December Catch-All

[spiritwalks]

Who: Vyng spiritwalks and YOU
What: Catch-All for December. See comments for prompts.
When: Various
Where: Various

Content Warnings: Listed in subject lines when applicable

Notes:

- Style veers wildly between prose and brackets. Just choose whatever style feels good when responding, and I'll match it ♥

- Vyng is a warmblood.

- Feel free to hit me up at jackets for plotting and general chatter.

Comments

Search & Rescue [Boardwalk - OTA]

[spiritwalks]

[Vyng looks at the vehicle for his next bad idea: An old skiff outfitted with two obsidian-like blades on the bottom. Frozen ice beneath the blades. And a patchwork of furs and hides, waiting to be hoisted up as a sail. It's like a cross between a sailboat and an ice sled.

He turns to the Sleeper next to him.]

You know, you're the first person today who hasn't immediately turned around after seeing this thing. You sure you wanna go out on the ice with me?

[eudaimonikos]

Ah. Well.

[Michael adjusts his tie, a little nervous. It's nothing to do with the boat-sled, though. And of course it isn't Vyng either, he's just...like that.]

I was planning on...you know, helping out a little more...personally. [Which is an incredibly roundabout way of trying to say that he is a fire squid, and thus fairly suited to going into the cold water to warm and guide the non-fire squids. God knows if that's actually coming across.] I wouldn't say no to a ride out there, though. Makes it a little easier. Especially if some of them aren't going to be able to make it to shore.

[you want a squid to pile different, smaller squids on your sledboat, vyng]

Snow Slippers [Various Places - OTA]

[spiritwalks]

A. Community Service

[Snow banks gently slope across different areas across town. In other parts of the streets, dirty piles are stacked high enough to let folks pass along their way. Maybe you're just trying to get from point A to point B. Or perhaps you're hoping to clear the area outside of your home. Either way, a mysterious elf druid may silently appear behind you, with nothing but a simple offer:]

Need some help with that snow there?

[Choose wisely.]



B. What is it, Girl?

[Some Sleepers, of course, are pros at this snow stuff. At the very least, many folks are resourceful enough to figure out their own ways to manage. If that's the case, hope you're prepared for a pony-sized white wolf to bark at you from the top of a particularly tall mound of snow. The vocalizations are urgent, and she keeps walking in small circles, as if trying to encourage passersby to venture closer.

Strangely...there seems to be steam floating from the snow near the creature's feet. Will you climb the hill and investigate?]



C. Howling at the Moon

Awooooooo!

[Maybe you're bundled up inside your home for the night. Or maybe you're calling it a day after fishing freshly-arrived Sleepers from the ice waters at the Boardwalk. The howling, however, is the same: Long, loud and persistent.

Whether you poke your head outside the window, or cast your eyes about the beach to find the source, you'll find Vyng sitting beside Slippers the arctic wolf. Despite the frigid weather, they both seem plenty layered to endure the low temperatures. Bright pale moonlight spills over the both of them, as they throw their heads back and shout at the sky.]

Awoooooooooooo!

[What will you do? Tell them to shut up and go to bed? Join them?

What else do you do in a situation like this?]

C!

[frogfear]

[Sleep hasn't come easy after the violence of November. Her typical habit had become to stay close to home when she sleeps, and ends up in the form of a wolf. It's easier to stay home, where she's near her sleeping, human form.

She's been more antsy lately as well. It's harder to just hang out at home and relax and wait for morning, especially the nights the moon is full, so more and more often, she finds herself roaming the streets at night. Besides, it's far more fun to bound through the snowdrifts like this.

She hears the howling as she approaches the beach and it comes as a surprise to find Slippers and Vyng. She tilts her head back and forth as she watches the pair, unsure whether or not to join them or withdraw and leave them be.

Well. It's not like anyone is going to know it's her. After a moment, she looks up at the moon and howls right along with them.]

C

[shiro2hero]

No awoo-ing. That's a three hundred dollar fine.

[Did that tired voice just meme? At the man and wolf on the beach? You bet he did. It's Shiro, because who else would be out at this hour? Though, finally, he's wrapped up in an actual winter coat, hands shoved casually in his pockets.]

[He looks... rested. Or at least, more rested than usual. After a long day of assisting the Wakers, he should look dead on his feet.]

Who's your friend?

B~

[unsheathedfromreality]

[Even before the first few flurries of snow frosted Trench in white, Illarion had made a point of trading for a quality pair of snowshoes. He was often enough about in Trenchwood and the uninhabited parts of town that he wouldn't be able to rely on anyone else breaking up the deep drifts for him--and, truth be told, he'd want the solitude a good snowpack could provide.

