deercountry | [open] bad doggie!

Entry tags:

[open] bad doggie!

Who: Nehan + OPEN (one thread closed to specific people)
What: Someone (Nehan) died before someone's (Nehan's...) birthday, and not of fun. Featuring the aftermath of said death, an angry squid, and a doctor who's bad at taking care of himself.
When: forward-dated to Jan. 19 and later
Where: Primarily in Nehan's house, but the death thread is set in the wilderness.

Content Warnings: Violence, beasthood, death, paleblood powers, traumatic memories of near-death experiences, some nudity, Nehan-typical self-loathing, mentions of sex, Jan. TDM-style body horror. More TBA as they come up.

a: squid time

[nehan's tub is modest by human standards. large for a man of his (usual) size, but massive for a little squid, almost transparent save for its rainbow-colored insides, the most prominent of which is sunshine-yellow. the squid is absolutely tiny, no bigger than an adult human's hand.

there's a grab bar attached to the wall next to the tub, and the edge of the tub opposite it, clearly for nehan's use when he's an erune, because what will a squid do with those? he cant even reach them. though he's definitely trying, swimming back and forth, and occasionally reaching out with a little tentacle in an attempt to reach it.

but of course, he cant reach it, and that frustrates the squid enough that he jets out a little bit of dark ink. literally farting in anger, this one is.]

b: cant sleep (cw: really morbid jokes)

[the evening after nehan's squid was retrieved from the water and returned to his house, he returns to normal. annoyed as he rises from inky water and having to clean himself, but still, he's a skinny, scarred erune again, without the additions he gained over the past months. an erune that needs a long, long nap, and will head straight to his bed to have said long nap without even drying his hair.

if anyone chooses to stay longer and keep vigil over the once-squid... well, no one is stopping you, not even the omen, who is guarding the door to the basement underneath the stairs, and will not move away.

nehan might not be too much of a host however, when he's bedridden, having gone through a traumatic death and unable to control his limbs well. every time his left arm or leg has a spasm, his expression twists into one of chagrin and irritation, and he clutches at the limb until it stops. he tries to lay under his bedding just to lessen it... but well. that doesn't work as well as he hoped, and it's not proper medical procedure, but when it comes to himself, nehan has never cared a goddamn bit. still...]

... Stay a little longer. Without anything to do, I'll have another death soon, and this time of boredom. [that was a joke. but it's bad and he knows it's bad.]

c: winter mourning's last hurrah (nehan's memories/cw: eventual near-death experience)

[there is a winter mourning in nehan's house, a wreath laying in the seat of an armchair in the living room, and despite looking innocent, it is still active. and if it's touched, instead of dragging some poor unsuspecting bastard into a dream, it drags them into a memory.

the nehan in this memory is an adult, just like the one in bed, recovering from his violent bout with death-- but he's also different. seemingly younger, more filled-out, less scraggly hair, and lacking in the eyepatch and crutch that has become nehan's signature. but his ears have much less fur on them and are tattered at the ends, the shadows under his eyes are darker, and he's sporting fresh bruises on his face, like he's just been in a brawl. or more than just a brawl-- he looks like he's been beaten within an inch of his life.

still, he's walking amongst a crowd that doesn't seem to notice him, in a crowded marketplace in a bustling town with airships flying high above them. he looks like he knows where he's going, and behind him... behind him is another nehan, walking much slower, bearing a crutch and an eyepatch-- the nehan most people know, by now.

he pauses when he notes he's not alone, turning around and ears twitching, then tilts his head towards his younger self as if to say come along.]

d: the days after: achelliac (cw: nudity, self-loathing)

[achelliac's usual clientele may be sailors, but at least they don't turn nehan away. and, as he finds out, some of his fellow customers are fascinated enough with him that he just decides to indulge them with what they want. even if he's here just to deal with the aches of his body that still linger after his rebirth. at least he's no longer suffering from muscle spasms.

the hot springs will deal with what other aches he gets in this place, in any case, that's why he's here-- get himself up to snuff so he can get back to work without problems.

making his way to the pool from the showers is always an adventure in going slow to accommodate his too-thin, too-scarred body and not slipping, just because he leaves his cane with his clothes (he needs a new crutch, a cane just isn't the same...). though he's right at the edge of the pool, he pauses when he sees another man there already.]

