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! ]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It's about all Illarion can do to resist actually grabbing those twitchy ears, like a cat snatching at a piece of string. Self-control honed over centuries does him in good stead, there. To say nothing of the still-smoldering anger--which gradually gives way as he focuses on his self-assigned task of combing out Nehan's hair without causing the erune any discomfort.

When it finally does come to those ears, though... He tries to catch one and hold it still by cupping his hand around it, without actually grabbing on. Then he v e r y carefully attempts to comb that disordered fur.

This is not one of his areas of expertise, but gods spit on it, he will try.

At least until he drops the comb because he has to hold it at an odd angle, very carefully, while trying not to shiver. He breathes out in an exasperated noise at himself.]

Perhaps I am giving you the comb for this part, before I do your ears any worse hurt.

[the erune takes to the brushing of his hair the way a pet that hates being brushed does, with small squirming here and there, and a few grumbles when a tangle is undone. but the grumbles quiet when the man is working on his ears, nostrils flaring with almost every breath.

but he has no control over how his ears move, so they're trembling as the comb brushes over them.]

I only have the one hand to use properly, and no mirror. You should just do it.

[True enough that the situation's ideal for neither of them, but Illarion is better-equipped. The shrike gives a little huffing laugh.]

As you will.

[He takes up the comb again, sparing a moment to flex the fingers of both hands, before setting back to his task. It isn't so different from trying to comb a wiggly toddler's hair and he's been successful at that often enough.]

There is a Sleeper here, [he says, conversationally--once he's got the rhythm of his task,] a human, who advertises his services at this--grooming "non-humans".

[Gods black and white but that term grates with its reminder that humans are the overwhelming majority of Sleepers and the rest of them are just "other".]

He said to me once he is not much interested in prying into others' pasts.

No. [it's a quick, and simple response, but nehan doesn't need to think about it. he doesn't want such things.

his hair and fur is... not fine, he knows this, but he's not about to put himself through a grooming session just to satisfy a fluttery bird's need to see him looking less like something the dog dragged in. his fur will get thinner when the winter ends.]

I don't care if he's discreet, I prefer not to have anything of the sort done.

[Another quiet laugh.]

Ah, I have tainted him with my recommendation. Shame on me.

[He finishes with Nehan's ears and sits back far enough to scrutinize his own handiwork.]

Or perhaps it is too much attention to the body you are wishing not to inhabit? Hm.

[Looks good from behind. And from the sides and the front, but it's ingrained habit by now to act like he can't see that from this position, thus--]

Look at me a moment?

Edited (forgetting my own dude's powers smh) 2022-01-23 16:55 (UTC)

[the man gets a scowl for his troubles the moment nehan turns around, but in his state, he looks more like a cat stuck out in the rain.]

It's none of what you mentioned. [his voice is deep, a soft grumble.] I don't allow just anyone touch me-- the only reason you are is because you have proven yourself as mildly trustworthy.

[Yes, that will do. Illarion nods his satisfaction at the state of Nehan's hair and ears.]

This is so? It does not surprise, you will not permit it lightly. [Nor that he's trustworthy, though his future-self might puzzle over that. "Trustworthy", even "mildly trustworthy", didn't sit well with him anymore after everything he'd done.

He touches a hand to his bare chest, sketching a bow in the erune's direction.] But I will strive to maintain this trust.

[There's no mockery in it; he means this completely.

Behind him, a feathery form wisps together out of smoke and creeps forward to snuff at a discarded ball of fur. Shedding back to life has, apparently, changed his Omen as well.]

[nehan notes the omen, the form that's clearly changed-- and he recognizes what it is, too. a dinosaur of some sort, one closer to birds than some others. or something of the sort, the erune doesn't really study genetics and evolutionary biology. it does however tell him that the man really is a bird-person.]

I expect that to be proven with actions, not words, little bird.

[Names are of powerful import to a shrike--a change in what someone chose to call one often carried great significance to the shrike in question. Both Illarion and Iskierka cock their heads at the nickname, one echoing the other; the Omen's feathers fluff with interest.]

And what actions might suit? [It's far past time he got back in the water. He hands the comb off to his Omen before slipping back into the pool.

She takes it delicately in her teeth, then begins gleefully slapping at the scattered tufts of shed fur to round them up.] If I may not hunt for you.

[He has an idea of where this might be headed, but it's far more fun to play it out...]

Edited (minor exposition fix) 2022-01-24 05:39 (UTC)

[that omen looks a little too happy with the task of cleaning up damp, stinky fur, and nehan has to wonder if it will be running away with all those clumps when no one is paying attention.

then he shakes his head, and sinks back into the water.]