How much he would want it, after a month of overexposure and corruption, he hadn't predicted at the beginning of November. But now he could bless his past self as a seer; it has been very useful, of late, to keep himself to himself in the snowiest parts of Trenchwood.

Even on his rare errands back into the city, his fancy new footwear serve him in good stead. Case in point: He is determinedly breaking trail through a foot of snow when the wolf(!) barks at him.

The shrike's so far into the reverie of step-stamp-step that it takes him several seconds to register the noise as more than simply "not hostile". That's communication, he thinks, and that thought hauls him out of his other thoughts and brings him to a halt. He tips his head up toward the wolf--unmelting snow a quarter-inch deep sliding off his hair and shoulders--then shrugs to himself and starts up the hill with a steady crump crump crump.]

And what is upsetting you so, hm? [he calls, as he's in better speaking range.]

A

[onekindsoul]

[At the sudden appearance behind her Ruby just turns and screams.

And screams.

And continues screaming.

Until she is finally out of breath.

Then after a few seconds of panting and catching her breath she looks back up to Vyng and says.]

Uh yeah- Sure.

I was thinking of catching fire and just letting it all melt.

But I don't think other people will appreciate the skating rink I leave behind.

B!

[justoscar]

[Puppy!

Despite everything that had been happening in town lately-- or perhaps because of it-- Oscar was immediately charmed by the massive wolf. Unsteadily he ventured closer, dodging both snowpiles and navigating with the understanding that he was going to need his equipment adjusted sooner rather than later.

Teenagers grow, and Oscar was in the middle of doing some.]

What wrong, puppy?

[He asked, unbothered by the immense size of the wolf. Puppies were puppies, no matter how big they were.]

Sheep & Goats - [Cassandra / Outside Odd End - OTA]

[spiritwalks]

Odd End isn't a bad place to visit during December. Ethically-sourced deer antlers are useful for protection, after all, and some people may find comfort in the collection of glass baubles and healing crystals scattered through the room. At the very least, candles could be useful for the day-long dark of Trench's winters.

If you do pay a visit to the Odd End shop of miscellaneous goods, you may end up overhearing a conversation between two people: A tall, lanky Sleeper with pointed ears and angular features...and a matronly, robed Trenchie with her hair pulled back into a tight bun.

"You ask too many questions, Disciple Vyng," the woman warns him. "There is no use trying to understand things beyond our comprehension. It is a fool's errand."

"Has anyone tried to understand?" Vyng asks.

"Yes." Her face pinches into a disapproving frown. "Their journey ended in madness and corruption. You would do well to remember the same fate awaits anyone playing scholar in this world."

"Playing scholar?" he echoes, tone even and steady. "Madam, you sorely overestimate my intelligence. I assure you, I'm quite stupid—"

"Oh, I'm aware," she flatly interrupts. Vyng doesn't bat an eye and plows ahead with his thought.

"—I'm just...looking for connection. Unity. Wholeness. You can't find those things in a book, you know?"

The robed woman grows stone-faced. Pure motivations or not, she is unmoved by Vyng's words.

"By all means," she curtly responds. "Continue your personal meditation with you're, you're..."

"Goat?"

As if on cue, a floppy-eared, gray-and-white goat pokes its head from behind one of the crowded tables. And gives a sudden maaa-aa-aa.

"...Goat," she sighs. Vyng, meanwhile, crouches down and rests a hand on top of the creature's head.

"People call him Bradley," he explains, unprompted. "But other animals just call him ‘the Goat'. Name checks out. He's the greatest."

"It's a goat." The woman pinches her nose. "I don't care what its name is."

"The Goat." Vyng suddenly looks up at the woman, taken aback. "Madam, please, show some respect."

"As I was saying," she pointedly continues in a louder voice, forcing herself to ignore this bizarre tangent, "you're free to contemplate goats, mushrooms, and, and...whatever other foul-smelling nonsense you drag into the Sanctuary. But under no circumstances will you try to make contact with the Old Ones. No true Disciples will allow it. I won't allow it."

Vyng purses his lips and falls silent for a moment. It's clear he's not convinced by her objections. But he also recognizes the futility behind arguing. Finally, he answers: "Alright. I understand. No more questions about the Old Ones."

The woman's expression softens.

"A wise decision. Now, I have other matters to attend to. Good day to you, Disciple Vyng."

