☣️ the court, the church, love, all left behind | OPEN

[enblightened]

Who: Bigby the Abomination, OPEN
What: Catch-all for January! Includes a prompt for the Snake Den and Shedding Ceremony. Prompts will be broken up into comments for ease of finding and tracking.
When: January
Where: Snake Den and other various locations

Content Warnings: References to severe depression, self-loathing, forced transformation/body horror, torture, and religious zealotry. Snakeden is considerably lighter in tone if that's what you're looking for. Crimson curse prompt includes cannibalism, gore, and body horror.

Comments

☣️ SHEDDING

[enblightened]

A. what could have been (still a man)

Fascinating.

[One might not immediately recognize Bigby in Trench, for several reasons. For one, he lacks his usual scar on his head, no signs of burned flesh and a half-head of hair. No, here, he looks fairly normal. Rested. That, and he bears no chains on his person, wearing complete clothing.

It seems that shedding his skin brought about a possibility, that his cursed was never laid upon him. Instead, he is still who he was in life: a scientist, a man focused purely on using his skills to aid others.

And at the moment, he's observing the window of Peggy's Aid, looking enthralled by the prosthetics.]

And here I was thinking purely in practicality, but I can certainly see the merit in having something fashioned in aesthetic. A sense of personalization. Though I lack a hand in art, admittedly. Perhaps that is my folly?

Still -- this is such inspiration! I only wish I brought paper to write or draw on. How foolish of me.


B. oh, what rapture (the crimson curse)

[Once again, the skin has shed.

And once again, he does not wear his shackles, no rattling chains or padlocks to hold the abomination back. Yet, he does wear the old familiar clothes of his shroud and trousers, less in shame and more in ease. His scar is plain to see, yet he is different still, eyes red instead of the blighted green one might have known him to have. That, and the blood against his chin, both fresh and old clearly there.

When he smiles, there are needle-like teeth.

As if in mockery of the fine night of the Snakeden, he holds out his hand, fingers ending in wicked claws.]

Hmm. Might I steal you away for a dance?

☣️ A

[holyjudgmental]

[Junia is not one who would not know this man, as changed as he is. There are times, in the flickering of firelight, when a rare smile or a moment's peace has revealed him to her before. She has always looked away, and done her best to forget.

But here he is in the full light of the sun, and Junia's first, wild impulse is to throw her basket down and run. She had stopped only to frown at a leg that seemed, in its delicate refinement, an indecent thing to place in a shop window.]

I - [She shakes her head, her eyes wide, transfixed.] I have -

[She does not know what force moves her to proffer her basket instead, where she has secured a scant few rough sheets of paper.]

[enblightened]

If it is no trouble to you, Sister. How generous.

[One page is taken, and with a bit of charcoal in his fingers he does idly scribbly notes and draw what he sees with enthusiasm. The man Junia knows was always exhausted in some way, fighting against his own internal, horrible instincts just as hard as he would fight swinefolk and cultists.

This man is not troubled by such things, clearly.]

I must say, I did not expect see a member of the church here. Are you of the Light, or something else?

[holyjudgmental]

I am of the Light, a sister of St. Martha's.

[She does not know how to hide the unsteadiness in her voice, only that she must try. He does not know her, and where it ought to fill her with panic - is she truly alone now? is this some vision? - instead -

She does not know what else it is, except that it is awful, and she cannot look away.]

Does that...trouble you?

[enblightened]

Please, you need not be frightened or concerned; the Light is more than welcome to me as well. I could not possibly be troubled. I merely did not want to assume, considering what a unique town this is.

[A polite bow of his head is given to the nun.]

My name is Bigby. I serve His Majesty the king in his court. I do not say it to brag, but to reassure you are in good company, Sister.

[holyjudgmental]

You serve - ?

[Junia voice is, unbearably, almost a squeak, so closed is her throat. She clears it, her face flushing in unflattering blotches, and tries again.]

Forgive me. I did not expect to...meet another who knows of...my name is Sister Junia.