I don't need constant fussing as actions.

[Iskierka will, in fact, be running off with her weird prize. It's good nesting material! If not for her, then for Trench's birds come spring; they'll find it once the snow melts, where she leaves it outside.

Illarion sighs as he settles back down to soak, more a sound of contentment than annoyance.]

You are the third Sleeper in two months to have succumbed to corruption and become a beast, [he points out.] I do not fuss as a father afraid his child will go out with her feathers in disarray.

Then why are you not fussing over them? [he is, indeed, deliberately using the word.

he will not argue semantics until the man brings it up himself. curious, however, that he keeps using family as an analogy-- clearly he has, or had, a brood (or flock? a murder, like crows?) for him to constantly use this as a frame of reference.]

Why are you insistent on stuffing your care down my throat?

Do you have means to only look after one patient at a time? [he retorts, without heat.

Family and tribe were the whole world to a shrike. Centuries of social isolation did that to a people. The Waking World's redirection of those instincts made for some...interesting results, in Illarion's case.] Besides, the others have learned already they are not islands in Trench's sea, to fend for themselves in isolation.

Whether they will also learn their selves are not simply tools to be used up serving others, [the shrike lifts a hand above the water, tipping it out in a gesture of equivocation,] this remains to be seen, but they are young and inexperienced yet.

But you--you are a different case, yes?

Do not.

[nehan thinks he knows where this is going, and is determined to head it off at the pass. his voice is barely above a whisper, barely carrying over the soft sounds of the water and the little dinosaur scurrying around.]

Lectures are not welcome.

Edited 2022-01-25 04:25 (UTC)

[He shakes his head at that.]

A question in truth, dear doctor. Not a lecture.

[Iskierka scoops up the last of the bits of fur and pauses to consider her treasures, before skittering for the door.

Illarion waits until she's no longer audible to continue.]

Why?

Why what.

[he knows what the man is asking. but he'd rather force the full question out, rather than be baited into responding to something that vague.]

Does help you did not ask for provoke such great offense?

[It's not the only why, but it's the first off the stack.]

[ah, he's trying the intelligent route, asking questions rather than just attempting to force the issue. as a reward, nehan will play along.

for now.]

If one is insistent on giving it when it's already obviously not welcomed, yes.

[Let's see how far he can go with that.

The shrike huffs a little in amusement, stretching before resettling himself with his arms folded behind his head.]

One usually expects annoyance, not the risk of a duel, for fussing where one is not wanted.

You do not feel bound by a reciprocal obligation to leave well enough alone. Why is this? [why'd you pull a knife on him for being cagey, nehan]

Because I am a doctor, and you? You asked me to be your physician. [he has to wonder if it's worth just leaving right now.] But the reverse is not true. You're no healer.

[then he raises a hand, one finger extended, pointing up at the sky.]

I would do the same for another healer, if someone attempted to be my healer-- I would refuse because there's no point in fixing something broken. Anyone who does try so hard... there's clearly they something they want.

Edited (oops forgot some things) 2022-01-25 11:29 (UTC)

Yes, you are my doctor. [He'd honestly expected no less than that, and it clearly doesn't actually bother him. Healer's prerogative.] But is it not so a patient may have say in the terms and times of her treatment?

[Just as Nehan says, in fact. Illarion sits back up, turning a thoughtful look on the erune.]

You do not believe anyone could want to help you for your own sake? Or that this thing, it is general--all offers of help are made to bind others in obligation?

[A very large difference between those two attitudes, even if they had similar outcomes on the surface.]

What help is there to be given to me, unless you want something?

[the emphasis on a single, specific word is no mistake, because nehan truly believes such a thing. he is, after all, naked-- everything laid out in the open. and he believes himself undesireable in anything but his work in medicine, so there's no point in helping him except if they want to secure his loyalty as a doctor.

unless they're into scrawny, mangy wolves like him.]

[So not omnidirectional cynicism as such so much as self-despite.

Well. That's familiar.

Illarion studies Nehan in silence for several heartbeats, taking in the whole of him--the scars, the evidences of neglect old and new. There's nothing judgmental in the look; merely curiosity, and a little sorrow.]

What evidence would it take to prove to you someone acted for your interest, and not his own?

[nehan thinks he knows that look, and bristles, fighting the scowl that threatens to appear on his face.]

None. There's no such thing-- ask what you want in return for being able to see me return to some semblance of health.

[He brightens at that offer, a smile tugging up one corner of his mouth.]

You would contract with me for that? I give you some demand to meet, and you will let me help you heal enough to meet it?

[Contracts are...a very special thing, to a shrike.]

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cw: self-loathing and internalized ableism

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