sing a song for you | the farther shores | arrival pt. ii
cw: amnesia-related themes

---

[ Once she's gotten the hang of using her legs again, Luna walks slowly down the boardwalk. She's still dressed in the robe she'd been given by the Waker, a tiny thing swamped in the black and her long sea-soaked hair loose down her back, looking more like a lost child than anything else. But she's not alone, a huge, wolf-like dog hovers at her side — almost half the height of her. Luna keeps one hand on the dog, occasionally petting the soft grey fur of her back. Helga keeps watch of her owner, grumbling low if anyone comes too close — she seems to understand something's not quite right with Luna, and just wants to keep a close eye on her. But not even Luna can explain what it is, the pieces of her mind still putting themselves back together.

Luna walks as if in a daze, slow and uneven steps, taking the place in — or trying to. There's so much around her: so many sights and smells she doesn't really know where to look first. It's... dizzying, overwhelming. Her mouth opens and closes silently, brow upturned for a moment: hungry. And with the scent of cream and sugar so thick in the sea air, she doesn't really know where to go — doesn't have the sense to approach a stall.

Instead, something else catches her eye — the twinkling strings of fairy-lights that hang low across the boardwalk. Luna stops, stares for a long moment, utterly mesmerized. She... she remembers these, somehow. She remembers them as good, in some way. Her stomach rumbles softly and she makes a soft sound — her hands reaching up for the lights, fingers straining.

Maybe they'd be good to eat, she thinks. If she could just reach them. ]

☽ your timid smile | luna's home, gaze
cw: n/a

---

[ The rain seems almost endless, the sky thick with full, dark clouds. Days seem to drag on in a watery blur for the most part, downpours to drizzle and back again. Until one evening, the skies seem to ease off in their assault on the city below as the daylight fades to dusk. For a short while, things seem calm. Peaceful even. It's nice, even if the clouds never fully leave. Even if there's a definite chill in the air, summer on its way out. More rain will come soon, but for now there's a break — the pale blood moon keeping watch above.

And then comes the haunting melodies that grace the open air: Moon Presence sweeps low in the skies, swirling effortlessly around building tops — moves with meaning and without it too. She goes where she pleases, it seems. She sings to the city as night approaches, soft ethereal music that seems to echo across different part of the city. As she moves through Gaze, she seems to hover around on a particular street for some reason — low, easy circling that seems a great deal more meaningful. It seems something has caught her attention.

Until it becomes apparent that on this one particular street in Gaze, there is a teenage girl sat upon the roof of a tall Georgian-style townhouse. It appears that she's climbed out from one of the attic-room windows, quite at ease as she perches. Luna stares up into the skies, wide eyes watching Moon Presence as she draws close for a moment and then swirls away again. It's hard to tell from the height, but there's a conversation of some sort — the girl speaking softly to her whenever she floats close by.

This is who's gotten Moon Presence's attention for the moment, until she notices whoever's watching the two of them and turns to look. Luna blinks and looks down at the pavement, beaming and then waving at the person below. She looks delighted. ]

It's alright—! Everything's fine—! Come say hello—!

☽ rise above the mountains and the stars and the sea | archaic archives, gaze
cw: n/a

---

[ It's a delightful discovery to find that the library is so close to home, that she lives in the same district as it. It doesn't take her long to venture to the Archaic Archives; trust the Ravenclaw to make a beeline for such a place. While she does give the museum artefacts a look through, she's more interested in looking for some particular books. She wanders around purposely but on occasion some kind of curious thing on display will catch her attention and she'll stop to examine it for a short time before returning to her wanderings.

She'll be here for a good while, easy to come across as she carefully makes her way around the mazes of the library. Deerington's library will always have a special place in her heart, but this place is quite something. She'll definitely be found here often in the future. And certaintly she doesn't look lost at all, if you happen upon her. She looks quite at home, in fact. ]

It seems so easy to get lost in here, doesn't it?