"Just 'Vyng' is fine." A pause. "Actually...are you free later? There's a small show happening at Cellar Door today, and—"

The clack clack clack of her heeled boots have already faded. At the same time, Bradley the Goat begins to curiously chew at the edges of Vyng's long, wavy hair.



"What about you? Do you wanna go see a show with me?"

(Is Vyng talking to you? Or the goat? It's not too clear.)

[droptheious]

Odd End isn't the sort of shop Varian likes to go into. It's far too...magically inclined for him and they do tend to be very snotty about scholars. But he's come here for help. His skin has grown a thick, rocky surface to it, and his hallucinations are only getting worse. He can't tell if the red rocks are real or if they're just creations of his own head. Which is why he's finally bitten the bullet and headed to Odd End to try and see if they have anything that can keep his corruption at bay.

He isn't expecting to see Vyng- and while he's usually very glad to see his friend, there's a horrible, biting resentment in him that he's just not used to. Hell, normally the entire goat thing would bring some bemused questions out of him, but right now all he wants is to go into the shop or...yell or...he doesn't know. He hugs his arms around himself, unsettled.

"I'm not great company right now. Definitely not for...going out to Cellar Door."

Royal Pain [Achelliac - Closed to Wu]

[spiritwalks]

Ahhh, just what the old bones needed...

[Vyng — hair piled into a large, messy bun — sinks into the hot springs, eyes closing like a contented cat. While his default is to visit the hot springs alone, these days he's been more inclined to ask for company. Most of his friends, he suspects, don't take enough "me-time" out of the day. And now that Billie has washed up onto Trench's shores, Vyng's extra socializing has gradually given way to important parental duties like cooking and making sure his kid bathes and sleeps regularly.

That's why he's joined by Wu this cold morning. As Vyng speaks, breath vapor mixes with the steam curling up from the healing waters.]

I don't know why, but my joints have been kinda stiff lately. What about you?

[royalfling]

[ Wu, for his part, doesn't mind doing things like this alone. He spends most mornings alone steaming in his sauna, but having a friend always makes for a more interesting experience. There's only so much being alone that Wu can take, especially recently when Mako has been so... strange.

He sighs, sinking into the water up to his chest, arms stretched out along the rocks. ]

Your joints? Is that... an old person thing? [ He realizes he actually has no idea how old Vyng is. His 22 year old body feels fine, really. ]

Ugh, not those. But running a theater is such hard work! I don't think I've ever been on my feet this month. These poor little guys. [ He sinks back so his toes bob above the water line. He wiggles them emphatically ] You don't deserve this.

Flower Power [Closed to Mako - Backdated to end of November]

[spiritwalks]

[These days, Vyng's preference for video and voice has gradually been put aside in favor of text-based communication. He's had to learn how to multitask better now that his empty-nester days are over. And texting is just more conducive to asynchronous chatter.

One afternoon, Vyng manages to fire off a message to Mako.]

hey, you busy right now?

[arclightning]

[ Mako has been keeping himself very, very busy making sure the Raccoon Room's running and Lysithea has enough ingredients to work with, so he appreciates that more people have been texting him.

As a matter of fact, though, he is not busy right now: he has just managed to get away from yet another show rehearsal and there's nothing at the docks right now, and so he's just kind of cleaning the kitchen with Zuko trilling happily at his side, poking her nose into their food stores.

Technically that makes him busy, but cleaning can be abandoned and anyway the last time Vyng reached out he ended up giving Mako something extremely cool, so.... ]

Not exactly. Just cleaning. If I don't do it this place turns into a war zone. You okay?

Turn and Face the Strange [Cellar Door - Closed to Obi-Wan: Backdated to November]

[spiritwalks]

[The hotel suite is wayyyy more opulent than it has any right to be. For starters, Vyng is paying an hourly rate for this place. Secondly, they're mainly here to use the bathroom. But hey. He did find the hotel receptionist's dog. He only had to wade through waist-deep garbage — and uncover a surprising amount of political intrigue among the local raccoon population — to do it. If she wanted to pull a few extra strings for Vyng's sake, he wasn't going to tell her no.

Still, a private bar area that's separate from the bedroom? A bathroom with huge double doors? Vyng is no stranger to luxury accommodations, but considering the criteria he gave the receptionist...his expectations were low.

Tuck and Billie are gonna be jealous if they find out about this. Even though fun is the last thing on Vyng's mind right now.