[enblightened]

No harm has been done, Sister Junia. That, I do promise.

Where are you staying? If you are on your way back, I can escort you. I was merely making myself acquainted with the town, if this is where I am to be.

[holyjudgmental]

[Junia hugs her basket close to her, for lack of anything else. Absurdly, she wishes for her armor.]

It is a long journey, to the edge of the city. [At the edge of the forest, a fact that's pointless now.] I would not ask you to go so far on my account. It is not safe.

B 8)

[fusrodaaaah]

Hm?

[Oh hello Bigby. How nice to see you here. Strangely, the party atmosphere has helped tremendously with someone's nerves. Enough to where the local Argonian, dressed in his own suit, is lounging on a pile of pillows. Probably the most relaxed Melius Senyan has looked, ever, in his life.]

[He actually looks happy to see his friend, changed or not.]

Okay. But... I don't - know how.

[Ah, there's that old neurotic lizard.]

[enblightened]

Worry not about what you do not know. It is for our enjoyment, is it not?

[There is a part of him that holds the memories. That he should be aware of Melius, of who he is, and how he calls him friend. Yet, as Bigby is now, he is consumed by the curse and who he has shed into.

Someone so unlike him. Who enjoys himself, in all of the worst aspects.]

Let me guide you, Melius.

[fusrodaaaah]

That must be true.

[He doesn't know. But if his buddy here is so confident, it's hard not to feel it too. He stretches, all four limbs, splayed out. And then uncurls himself. Weirdly enough it looks a bit like a snake with legs. Okay, you know what we're getting at here.]

Um. Okay. I have boots on. So... it's okay if I step on your feet.

[enblightened]

Quite all right. I may not even notice in our revelry, my friend.

Come, join me. Play with me. There shall be much joy.

[fusrodaaaah]

Oh um, you'd notice. Because um. Argonians. We um. We have claws. On the feet.

[Clawed toes. He's trying to say he has clawed toes. But hey, if Bigby is so sure about all this? He can be, too.]

Sure. I um - sure.

[enblightened]

I am much more durable than a normal human, Melius. Please, fear not.

[He pulls Mel with him, at first gentle as he takes him for a slow spin.]

There will be such rapture.

B

[hopticulture]

[the young woman he approaches has a drink in one hand, a youthful look about her, but when she looks up at him with eyes so dark it's impossible to tell where her iris ends and her pupil begins, she doesn't seem as young as she looks. she looks from his bright red eyes, down to his mouth and chin, noting the sharp teeth and the blood he hasn't seemed to wipe away.

Haru has no idea who this man is. but the drink and this new, much taller form (for her standing a neat 5' is a dream ok) gives her some confidence and takes the edge off the small rabbit-like whisper of fear at the back of her mind.

she knows better, but she's been in a bad mood ever since her fur and skin started shedding, and a dance sounds nice. her pale, delicate hand takes his carefully, paying mind to his claws.]

I hope you don't have bad intentions with me.

[enblightened]

You take a gamble if you are concerned with such things, my lady.

[As if he did not already have an appearance of something more sinister. His hand curls tight and he draws her close.

Despite it any manner of foreboding, he does indeed do as he says: he takes her to dance, a languid waltz.]

[hopticulture]

My entire life has been a gamble. [Said plainly, upfront and direct. Even with this new body, she still understands how vulnerable it is to larger animals, the need to be cautious around men. She might no longer be a rabbit but...being a woman remains all the same.

She's not necessarily a skilled dancer, though resistant to let this man completely lead her around the dance floor.

There are people she knows from home who'd be better for this kind of scene...

No doubt there is still a bit of a height difference where she has to look up to keep eye contact with him, but instead she looks around, watching others as they dance along, learning as she goes.

...stepping on his toes on accident here and there.]

Oh! Sorry. I don't dance all that much.

[enblightened]

Such is the way of life itself, I suppose.

[The fortunate thing is that his skin is leathery to the point that it might as well be armor on its own, but he does still feel her feet on his toes. He grunts, but doesn't look too irritable about it, all things considered.]