May I, or do you prefer privacy? [perhaps he should have asked that before he got naked...]

wildcard
[[ hit me with your best shot-- everything is a-ok and will match prose or action, but the actual boss battle is restricted to certain characters. nehan dies on the 19th, revives as a squid on the 22nd and is returned to his house on the same day, while his headcanon birthday is on the 20th. thanks to #justpalebloodthings, nehan can admit that his birthday is coming up to any palebloods. he is also a paleblood, so people can speak to him more freely as well.

people are free to come and go as they like. snooping is encouraged, but the basement is guarded by nehan's omen. i'm also open to changing the memory in prompt c. if we haven't threaded yet, we can just handwave the first meeting and nehan giving out his address. if you're unsure, just ask! ]]

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Bind the claws if you can! [Ives calls out in order, though whether that rings with any authority is entirely up to Diluc and Flynn. The Giant sees where it can slip in close. He charges, more offensive than stealthy. Aiming his horns in first, he charges like a ram. If jaws thrash his way, catching those will be like snapping teeth against solid stone. He'll just have to tank claws tearing at flesh, having them out of the way is more important if he's going to grab the beast's neck and hold there.

Ives runs into the beast at full speed, battering into Nehan's collar if not caught with teeth. He's hoping his positioning and strength will slam him into the creature full force, around it's collar.

Because Ives doubts he can get the beast entirely under his thrawl without his staff, he'll improvise, focus on just the already tired looking head... if apart of the beast is asleep, it should be at least slightly less aggressive- right?]

Diluc, bind it—I will distract him. My blood doesn't freeze!

[ As he says that, Flynn yanks the blade of his sword along his own palm, spilling blood that looks entirely normal, red and iron-bright. Hopefully he can keep the focus of those other two heads as he moves away from Diluc and toward the beast, aiming to cloud its senses. ]

[the beast, of course, thrashes. one length of chain around one jaw, and a giant holding onto one neck, it's very clearly trapped, and it certainly feels that way. the one free head, the smallest one, tries to turn around and around to bite, but is too timid to do so. but with the other two fueling the body, the wolf fights, trying to pull itself away to recoup.

but what can be felt through paleblood is not rage or an animalistic hunger, but an extremely heavy layer of bone-tiredness, capable of latching onto the chest like hooks and drag one down into the dirt with it.

not a good thing to be feeling while dealing with a beast trying to eat you. the head the giant is trying to hold onto has already shaken off the spell, and is trying to bite him.]

[He wastes no time. The chains rip forth out of that darkness around him. Slamming into the ground once they seek to wind their way around their target.

His blood freezes over, crystalizing as it always does. He ignores it. It seems each of them are dealing with a head as the body thrashes. Efficient. The chains shift and move according to his will. Even if they manage to bind their target…he will shift them to adapt to the attempts to get out.] Is he in there?

[Ives fights the head to try and get a hold with his magic. He's certain it's Nehan, doubt crushed from his mind as that sinking, tired feeling threatens to backfire on him, drag him unconscious in his attempts to pull at the beast's mind. Ives is experienced enough with his magic to shake this off.]

Can't get him... down- [he grunts, barely able to hold onto the thrashing beast while also trying to compel it to slumber. When he moves his bloodied hand from the snout he was grasping onto it, jaws snap at and catch him. He bleats in pain as he wrenches his hand away, narrowly avoiding the loss of fingers. His grasp is shredded, weak on that side, so he focuses that arm instead on wrapping around the beast's neck to further grapple himself in place and hold Nehan still.]