But there's no use in dwelling on all that. Instead, he shifts his attention to the steady shhhhhhh of the running faucet. Sitting on the edge of the tub, he dips his hand into the rippling water.]

Looks like it's just about full.

[jedies]

[ the opulence is a bit much for obi-wan's style. while he enjoys some luxuries, he's always kept a careful distance from them. not because he thinks it'll turn his head. he's too stubborn for that, but it always begs the question of where the wealth comes from and who does it go to?

or perhaps he's a shade uncharitable towards wealth due to his bias towards politicians and nobles. dooku enjoyed this kind of ostentatiousness. it didn't age well.

either way, he puts his preconceived notions to the side, glancing at the bath tub. ]

Does it need to be a certain temperature?

Winter Mourning

[spiritwalks]

((OOC: Most of these are closed, but feel free to message me at jackets or Jansen#8997 if you want a starter.))

The Fall (closed to Wu)

[spiritwalks]

[Cool, crisp air fills Vyng's nostrils, along with a cocktail of childhood memories: Damp moss. Rain. Wet tree trunks. And when he casts his eyes around, he's greeted by a thick forest with no end in sight. Trees tower over him, their tops seemingly converging to the same point when Vyng looks straight up. Crowning their majestic branches is a stunning array of autumn foliage of blood red and yellow gold.

He knows where they are. No...he feels it in his bones, and in his soul. That silent song of connectedness threading between the countless trees and the different species unique to the Great Forest.

Vyng takes a step back, eyes trained upward. Until he bumps into somebody behind him.]

—Ahh!

[Without a second thought, Vyng whirls around and aims his amethyst-tipped spear at the newcomer.]

The Axe (closed)

[spiritwalks]

["Ohh, can I touch? Can I touch it now?" Tuck bounces from side to side. His hands are clasped behind his back, like a kid trying very hard not to swipe some freshly-baked cookies.

Vyng, meanwhile, is kneeling on the ground. A mishmash of dark liquid rolls in the dirt. Inch by inch, it moves toward a single axe that's resting in the grass. Using his own hands, the Druid shifts back and forth between digging a small trench to help guide the liquid along and lightly nudging the squirming mass with his fingers.

"Not yet," he quietly tells Tuck. His brows are furrowed in concentration. "Just chill."

Pieces of copper and crystal emerge from the ground, and begin to converge upon the axe. Molten steel flows down the weapon's handle, turning it into a seamless blend of wood and metal. Melted copper coats the head of the axe, creating a burnished blade. And from the back of the axe, crystal merges and shapes itself into sharp, glistening spikes.

Until Vyng's hands are ensnared by the crystal, like a trap backfiring. He abruptly draws back, jaw clenched in pain as amethyst sears into his skin with a hisssss.

"Vyng!" Tuck is immediately at his side. "Your hands..."

"It's okay," he assures him, even as his best friend worriedly reaches for his wrists. "It's alright."

"I'm so sorry..." Tuck whispers, anguished. But Vyng only smiles.

"No, this is a gift." His voice his gentle, despite the pain pinching at the corner of his eyes. "For your rocks."




From a small distance, Vyng of Trench watches the scene unfold. It's kind of weird, looking at this as an outside spectator. Forging Tuck's axe was a lifetime ago, and neither of them could have predicted they'd end up in a different world. But it doesn't hurt, at least, to acknowledge where someone's been.

Without warning, Vyng turns to look at the Sleeper standing next to him with a grin.]

And that's where Tuck's axe came from. Also, it's how I got these.

[He waves his fingers, which suddenly sprout pieces of purple crystal...that bump together with an unsettling ting-a-linga-ling!]

Watershit Down [Obi-Wan]

[spiritwalks]

[Darkness. People screaming. Shouts of "batten down the hatches!" and "get below deck!" Lightning streaks across the vast ocean sky. Everything pitches from side to side, making it difficult to remain upright. Steel-grey waves foam against the ship's body — ready to claim anyone they can.

Some distance away, bolts of fire arc through the shadows. A flare? An attack? Either way, flames pummel into the water near the ship. But something else shares the bolts' same trajectory: A massive bird, with a humanoid rider gripping its tuft of feathers.

But instead of diving into the water, the bird grabs the side of the ship with its massive talons. Sheer inertia sends its rider — Vyng — rolling onto the deck. Within seconds, he reorients himself and stops on one knee.

"You really gotta tell me when you're gonna stop, buddy..." he mutters to the bird.

But then he looks up. Sees Obi-Wan. And just as he pieces together that, yes, this is a memory of ruin and destruction, and, yes, they are in the middle of it, he makes this face:]



Ohhhh, shit.