[ And despite her words, she seems quite cheerful. ]

contact heolstor or heolstor#5725 for planning/plotting. event-related prompts to follow. plotting post is here

Comments

[possessum]

( Peter's smile is slowly returning as she repeats the word — there's a nod of encouragement, gentle but eager too. Yes, that's right, that's good! Green; green is important. He wants to help her remember things if he can, though he knows it will take time. It's taken time for him; it's still a slow process within himself. )

There you go.... You've got it— ( He continues to encourage the girl as he tries to help her stand, a difficult process. He remembers this too: so much falling.... others had helped him up here and there. Eventually he could walk again, but... it was hard. He won't rush her, letting her take time, lean against him as she needs.

Then suddenly she's crumbling, legs buckled — Peter's hands scramble to grab for her forearms as she falls right into his chest. Alarm immediately shoots through him, but... she's not hurt, just out of sorts, and Peter finds himself laughing quietly at the soft whine into his clothing. Laughter still feels so new for him, but the sound comes naturally — an amusement, but it's more fond than anything. Empathy blossoms from him as he gently moves one of his hands to the back of Luna's head, fingers stroking affectionately, soothing little pets. )

No— No, it's okay. This is hard, but you're doing great. ( Peter praises the girl softly. He doesn't know if she's capable yet of understanding all of the words, the meanings to them, but his tone is gentle, encouraging. )

I'll help you. Like this— ( He crouches downwards a little, so that his other arm can find her waist, hooking securely around it. Then he's very slowly standing up straight again, trying to help draw Luna's body upwards with him, holding her to himself, tight and warm and secure. )

We can just stand for a few minutes. Like this, you and me. ( Give her a bit more chance to get used to standing, to having her legs in that kind of position; there's no rush. He might have to carry her, and he will if it comes to that, because he is absolutely not letting her leave his side — but for now, Peter's content just to stand there with Luna for a few long moments, helping her stay upright with his arm still firmly around her waist.

And he's gently fussing over her, his free hand moving up to carefully dust some sand from her cheek with his thumb, and to re-tug her oversized robe up over her shoulder, murmuring softly. The process of helping Luna is progressively helping Peter remember more words, phrases, too. )

This thing's just swallowing you....

[creidim]

[ He laughs, but she knows deep down it's not to make fun of her. There's a kindness in his laugh, he doesn't mind her stumbling legs and unsteady feet. She shifts her head slightly, looking up at him with wide eyes — she's forgiven, even though it seems there's nothing to forgive. She nods slowly, once, a very slight movement of her head and he's moving again: help. He's helping her.

She holds onto him tightly — a little too tightly, she can't quite manage softer grips just yet — as he gently helps to draw her upright once more. Her legs still shaky, but she leans on him, a good weight to help get used to the feeling of standing. He's warm, solid. There's a few more chirrups and babbles, pleased as getting to stand — she feels tall. No longer something small. ]

You and me. [ It comes out garbled, much like her other words — an echo of his. Her head lolls back, a crooked grin on her face as he brushes sand from her cheek. She likes this boy, she thinks, knows. It comes as naturally as that familiarity: he's someone she knows, someone important, someone she likes.

It helps. Helps her slowly put pieces together again. The dog at their feet rises to stand again, her tail wagging and the girl looks down to her. Something clicks into place: ]

Helga. [ She gasps the name softly, her face brightening. Her name is Helga; this dog belongs to her. An idea forms: the dog could help them. The dog is clever. ] Helga, green. Helga help.

[ Helga tilts her head, letting out a soft confused sound. The direction isn't clear. ]

[possessum]

( There's a small hitch of his heart when Luna repeats the words to him. 'You and me.' Like a little bird imitating and grinning, but it makes his heart flutter all the same. You and me is important, just as important as blue and green. ...It's the same thing, even. Those snippets mean the same thing.

And once again, Peter feels things fluttering in him, stronger now, the closer he is to her. The memories associated with her help him remember other things too, things connected with his senses: flowers blossoming and the smell of hot chocolate, the sound of soft rain falling while he and the girl hid tucked somewhere safe in the woods. Bursts of light, of magic....the feeling of a long, thick scar beneath his fingertips. The shimmering of a red thread. The pluck of guitar strings, and cold snow gathered up into his palms. There are so many memories with her — but they aren't overwhelming him; they were already there inside. It's simply like his vision is slowly becoming clear again, where it was blurred and hazy before.