Give me- One more try- [Ives isn't so easy to dissuade. There's only one method he can think will work, something he'd never do to a person. He angles the open point of the horn closes to the beast, jabbing it directly into the hide of it's neck. Pouring his magic direct into the creature's bloodstream might finally get it to sleep... Ives trying to force a dreamscape for Nehan's consciousness to occupy with him, should there be anything left in this creature]

[ Ives is struggling, that much is clear, and Flynn can't possibly let him lose his life to this attempt, especially not with the cold creeping feeling that there is nothing they can do.

As soon as he thinks it, he shoves it away with a snarl. Failure is not an option, and if there is a way to bring Nehan back from this awful end, they must try it, which means giving Ives the best chance he can get. As he slams a horn into the beast's neck, Flynn flips his blade so the flat is facing the small head and slams it bloodlessly into the creature's skull, trying to both provide a distraction and draw its focus away from Ives' attack. ]

[perhaps nehan is within, but the bottomless well of despair is stronger than any reason or magic or emotion that could be applied to the beast right now. it's impossible to reach him, when the well is in the middle of a field of rage and hunger that drives the beast's actions.

the two active heads of the wolf are snapping at the goat trying to pin it down, paws with black claws flailing. they react to the stab in the neck with howls of anger, and struggle against the bindings to wriggle away, but the chains hold it fast. but a more terrible sound is the high-pitched yelp of the young-looking head-- the first sound it's ever made, and it's one of pain.

a yelp and loud whimpering, underneath the snarls.]

Edited 2022-01-25 05:53 (UTC)

[Diluc walks towards the fight like a blade rising up. There is a precision to his steps. No movement is wasted.] Tell us what you find.

[It's not the voice of a cavalry captain or even a lord. It's the cold flat tone of a man who does what is necessary when it is necessary. No matter what it is. He flicks his wrist and more chains rip out of the cold darkness around him.

Icy chains made of pure ice, cutting between the claws and their target. Maybe they're in time. But he will adjust if they're not and seek to pin the paws down. As fire lights up the dark magic around him, winding through it like a flash of lightning from an approaching storm.]

We'll buy you the time. [But the yelp cracked his composure for a moment. There's a pain in his eyes before he shoves it back down and surges forward, ice around his hands as he seeks to help catch one of two active heads. He'll need the icy armor against those teeth.]

Edited 2022-01-26 19:26 (UTC)

[Ives tries.

Ives tries everything he can. He dives as deep as he can into his magic. He dives so deep he's nearly thrown from the beast as his grip slacks and it struggles. Even in his mastery of his magic, even with his horn gouged into the creature enough that his magic mixed with it's blood, there's nothing he can reach. And how he reaches, desperate for anything to grasp onto that might be Nehan. All he really finds is despair and exhaustion... but maybe Nehan could forgive him for thinking he found the man hiding in such emotions.

He sobs, briefly, as he wrenches his horn away from the Beast. Ives shakes his head out, tries to gather his consciousness into the moment at hand. His grip tightens up, one hand torn up and weak.

The worst part is accepting it, but Ives can do the worst sort of things when so needed. Better to stamp out the hope, because it is foolish and it will not help Nehan now.]

He's- He's gone. He's not in there- Anymore- he's consumed- [Ives grinds his teeth before giving the final order, but the command is as much to himself than the other two men. They need to set Nehan free, it's the only way there's a chance for him to return]

The beast must die, strike it down now-

No—

[ Strike it down, he says in a desperate voice, just moments after that awful yelp echoed through the cold air. Guilt surges acid through Flynn, threatens to deaden his limbs. Strike him down, he says, which means that he failed, that there is nothing of Nehan left in this creature, that Flynn couldn't work fast enough to find a way to bring him back. If he'd been more successful—better at research, or faster, if they'd subdued him earlier or had some clue—

But thinking of what-ifs will not help him here, not with visions beginning to swim in front of his eyes, possibilities that could never have been. Flynn swallows around his own heart and thinks about Yuri and Diluc and their bloody hands, taking the burden of the world onto their strong shoulders. He thinks about Yuri's quiet voice in the stable, the way he'd been afraid to take Flynn's hand, and he turns his blade to its lethal edge and nods, dizzy and afraid and pushing through it anyway. He has never taken a life in this way. Not a life he knows, certainly, but if there is nothing of Nehan there then they must protect the town, and so—

And so.

