don’t make me go wumbo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
grice) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2021-12-09 09:21 pm
grice) wrote in deercountry2021-12-09 09:21 pm
🦅 🦅 🦅
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![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
liberos!
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
no subject
Still enough that he manages to get some composure, before the bellow of a word that he doesn't understand rocks his ears and makes his eyes cross. Without warning, that same saliva that Fern had pulled those people out of pour down the back of the throat, covering them both. He instantly feels a wave of despair and remorse wash over him as the mucus seeps into his armor, begging him to separate from Bigby and just let himself fall down the throat and be dissolved into the acid that lie below, waiting for the next meal to arrive.]
N̫̙g̘͙̦h͔̺͜.̟̺.̺͕͜.͓͖͜
[He can't let go...
Turning his head feels like it takes so much effort, but he remembered where his comrade here had pointed towards. That must be where that person is, they have to get to him now before that regurgitating noise becomes more of a reality...
A celestial blade appears in his free hand, and he starts to swing it- the blade cutting at the back of the throat, suffering deep lacerations over and over again. Water slices out of it at the same time, clearing the paleblood that pours out as he cuts deeper and deeper into the neck, revealing what they'd been looking for this entire time.
The cavity that held Falco.
His clawed hand rips through the flesh, opening the hole to the imprisoned boy. And he's just that...a boy. The very sight of him, skin attached to his face under his eyes, so young. He reminds him of his younger brother, Anthon. And the negativity feeding on his mind only fuels a feeling of having failed again to save a sibling, like he had when he'd watched Teucer fade away in Deerington.
No...
Childe's strength fails him, in this crucial moment. Hopefully Bigby can finish this before they were both regurgitated up and crushed by the jaws of the jaw titan.]
no subject
Fortunately, Childe is able to do enough to reveal who is piloting this titan. The knowledge of it had been unknown to him, and his demon projects him forward. With a bellowing howl, Bigby lashes out with his claws: his larger left arm strikes out to sink into the pilot's chest, to find his heart, crush it, it's mine, red and beating--
And he sees who it is, too late. Too late. He's already struck his mark and wrenched the heart into his horrible claws, shredding it instantly.
He screams on the inside, no no no NO, and lets out a wretched, pained scream.]
no subject
He nods at Illarion's direction, more vines splitting and growing and twisting around the monster's head and neck.]
On it!
[It feels like ages pass. He so badly wants to just forget about holding the monster down, holding it down isn't cutting it and he can feel those thoughts creeping into the back of his mind. It would be a lot better if he just let go and attacked with his blade arm, or a sword, or his battle axe. It would be more satisfying than this.
Those thoughts don't feel like his, but he knows they are, and he's trying his damnedest here to ignore them, even as his grass twitches anxiously. The sound of Bigby's scream is a good distraction though, and he snaps his head up.]
That doesn't sound good!
no subject
Illarion throws Fern a high sign as the vines further immobilize the monster's head. Something else--the shrike can make a guess what--is helping them there but now they've got insurance, now they've got a guarantee of time between Fern's efforts and those of their doomed unknown ally embedded in the neck. Hard-won seconds tick by as the monster's thrashing falters and Illarion observes, by ((feel)) and through Iskierka's eyes, the efforts to cut through its neck and to its pilot.
There's the first moment of revelation, as Childe falters. And the second, as Bigby doesn't, and voices that horrible scream. The shrike's expression grows more remote than it already is. (It should have been him up there.)
That doesn't sound good!
Well, no. It wasn't.]
They've killed it. Brace yourself! And them! [If this has half the animation of any dragon he's ever seen killed, it's going to be a wild ride for the two in the jaws as it falls.