He loves her.

His eyes are a little watery now, and he's blinking down at Helga as Luna addresses her dog. With... her name. She said her name; she's remembering things. Maybe one word at a time, maybe slowly, but— she's coming back to him. Peter knows she'll come back. They always come back to one another.

And there's a sudden little swell of pride at Luna asking the dog for help; it's smart of her. Even in this state, her brain is working like this... She's wise. He's proud of her, his smile growing as he looks to the dog. )

Can you find something? Something like this? ( He carefully lets go of Luna with one arm, holding his wrist with the bracelet out to Helga so she can sniff it. ) It looks... feels, smells, like this.

( It might still be in a bag, but Helga's nose is a powerful ally... and Peter turns back to Luna, giving her a little squeeze, a hug, more encouragement. )

That was such a good idea...! Are you okay, though? Do you want to.. sit back down? ( He gestures to the ground, eyebrows lifting as he tries to convey what he means. If Helga can fetch the bracelet, it would spare Luna having to fumble around, and she might want to rest again. They can sit and wait, if she wants. )

[creidim]

[ It's a long road, but she's getting there. And it's exciting, in a way: like finding clues to a puzzle. She's in good spirits over it, despite the frustrations of not being able to do things properly, or not quite grasping words. Glad to remember Helga's name, glad to slowly remember him. She nods eagerly as Peter explains what she means: yes, yes — helps her say what she wants to say. There's another grin up at him, thankful and pleased all at once.

And it's far better direction; the dog understands, wagging her tail as she steps forward to sniff the bracelet on Peter's wrist. It smells like him, mostly — but there's still traces of the girl, too: in the leather, in the makings of it. Helga turns away, snout to the sand as she starts to scour the sand, trotting one way then another as she moves further away from them.

The girl grins, babbling softly at the dog and then laughing at the praise. A good idea—! This'll make things much faster, she can find her green! ]

Mm. Sit back down, sit back down. [ The gesture helps her know what he means and she nods. This standing business is difficult, even with his help. Besides, she was having fun drawing in the warm sand — some of her doodles now unfortunately scrubbed out by getting to her feet.

But once they're back down to sit again, she'll be reaching to smooth it over, ready to start again. She'll reach for his hand, clumsily closing his fingers into a fist save for his index before directing it to the sand. ]

Do this. [ ....... she wants him to draw with her.

It's a good ten minutes before Helga's darting back, a leather satchel in her mouth — muffled barks announcing she's found the 'something'. Well, close. This definitely smells like her owner on the inside. She drops it at their feet, returning to lick the girl's face for a few moments. ]

Helga good. [ The dog steps back and she reaches for the bag, shaking it gently as she tries to open it. Fine motor-skills are... a little hazy right now. She doesn't really She sulks gently in her frustration, before pushing it towards the boy: please help. ] Open? Open!

[possessum]

( As Helga starts her search, Peter turns his attention to helping Luna sit back down; standing was maybe good for a bit, but he knows it's going to probably be a good while before she's capable of walking anywhere. That's okay; he'll sit with her, he's not going anywhere.

So down he goes, careful, folding long legs inwards as he sits down alongside the girl. Peter's blinking as she reaches for his hand, limply letting her shape his fingers how she likes, waiting to see what this is about.... oh— she wants him to draw. The boy smiles, slowly dragging his finger against the smooth surface of the beach. He'd missed this so much, he thinks. Missed being with her, spending time with her. Things are still out of sorts and strange and lost, but she's still Luna and he's so happy he's with her now. )

You wanta draw some more? We can totally do that. Though I have to warn you... I'm no good at this kind of thing. ( Again, he has no idea if Luna can process half of what he's saying, but he keeps talking to her the same as though nothing's any different. And it's simple shapes he'll trace out: some swirls, a sun, some clouds.... a stick figure with one leg longer than the other. Peter's dipping his head to laugh here and there at his own creations, quiet little sounds shared only with Luna, and enjoying watching what she comes up with.