Strike he will, in concert with Ives and Diluc, with all the power in his limbs. There is no arte to support it: there is only muscle and shame and the awful knowledge that he is doing what he must, that he is following in Yuri's footsteps and Diluc's after him, and that this will likely change something in Flynn.

He turns his blade on the smallest head, because he is near it and because he can spare Ives and Diluc that burden, and he does it as cleanly as he possibly can. ]

[as if understanding the change in the air, the emotions high-- even as a beast, the wolf understands what's happening, don't people say that certain animals can sense emotions?-- the beast's movements change. two heads are no longer snapping at the giant, but now renewing their focus to split up and snap at the other men too with large sharp teeth, flailing paws to slash at them with blunt claws, and thrashing about with its entire body. bucking like a wild horse.

but the youngest head, the smallest head, it's not fighting back, and has stopped crying. it turned big, dark eyes at them, lowered ears quivering as if a puppy that's just been extended a friendly hand.

then its ears start to slowly perk up, and it shakes its neck in relief. the prospect of finally getting to rest allows it to relax.]

[He knows better than to let himself think beyond what is necessary right now. But the relief on the youngest looking head is plain. He isn’t a fool.

It’s the only thought he has time for when one of the other heads snaps at him. He thrusts his arm up, covered in thick ice as his chains slither about him. The moment it bites down on the ice he draws a true knife with his other hand.

And slashes with the precision of an assassin to cut its throat. His face is a blank mask but he can hear the rain. Nehan is a friend and any one of them having to be put down like this would tear at his gentle heart.

Tonight his dreams will be of rain slicked roads and death.

He takes a slash to the side and the pain is bright but his blood seals over it quickly. The better to reinforce the weapon that he is.]

[The other two warriors strike true when bid and that leaves Ives' part. He's a dutiful man, sensitive to suffering, and he will not hesitate. His hooves dig into the ground beneath and steady his weight for the leverage he needs. No amount of stinging pain from his wounded hand or the claws lashing at him will break his focus.

He grips each side of the last head tight and twists with all of his considerable strength. "I'm sorry-" flashes briefly across his mind, but he snuffs out the thought with anger having had it at all. He's not sorry, or at least, he shouldn't be. He's doing what needs to be done. This is what's best for Nehan-

The snap of the last head's neck is sickeningly loud, if no more visceral than the slashing of the other two landing their own fatal blows.

Ives holds the creature's weight up in his arms, as still as he can through any death throes, awaiting it to slump down dead.]

[ Flynn is sorry.

Flynn is sorry, because while he is a warrior, and a dutiful one at that, this is the first time he's watched life drain at his own hands. He takes several hits from claws and teeth, darts back in after one to make sure his own grim task is done, and ends up covered in blood—the beast's and his own—for the effort. It trails sluggishly from his shoulder and from his belly where a claw got through the mail he wears, and Flynn stays close and watches the life drain from Nehan and tries his absolute best to keep his stomach where it is. His head is a mess of static and guilt, details etching themselves into his skull: the broken twist where there should be none, the blood and the trashing, the way the churned ground feels under his boots.

He stays until Nehan is still, because he's dutiful, but he murmurs his apology in a tiny, breathless voice all the same, because Flynn has never done this.

Only when the beast is truly and finally still does he step toward Diluc to offer silent support. ]

[the body crystallizes, as sleepers tend to do, but first, it rots. the body collapses in on itself until it's barely recognizable as a three-headed wolf, but when the first bones begin to peek out of the sludgy remains, crystals erupt here, there, everywhere. almost like frosted glass, the sort of crystals one would put before a ray of sunlight and have it burst into a little rainbow. just growing out of a body that no one can see anymore.

and the body will stay that way for days, unmovable, and only occasionally leaking dark ink. there's precious little to keep vigil over.]

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[open] bad doggie!

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