And, possibly, the ground crew as well. He takes a step closer to Fern, balancing further on his toes, ready to jump both of them out of the way if it comes to it.]
i forgot to say cw: child death!!!
the side of his chest bursts apart, making way for claws that so furiously struck right through him. the pain is beyond comprehension, falco can’t even register if and when he should shriek— it stays lodged in his throat and fills him with dolor that bursts, then simply dulls, all in a fraction of an instant. falco’s widened, frightened eyes stream purple-tinted tears, and in the same moment where he saw the monstrous bigby rip out a small little heart no larger than a tennis ball, still beating in his palm . . . it’s when falco begins to feel a comforting warmth that hugs him and tells him to let go.
they’ve killed him. he’s dying, quickly— but he’s not mad. what he’s truly upset for is harming them, and that sound. that sound of bigby’s painful shriek stays with him and lulls him to sleep. he thinks of his brother, then— they usually say that you see your whole life when you die, but falco thought of colt, and what he’d said before he was blown to charred pieces by falco’s explosion. I’m not letting go. don’t worry, your big brother will always be right here with you.
and hell if it didn’t feel true.
it’s all too fast for falco to give goodbyes, sorrys or an explanation. his body even tries its absolute best to repair him the same way it repaired his titan. but he needs a beating heart faster than his regeneration could offer, faster than the amount of blood he’s losing, regenerating and losing again. the thick smell of milky paleblood with a touch of sickness (much like spoiled milk) fills the cavity, slips down the throat— and when the steam begins to rise from the massive hole in the boy, his eyes go dim and his pupils wide, left open. the titan falls without a cry, but it jostles the men inside every which way.
they may find that it’s suddenly much easier to exit the titan through hacking away at its flesh. the mouth, only if it’s open, with all that dead weight. the nape may be the easiest way, though. the shortest. after all, the steam rising from the massive bird’s body is a signal that it’s all evaporating. it’s breaking apart, and in half an hour, the titan’s body would be reduced to bones. a little more than that, and it’d be as if it was never there to begin with.
all that’s left of it is the mangled, limp body of the boy smaller than all of them once trapped in it, scarred jaggedly where the bird’s jaws would be, and beginning to ooze the remains of the silence that’s no longer alive, and no longer active enough to drive their negativity high. ]
oh god falco im gunna cry
Bigby's anguish cuts through the ambiance, and even for a man who has taken countless lives on the battlefield, that scream shakes him. Perhaps, they knew each other, or perhaps the man inside of the monster has realized what he's done. But all he can do is look on while Falco wastes away in front of them, watching the steam rise and the body try to save itself to no avail. It would be interesting for him to watch if the moment weren't so doleful. With the boy's death, the effects of the saliva release his mind, and it's now that he's able to fully pull himself into the cavity and out of the throat.
He'll give Bigby only a second. With the operator dead, this body would surely give way and they don't need to be in it when it does.]
W̡̻͖e̟͎͉ h̝͚͜a̢̟̫v̙̫̠e͖͖ t̼͉̞o̡͓̫ g͖̞͙o̡͙͓.̺͉ S͚͇͜t͓͚͉a̘͚͎n͎͓͜d̡̻͙ b̙͔̪a̡̡̪c̠̘͜k̪͚ w̢͔̫h̢̻̠i̡̼̠l͉͇͍e̡̪ I͖̫͖ g̝̼e̡͔̺t̢̠̫ u̦̼͜s̪͍ o̟͙͜u̫̘t͉̻̞ o̼̞̻f̦̼̻ h̟̫e̺̘͇r̘̝̝e̻͓̙.̢̙
[He can already feel the body lurch, and thankfully Fern is out there to help them not tumble into the stomach of the titan anyway. His double bladed polearm appears in his hand, and with a charge of electricity, Childe thrusts it upwards into the back of the nape, searing away skin and muscle to blow a hole open to the outside as steam starts to rise from the giant body of the titan.]
no subject
There, he'd crushed it, maimed this poor child's heart. He's just as wretched as all have claimed, surely.
But he does have a moment of clarity.]
Just-- just a moment--
[He's realizing that he cannot leave Falco's body in this thing. With shaking arms, he pulls the boy to himself, biting his lower lip as thick tears roll down his face.]