By the time Helga returns, there's a little array of drawings in the sand, and Peter looks up at the muffled barking, his heart skipping a beat. Had she found it? Is Luna's bracelet really still inside? He hadn't even prepared himself for the thought it might've gotten lost.... )

Oh— Here, let me see if I can help you with that. ( Peter takes the bag as Luna pushes it his way, giving a little empathetic smile at the frustration; he gets it, 100%. He remembers a lot of frustration, too. But it's okay; he'll help her. Carefully, almost... nervously, the boy opens it up, pulling back the sides. And there's a glint of bright green; he exhales quietly, feels his heart clenching up all tight. It's there. )

It's here... your green.

( Slowly, he draws the bracelet out and turns towards Luna, holding it up to show her, and to hand it to her if she wants to examine it for herself for a moment. )

I can put it on you. Like mine— like this. ( Peter holds up his wrist again and taps it, then gently taps her wrist, too. The same spot — they're the same. )

[creidim]

No good? You? No, you good. [ Yes, she absolutely wants him to draw with her. She grins widely, her own hand reaching for the sand to start her own doodles, back to drawing moons and stars. Sometimes there's no actual shape, just little squiggles and patterns. Still, it makes her happy; making those little noises to herself, chirruping and babbling contentedly, pausing here and there to watch him. It's like a conversation of sorts with those little sounds, soft noises of amusement shared between them. It's nice. She likes this. This is nice.

He takes the bag from her and she waits eagerly, leaning in close to watch him open it for her. She's very excited, her green is in this bag, she thinks! It's a rather good job he's here and she nods several times.

And then he produces it: an identical bracelet to his, but in green, held together with brown leather instead of black. The girl inhales sharply, freezes — her eyes wide and staring as he holds it out to her: It's here... your green.

It's hard to explain it; not like something snapping into place, but more the murky waters clearing. Her expression flutters; the almost giddy smiles and excitement in her slowly fades into something softer, silently stunned. She takes the bracelet from him, holds it in both hands — a thumb brushing over the beads.

She made this. She made both of them. The boy taps his wrist, then hers — offering to put it on for her. She looks at him for a brief moment, before her gaze shifts back down. She made them bracelets, matching ones, for Christmas, last year. She made them bracelets in one another's favourite colour. Green is his favourite colour, hers is blue. There's a shaky inhale of breath, her eyebrows raising in a quiet realisation: ]

Peter. [ The word still clunky on her tongue, but said with purpose. The most recognition she's shown yet. Slowly, she looks up at him — tearful but there's a quiet joy to the remembrance. How could she forget—? Thank Merlin, she remembered.

A little sound escapes her lips, something almost like a sob. She loves this boy, she loves Peter. Even if the all the pieces aren't all back to her yet. Her fingers close tightly around her bracelet. She made them bracelets because she loves him. She wanted to make them for them, the little ways they speak to one another without words. ]

Love you. [ More little gasping sob-sounds. She remembered. She remembers him. ] Love you.

[possessum]

( He watches her see the bracelet, watches her face, her eyes. Something more solemn comes over her as she examines it, and Peter falls silent, staring at her instead of the item, for those few long moments.

He's afraid to frighten her with this, he realises suddenly. Or upset her. He remembers being... upset, during certain times, certain things he'd been unable to recall. Some strange feeling of emptiness, the awareness of certain loss without knowing what caused it. He doesn't want to make her... hurt. He hesitates, heart skipping a beat; but then—

'Peter'.

His eyes widen a little at the way she says it this time, how she looks up at him. It's... strange; they've been Luna's eyes this whole time, but it was like something was... not gone, just hidden. Now it's like it's surfaced again, a certain... lucidity. A recognition. Like she knows him.