[They are so fucked.]

Cruel Runnings (closed to Mako)

[spiritwalks]

[Cold air blasts Mako's face, freezing the hairs inside his nose. Bitter wind pelts at his skin, threatening to knock him down...that is, unless he's holding onto something, tight.

But as luck would have it, he's firmly seated in front of a...large slingshot? On a lightweight sailboat that's bouncing and falling so quickly that it could turn even the most seasoned sailor's stomach into a frantic yo-yo. Some people's first instinct might be to check if they're wearing a lifejacket. But that won’t be necessary! Because if you fall off the boat, you’re not going to drown — you’ll just splatter across the flash-frozen waves that are jutting from the thick ice beneath you.

At the helm of the ship stands a scrawny, pointy-eared kid with a crew cut. He's bundled in furs, and he's staring straight ahead with a steely determination. But then he glances over his shoulder. And does a double-take.]

Mako!? Oh, shit—

[A sudden commotion rips young Vyng's attention back to their path ahead. One hefty ship — decked out in a logo that clearly reads Mike's Meats Presents: The Ribeye of the Storm and flying across the track on three massive skis — slams into the razor-sharp edges of a monstrous wave, sending pieces of its shredded deck flying into the air.

Grip tightening on the helm, Vyng leans forward and shouts over the wind:]

START SHOOTING AT THE ICE!

thank u, next (closed to Michael)

[spiritwalks]

[His dramatic break-up with Eagle is still seared into his mind like an ugly scar. It's the same memory that plagued him in Deerington. But this time, Vyng of Trench isn't anxiously pacing like an animal looking for a way out. Instead, he embodies the freshly-fallen snow's stillness...with legs folded beneath himself, his hands resting on both knees. Simply sitting with the hurt and rejection he endured, as well as the wounds that never completely went away.

When he notices Michael, he offers a humorless smile.]

Same old song and dance tonight. Sorry, pal.

All You Need is Love (closed to Qrow)

[spiritwalks]

[Unlike most of the traumatic war memories unearthed by the Winter Mourning, this scene is warm. Cozy. The campfire casts a pleasant glow across Tuck — a 7-foot-tall, 5-foot-wide beast of a man — and little Billie, who's nestled inside of the man's bushy beard. A hefty axe rests in Tuck's hands, with steel swirling through the wooden handle, a blade made of burnished copper, and sparkling amethyst adorning the weapon's head.

But tonight the axe isn't a tool for destruction. It's a make-believe guitar, while Tuck strums on invisible strings and aggressively hums a punk-album song.

"Your beard tastes like spaghetti!" Billie announces with childlike wonder.

From his seat on a nearby log, Vyng snorts. An unmistakable fondness shines in his eyes. Love swells in his chest. And for the first time in decades, his heart is as tranquil and quiet as a deep pond on a moonlit night.

From a distance, Vyng of Trench — removed from the memory, but still reliving this moment in his own way — keeps his gaze trained on Tuck and Billie with a soft smile.]

stranger danger

[facultative]

[When Anakin walks into the kitchen drawn by the scent of food, he's all ready to indignantly insist that Obi-Wan sit his ass back down and rest like the healers have ordered. Instead he's greeted by a complete stranger.

If he had taken a moment to assess the situation he would have realised that this isn't simply an intruder. No thief would go out of their way to cook in the middle of robbery. But he's always been impulsive and his hand first goes to his side for a weapon he hasn't earned back yet and then it's extended forward because the Force has always been his greatest weapon.

It doesn't respond as easily as it should, a reflection of his mental state, but for someone like him it doesn't make as much of a difference as it should. The result is still the same, an invisible pressure against Vyng's throat as he's lifted off the ground.]

Who are you?

[spiritwalks]

[Welp, he can't shapeshift. He can't call on the elements without fucking up lunch. But some invisible hand is choking him, somebody else is asking questions, and this is suddenly wayyyy more complicated than anything Vyng wanted to deal with today.

He's left with no choice.

Pale hands go limp and awkwardly hang at his sides. A ladle clatters to the floor. His boots passively dangle above the fallen spoon, showing no signs of resistance. At the same time, his eyes flutter, half-closed, and his head lolls to the side.

Does his trachea hurt? Absolutely. But he's still got gills further down his neck, so he hasn't lost total access to air. Not yet, anyway. So until this mess sorts itself out, he's just..gonna handle this possum-style.

By playing dead.]