All right. Let's go.
[Even as he shakes, he's following Childe out of the Titan's body as steam surrounds them. It burns, but never as terribly as the brand that was once placed upon his head.]
no subject
Thankfully, the worst doesn't come. The monster goes limp - he feels that, and he knows what that means. The steam rising up is something also new to him but it doesn't feel bad, though he chalks that up to it being freezing out and his lack of body heat. Being a plant sucks, sometimes. Still, regardless of all that he doesn't let go, wanting to stay on guard until the others have emerged. The surge of electricity is a good sign, and two vines near the nape split and curl around the wound, ready to grab Childe and Bigby and yank them out.
Of course, he isn't prepared to see just who Bigby is holding. It isn't immediately obvious because of all the steam but the body is small and distinctly un-monster-like and as it dawns on him that it's another Sleeper his grass armour retreats, and he shifts back down to his usual appearance, albeit with his arms still looking like masses of vines.]
Oh, geez.
no subject
Well done. [How well he knows it's difficult to stand aside and be auxiliary to a fight you thought you could win. He'd say more in that vein, but their allies are fighting free of the felled monster's flesh, and Iskierka swoops low to follow them--low enough to witness the tattered, pathetic state of the corpse Bigby carries, and to catch the glint of tears on the man's face.
The shrike closes his own eyes, sightless as they are, and waits for five long and silent seconds.]
Let us go to them, when they are down, [he proposes, in the wake of Fern's exclamation.] To see who it--was, and help, if they have need.
[He'll walk out to meet the Vilebloods by the vast and steaming corpse as soon as Fern's able to free himself and follow.]
no subject
It just really sucks that the death of a child had to be it.
He floats back down to the ground, feet tapping lightly onto it as he meets their other two comrades, nodding to Fern first and foremost.]
T̢̼͔h̝͉͖o̘̪s͇͍̻e͕͍̘ v͔̦͎i͔͙͇n̠̺e̞͖͜s͇̫͕ o̝͓̻f̝̪͕ y͍̟̘o̢͚͎u̫͖͖r̠͔̟s͖͕͖ k̺̪̪e͉͉͉p͔̝͍t͇̘͕ u̼̻̙s͇̙͕ f͓͖͚r̢͕͉o̘͕̟m̙̙̟ f̻̼̘a̙̫̺l̺̦̪l̡̘̼i͖͇n͓͚g͙͎ i͇̠͜n͖̘͍t̢̟͉o̺͕ t̢̡̞h̢̢̺e̡̙͕ p̟͇i̢͓̪t͍̞̟ o͎͚f̞͉͇ t̻͕̞h̘̙̠a̪͎t̪͍ m̡̙͙o̟͖͓n͓͚͔s͕͜͜t͕͕͓r͕̘̞o̺̪͔s̟͕͜i̘͎̙t͔̫̞y̙͇͓'͕͚̫s͔͎̦ s̡͇͕t͖̝̞o̡̼͍m̘͇a̝̞̻c̦͖͓h͓͍̙.͙̺͖ F̞̝̼o͉͓͔r̻͍ t̢͍̟h̪̞͜a̫͕͖t̡̫͜,͍͔͍ I̞̘̙ a̡̠m̡̘̻ g͍̞͖r̡̦̪a̫̫̦t̢̪͜e͉͔̦f͓͔͜u͓̞͜l͖̞̪.̙͓ [And, to the Shrike-] A͔̼͜n͚͖͓d̡̙ y͎̼͕o͙͎̦u͍̪̻r̢̙̞ O̫͜m̡̦̫e̢͚̼n̢̝͍ g̪͓͇a̞͍̙v͓͍͜e̠̼ u͙͍͎s͖͉̦ v͚̟̪a̡̢̡l͓͖u̝͖͔a̡̢b͚̝̪l͇͖͕e̢̞̼ i̫͚̘n͓̘̝f̻͜o̙̼͙r̼̘̼m̘̝͍a̡͓͜t̪͖̝i̪͍͍o̢̙̺n̼͜͜ t̘̼̘o̢͕͇ g̘̝͜e̞̼͜t͙͍ i͉͓͎n͖̝̦s̙͉͎i͓͚͜d̠͇̼e̡̠̠ o͔͙̫f͖̦̫ t̢̘̞h͙͉͜e̫͎̻ n͖̙͔a͍̼p͖͍̻e̪̫͜.̺̻͜ P̡͚̠r̟̞e̢̼͜t͎͕͜t͔͚̫y͍̝͓ g̡̟o̦͍͕o͓̺͍d͖̦̪ t͔̙͕e͚̞̙a̡̪͇m̞̠̻w̡̦͍o͖͓͜r̺̫͇k͔͉̘,͖̝ I̟̠͜'̼̙͔d͖͔̼ s̪͙a̺̘̘y͕̺̘.̼̺͖
[He looks back to Bigby.]