Peter doesn't move, his own pair of oddly mismatched eyes staring. But they're looking a little different now, too — the odd blacker one seeming to settle a little, its pupil no longer so stressed. The natural brown of his eye slowly peeks out from that darkness a bit more.

He almost asks if she's okay when she makes that sob-sound, his heart fluttering, one hand lifting like he'd take hers, comfort her.

'Love you.'

Peter gasps this time, a quick, quiet sound. His eyelids flutter; a lump immediately reappears in his throat. He feels... like he can't breathe, but it's not in the familiar, scary, painful way. He feels too full of something, but it's not that Other thing, not its aching brightness.

It's his own love for her pressed up against the curve of his ribs, swollen and warm and soft, and he gives a little sound of his own. His eyes, already wet, fill with a hot warmth, glossing over with tears. Peter's lifted hand moves, and then the other one joins it; he cups her face, wants to soften those little sob sounds before they might overwhelm her. )

Luna. ( Her name's whispered; Peter swallows hard. He feels happy, so happy, and it makes him want to cry. He's suddenly flooded with the feeling of home. This person is home, and he realises he's home for her, too. )

Love you. I'm here, I—

( A watery smile breaks through with another soft gasp. )

I love you.

[creidim]

[ She leans her head in closer as he moves to hold it, as if moving closer to the surface of murky water. Things seem clearer now, sharper, and she wants to grab at them as much as she can — bursting with a kind of almost-glee as she recalls things once more.

He whispers her name and it startles a little sound out of her, her eyes opening wide: oh, her name. She couldn't remember her name, didn't know what it was. He says it so softly, and it feels right. She utters it in reply, her voice hushed. That's her name, yes. He told her her name, helped her remember it.

Her eyes are glossy with it all, too full with her joy. Love you. There's another sob. A grin blooms from her, wide and delighted through the little sob of happiness; she doesn't know how else to express it. He's here with her, they didn't lose one another — just a temporary parting, somehow they always manage to find one another again.

She shifts closer, pressing her forehead against his, another little sob-sound escaping her lips — relief and happiness shifted into one. She's still smiling, her hands reaching to grasp onto him, anything she can reach — she doesn't want to let go of him. He's the person she loves, and he loves her in return. ]

Love you. [ She utters it again, softer this time. ] You found me. You help me remember. I'm Luna.

[ She's Luna. ]

We stay. [ They chose to stay with one another, didn't they? In the end. They didn't go back to their own worlds, to their own homes; they decided to be home here. They chose to stay. ] We... we choose to stay. We stay.

— posssssibly wrap~?

[possessum]

( The girl's forehead touches gently to his, and it's yet another thing that feels so familiar, so right: memories trickling out of him. There's a soft, warm light that he feels when he's with her, and Peter feels it now. A togetherness, a comfort, like he knows that no matter how lonely things feel, he won't be alone.

She's reaching for him as he cups her face, and he's sifting his fingers back further into her hair, affectionately. After a moment, Peter gently lifts his head up a bit, so that his lips can brush her forehead with a soft kiss pressed to cool skin. Then he's moving back down to eye-level, looking into Luna's familiar silvery-grey gaze with a gentle, warm smile. )

We did. We do. Choose to stay.

( He's remembering it fully now, those lingering odd edges to his own memory smoothing out now that he's found Luna. They chose this. To come here, not knowing what would be through that Door, but knowing they'd go together. He still doesn't know what's coming; what's up beyond the beach, in the city, in this world. But he's found her, and he'll never, ever leave her. )

We stay together.

( Peter slowly removes his hands from Luna's face, so that he can gently take the green bracelet and ease it onto her wrist for her, thumb brushing over the beads for a moment. Then he's leaning forward to wrap his arms around her again to hug, wanting to be close to her for as long as he can. They don't have to get up and go just yet.... wherever it is they're meant to go from here. They can stay and sit here for a little longer, in this spot where they've found each other. They can just be together.

The boy slowly closes his eyes — now both of them fully returned to their natural warm browns — and lets himself melt into Luna, holding onto her, breathing her in. He loves her so much, it aches. He's at home. )