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[grice]

Who: falco grice, others, and you!
What: a catch all for the month including a player plot, general prompts and event prompts in the comments, all open!
When: december; date will be in the header if any!
Where: waves hands at too many places

Content Warnings: possession, violence, gore, self harm, child death, war imagery, child soldiers, racial oppression, genocide, forced experimentation, torture, mutilation, gun violence (against children)


see below for open prompts of all kinds! if you have any questions or would like to plot something specific, hmu at liberos!

Comments

[grice]

[ some form of odd recognition sparks through falco’s eyes— for some reason he distantly remembers the name, tries to parse it out of himself. his memory slowly begins to come undone the more he tugs on what felt more like the present to him. so he asks, with careful words and tentative remembrance: ]

You’re . . . Aren’t you Peter’s—?

[ he trails off the words, but clearly ends it with a question— just as the clip of cloven hooves thud against beaten earth and the crystalized antlers of the mourning stag begin to rise above the trench’s line of sight.

it seems like luna won’t have to wait long, to return to wherever she had remembered being in beforehand. ]

do you want to keep going with them back in Trench or wrap here? I'm good with either!

[creidim]

[ Her expression gives an answer before she can speak: Aren’t you Peter’s—? She brightens at the mention of the name, eyebrows raising and the barest hint of a smile curling at the corners of her mouth. He knows Peter, and in turn about her. Which... isn't surprising, really.

But the sound of hooves makes her look up, the smile slipping into a look of open wonder. Luna slowly gets back to her feet to get a good look, mesmerized by the sight of it. She's... read about this creature, Rituals of Trench. And while some kinds of illustrations are not nearly as accurate, there's no mistaking it: a great white stag, a circle of icy antlers. It's beautiful.

And then, quietly, she realises: a Winter Mourning brought her here. That's how she ended up in this boy's memory. ]

The Winter Mourning Stag. [ Spoke in a whisper. ] It comes when it's time.

[ Time for the memory to end. ]

we can wrap up here and handwave the trench meet, if that's okay!

[grice]

[ —she was. that's all that was needed for falco to understand, and while he doesn't quite smile, his own features seem soft and uplifted. the mourning stag raises itself beautifully, and now it feels cold as the memory of this place dims, the people hum rather than speak, and the blasts or gunfire is nothing but a whispering pop. it's as if he were about to sleep again and couldn't keep his consciousness awake for too long, but he could for this, he thinks, and raises his hand to get a hold of luna's sleeve in a tender tug, one that only hopes to get her attention. ]

Can I find you, Miss Luna—?

[ he hopes she heard that, because he would. they'd have plenty to talk about, that was for certain. ]

that works! ❤

[creidim]

[ It's an oddly peaceful end to a moment so loud and chaotic, like the hushed quiet of a snowy scene. She feels tired, but pleasantly so. That she might simply melt into sleep in a few seconds. Until she feels the gently tug of her sleeve. It certainly does get her attention; even if she's slow to react.

She manages to drag her gaze from the Mourning Stag, eyebrows raised in curiosity for a moment. Can he find her—? She raises a finger to her face, points to her eye. ]

Gaze. [ Where he might find her. And then she smiles gently with a single nod. ] You can find me.