B͙̞̝u̦͖t̼͍͖ n͓͙o͇͖̦t̼͉̘ a̞̙͜l̙͚͜l̢̟̻ n͍͔͇e͉͍̝w͔͇̟s͚͍̘ i͉̞s̻͎͉ g͉͎o̺̟o̡͉̺d̢͙̪ n͕̘͔e̺̟͍w̝͔͖s̻̞͚.̠͖̟
no subject
He wants to express his gratitude, his compliments. Nothing emerges.
Instead, he gazes down at the body in his arms.]
...I was not aware he was battling his own demons. I feel a fool for not realizing it.
How selfish I must have sounded to you, Falco.
no subject
He did good! He did good and he didn't completely screw something up, which for him is kind of amazing. It's too bad he doesn't get to enjoy that for very long.]
Okay. [His vines will slowly start to pull back, especially when it's clear the others don't need them, shifting them back into arms and hands.] ... I hope they don't.
[He's mumbling that as he follows after Illarion, absently rubbing his right upper arm where his antler tattoo used to be. It's nice to hear even more praise, it's incredibly reassuring for someone as insecure as he is, and there's a portion of his mind that clings to it even as he sees the body and hears Bigby say that name.]
Falco...?
[Ohhh no, no no no. His nonexistent stomach drops. Falco was in that thing.]
no subject
bold of fern to assume illarion has his shit togetherPraise earned was praise due; objectively, despite the awful outcome, they had done very well for a spontaneously organized team of bystanders. Limited casualties, minimal property damage--what wasn't to be proud of, except a child's death. (And so many of them did die in violence, for far less reason.)
Illarion doesn't dispute the armored gentleman's assessment of their job, though the line of his jaw tightens to be reminded of all his Omen had seen.
Except you hesitated, he wants to accuse, unjustly, because there is Bigby in unconsolable agony for having struck that final blow. If someone else, anyone else, had taken it instead--
Except it is an unjustified accusation--projection of his own guilt--and as bad, gave more insight than he wanted anyone to have into how much he knew, and when. Such an insight could wait until he'd determined the appropriate reparation for his own inability to act in time.]
You also did well. [The words are largely without inflection or emotion.] Though this is an end one does not relish praise in, yes?
[He turns his head as if he could look between Fern and Bigby, then steps forward to put a hand lightly on the latter's shoulder.] You knew him.
[Not a question.] Shall you take him to the shore or sit vigil for him?
[There are many other things that needed to be done in the aftermath of such a battle, but the shrike's realistic: No one's focus was there, and there are others around--Hunters and Trenchies--who could take care of those responsibilities for a time.]
no subject
With a heaving sigh, he can already feel the effects that the transformation has left on his body, and he can't keep it up any longer. He took a toll during the fight, and as he breathes out, dark energy around him presses outward from his core and the transformation breaks apart, revealing the human inside.
Childe immediately begins to fall, abyssal energy flicking and dissipating into the air around him. If no one catches him, he hits the ground hard, strugglnig to push himself back up at least onto his knees.]