Quite all right.

Just follow my lead. Though I am hardly graceful, I should be passable by now.

[hopticulture]

[Maybe it's the drinks she's had, or something else about the Snake Den and its affects, but her sense of danger continues to dull the longer she dances. His skin may be rough and leathery in contrast to hers, but she doesn't seem to mind.

Her hands tense against his, stopping herself to recheck herself and her dance partner, and with a steady and careful voice:]

All right. I trust you.

[She's human now, and he's...human enough. Perhaps she doesn't need to prove herself as much as she used to when she was a full head and a half shorter with bones so weak they could easily snap.]

B!!

[unsheathedfromreality]

Only a dance, dear friend?

[To the unfamiliar observer, Illarion might seem much as he always is.

But the hand that grasps Bigby's is warm, warmer than human blood runs, and there's a sparkle in the shrike's eyes and a fullness to his face that hadn't ever been there before.

He is, for the time being, alive.]

Or might I be distracting with something more?

[This is a risk he's taking; he knew it was a risk the instant he fixed eyes on the other man's changed appearance. This shed is a dangerous one for someone ordinarily so gentle, so self-controlled, and there's no telling how or when that blood got there and whether Bigby would remember any of that when (don't think if) he shed back to himself again.

When you and everyone you loved were monsters, you learned to worry about these things, to play the fetching diversion from people who weren't so well-defended. So Illarion grips his friend's hand all the tighter and smiles wide and winsome to show his own fangs.]

[enblightened]

[For a moment through the Crimson Curse and his horrible instincts, he nearly freezes at the contact. That Illarion was suddenly so, so warm, so alive. It brings such a conflict of many things burning inside of the abomination as he yearns -- for his companionship, for his flesh, for his blood. Everything in him argues.

Once, for a moment, he falters, until the curse and beastliness takes him again.

Bigby pulls Illarion close as their hands clutch to one another.]

And what would you give me, songbird?

[unsheathedfromreality]

[That moment of hesitation's not lost on Illarion; his heart contracts to see it. With that spasm of pain comes a bittersweet realization: Whatever it is his dead self felt for Bigby, patched together from recollection and reason and ember-dim emotion, is real. Breathtaking in its reality now that he's alive, and while it's doomed to last days at most, it is an unexpected gift to be treasured in the here-and-now.

It also lends an unexpected urgency (unexpected need) to his self-given charge.

He laces his fingers through his friend's, smile turning coy.]

A song if you wish it, or other talents of hand and tongue; my mind, my body, [with a lift of his chin that bares his throat,] my name--anything save my life, that might keep you with me the few hours I have.

[Not the circumstance either of them wished, certainly, but--]

What do you say?

[enblightened]

Anything, but your life.

[Even if there is that delightfully horrible part of him that wants it all. Pleasures of the flesh, taste of the flesh. To bury his face in and gnaw away at his now beating heart, to watch the life drain from his body. Claim and eat and drink to his enjoyment.

But whatever piece of Bigby still remains inside of him, the truest part of him, reigns in enough control with a shudder before he noses against Illarion's throat.]

And if I cannot stop myself. What will you do then?

[unsheathedfromreality]

[Reasonable question, grounding question, when the hungry and thoughtless part of Illarion would discount the violent death he's risking for the dangerous joy of risking it.

Except this isn't, can't be, about him.

He huffs out a breath of laughter, slipping a hand up to clutch the back of Bigby's head.]

Run, [he says, softly, for his friend's ears alone.] And lead you a merry chase. At the end, you know I can flee where none might follow me.

I would not let my death be on your conscience.

the best plan nothing could go wrong

[enblightened]

[There's the growing temptation to bite anyway. Not wait, just have his fill, but he shudders at the promise. I would not let my death be on your conscience.]

Be sure that you do.

[His free arm wraps tight around Illarion's waist, and he buries his face against the shrike's throat.]

A taste, then. For I will never have it again.