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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!

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[grice]

[ he’s being so— kind to him that falco has to stiffen his lips, feeling the sting of emotion swelling at the bridge of his nose and under his eyes. partially because he’s never heard such meaning spoken to him, partially because it eased his heart a tad. not completely, but it gave him something to consider about them all.

he doesn’t think he should beat around it, either. go straight to the point, and the rest of the details could be answered as they spoke. uncomfortable or not, the more he can offer, the greater the chance to contain it. ]

I tried to get exorcised at the wrong time. [ much too quickly, with pressure both on his psych and his exorcist, forcing them to double down on their wrong minds and continue. of course, both falco and dipper were children. if it was difficult to deal with supernatural pressure as an adult, the younger mind was far more exposed to ghostly trickery or corruption. there’s something that falco raises his head to, mulling the thought, and softly so: ] —Sir? How did you know I was conscious?

[ because he was. he didn’t think anyone would know unless he said so— so the undead man must be special, in that regard (thought he doesn’t know he’s undead). ]

[unsheathedfromreality]

[There it was, then. A chance existed that the Scholar who'd fled Cassandra in disarray hadn't been the one performing this botched exorcism, but Illarion put long odds on that. He is--he finds--a little angry at whoever-it-was; he can be charitable enough to ascribe the best reasons for the haste, the secrecy, and the attempted thefts while still finding it unforgivably reckless. All the grief that had spiraled out of it could have been mitigated by simply asking--and it hadn't even achieved its aims, if that hint-of-a-feeling about the child is anything to go on.

But so it often went. He bridles the emotion, setting aside judgment for when he's a fuller set of facts. Including a name.] I had wondered, if this might have been the case. A Scholar had come to Cassandra in a panic to trade for certain supplies; I followed his trail to find you.

[A little information volunteered, to see what more he could find from it; better to withhold the reason he'd found a Scholar in a panic worth following all the way to Gaze, to not provoke any defensiveness. Likely, these two were friends--

And likely, the kid might be sharp enough to ask about any omissions of the shrike's motives, since he's picked up so quickly on Illarion's awareness of things he shouldn't know. At least he now has a very convenient, and true--if incomplete--way to answer the questions such incaution gets him into.

He half-smiles, holding up a fist for his Omen to materialize onto in a swirl of smoke. She ruffles her pied feathers, cocking her head and blinking faceted eyes down at this person she recognizes but hasn't met.]

My Omen can see a great many things that others cannot. She was being our spotter for much of the fight and told me of your disposition--how you helped us, near the end.

[And then, because the limits of legitimate force are ever, should be ever, on a shrike's mind,] I am sorry, that I did not use this information better. Had I found a way to act on it sooner, we might have spared you a death. I owe you a boon for this.

[grice]

[ she’s a cute one. falco keeps his eyes on the smokey omen with a weak spark of childlike curiosity still in his eyes. it recoils when illarion continues, and quietly, falco begins shaking his head and resting his back against a closed stable door. there’s— something, the fabric that has covered his neck tightly, and he begins to undo them. ]

No . . .

[ it’s a quiet thought. as much as he had wished there was another way, when the silence goes that deep? they’d still have to watch him contort his body for the rest of the time he was alive, if he couldn’t have just done worse. ]

When it’s that far, I don’t think . . . There’s another way. It wouldn’t stop and, um, [ he wants to say more, but he’s certain the man would understand, to a degree, at least the amount they need. the mark on his neck, now exposed, seemed like blight— a spiritual one, dark and born from two back to back “S” that spread deeper veins down where his clothes cover his shoulders. ] please, don’t blame him. The person who tried to help me. He wasn’t in his right mind. And I wasn’t either, when I asked him for it. This thing— does that. Just saying its name can spread it.

[unsheathedfromreality]

[That, then, was why one waited to pass judgment.

Illarion lifts a brow at the "no," waiting to hear the substance of the objection. Depressingly, it does match his snap assessment of the situation on the battlefield--the one he'd come to doubt, the longer he'd thought over his what ifs. He'd let himself get out of touch with his own instincts--though it did not remove the fact that, knowing what he'd known of the minds and hearts involved, he should've been in a position to decide for death.

He should've struck that killing blow.]

As you say, [he concedes, gravely.

(Iskierka drops off his hand, fluttering over to the wall past Falco. She swoops up to cling to the wood, turning all her attention on the blighted mark the boy reveals.)] If it could not be any other way, then I will mourn the hard death you suffered, but not that we missed preventing it.

[He pauses for a beat of a mortal heart, considering.] Our friend Bigby may also need to hear this. And--

[The anger's still where he put it; such horrible recklessness does that to him. But it's mingled now with an uncomfortable empathy, for he knows what it is to be made to act against his own will. ] I will not blame your would-be exorcist either, though I would speak to him about what he has learned. If you and he would make another attempt.

[Hopefully not alone. Saints and stars, not alone.]

[grice]

[ as painful as it was on one hand, it was easier to accept on an other, as if the act had no remorse. sadness, yes, but if there was remorse, if it hadn’t happened at all— the silence would’ve killed them, one by one, and falco would have to watch. there’s only so much chaos and misery that he could take in at once. a living nightmare was unbearable, and there’s a reason why he doesn’t remember being a pure titan.

if he could offer any reassurance to that, it was this: ]

We already talked . . . And we both learned our lessons. [ something something ask for more help where needed, something something don’t listen to the possessed kid if he’s possessed. about trying again, though— it makes falco’s shoulders rigged with tension. ] I don’t want to try again. It’s too dangerous . . . And no one here’s from the place it came from.

[ so no one actually knows how to safely get this thing out. he’s never made it that far. ]

But I don’t want that . . . To happen again either.

[unsheathedfromreality]

[To know that the boy (Falco, Illarion's laggard memory supplies, in someone else's grieving voice) and his would-be exorcist weren't planning a second doomed attempt is powerful relief--though the shrike doesn't miss the finality in I don't want to try again. That's a full stop to the idea of an exorcism, he thinks, not an intention to wait for better conditions.

Well. He can't exactly blame the kid, and knowing they weren't at risk for another of those eruptions any time soon does smooth Illarion's feathers (where none but Iskierka can see them).] Then you have already done all I would have chided him to do. And if you as the thing's host think it unsafe to excise, I would not ask you do otherwise.

[He's not an exorcist himself and knows so little of the situation, still.] Though I am desiring too that it not happen again--this, I may be able to give a little poor help with, once I am understanding what happened.

First--I take this is the thing's sigil, [on "this," he taps the back of his own neck with two fingers,] and that it is not from where you call home, but how is it manifesting when it does? Is it not the bird-beast?

[His hunch said no, but it's better to clarify these things.]

[grice]

[ falco’s listening is attentive with his back erect, no slouching or resting on a wall or stable door— his eye contact was fixed and surely, behind his lips one would think to hear a yes, sir from how he absorbs and concurs. he doesn’t think to interrupt and leaves the rest aside, already agreeing. respectable lad, and he knew his wrongs.

of course, he wants everyone to be on the same page, and he’s quick to answer questions rather than add his own opinions. at the time, he didn’t have any, and was in little position to any way. ]

The bird is from home, sir. It’s . . . The sludge. And purple veins in the eyes. Those’re some of the signs in any body I’m in.