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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[That gets a faint smile out of Illarion to hear.] It is one way to notice magic, not so?

[He leaves his wounded hand in Nehan's care without argument; he'd expected as much, given the man's his healer. The actual magic is also nearly below his notice, but its effects...

A quiet hiss escapes him.] This is feeling very strange.

[His expression says there's more he could say on the matter. But, also, he'd rather not disturb Nehan at a critical moment. So he waits.]

But not painful, is it? [nehan looks up in the middle of his work, but he doesn't stop his magic. he's comfortable enough with his knowledge of anatomy to knit bodies back together with magic without needing to look. and he knows his patient's body, anyway.]

Is it?

[He's silent a moment when confronted with the question.

He doesn't want to answer truthfully because it doesn't really matter; his comfort with the process isn't an issue.

But,]

It is. If I must guess, it is because what was once dead wakes briefly to mend itself, and dies again.

I do not take any harm from it.

Or perhaps your body is just bowing to what I demand of it. [when nehan believes his magic has worked enough, he looks down at the hand between his and rubs his thumbs over it, inspecting for breaks or tears that he might have missed.]

I know a healer who is kind, and her magic encourages the body to remember how it used to be, accepting the magic in aiding it as it pieces itself back together.

On the other hand, I rely on my knowledge of the body and use my magic to slot things together like the pieces of a puzzle.

[He cocks his head to one side, regarding Nehan sightlessly with one corner of his mouth curled up in a smile.] This is quite the way to say it, wolfling. Though we have before proven I do not mind this, so much.

[Or didn't. Not that he'd mind it now, either, but he's not capable.

He tips his head down, like he could watch the erune rub his palm. The magic's taken; the bones are solid again, the flesh between them untorn and whole.]

It is much the same with our healers. The shape of magecraft is set by how you practice to achieve it; there will always be some who must drug their patients before they grant them miracles, else the pain is too great.

[nehan snorts.]

At some point, that may be me. [satisfied with the job he's done, nehan cuts off his healing magic and drops his hands into his lap.] If I don't use my potions, in any case. But you're the only person who requires healing spells on a regular basis, and everyone else can just drink a potion.

I am difficult, [he acknowledges, with a smile and without apology. He takes his hand back and settles back down in his own chair.] And I thank you, that you have undergone this effort for me. The pain of healing does not trouble me. And, I might be so bold, I prefer touch to a potion.

[He...really missed people touching him without the intent to do him harm.]

Though I have thought how you might make a potion to suit me, though I do not think you would wish to do it.

If I had unlimited time and resources, I would have-- you're a challenge that I refuse to back down from. [then he shakes his head and laces his fingers together in his lap.] But Trench is a barren land.

Healing magic does well enough, and I will continue to improve on it to accommodate other injuries from you.

It has no dearth of blood and flesh. [Which was to his advantage given the Unearthed's only method to heal themselves, but also dangerous. Mostly to those around him.] But it is as you say--magic is sufficient.

[It amuses him on some level to be a challenge. And, come to think of that--] Is there aught else you need me for, while you are having me here?

[nehan raises one eyebrow, but his next question comes out easily-- he doesn't even have to think of something to keep the man here, or even not-so-politely usher him out.]

What did your Omen do with my fur?

[The question surprises a chuckle out of him.] Made herself a very fine nest.

[He's not even going to question why she was doing that while he and Nehan were otherwise occupied; the symbolism's obvious and a little weird.

Omens, gods bless 'em.]

And you let her keep it? [he would imagine that would reek, and be uncomfortable, being rather wet.]

That would stink up your house-- or be annoying to carry around just to indulge her.

[He shakes his head at that.] She grew bored with the pantomime after a time, and swept it out herself for the other birds to find. I am suspecting they will want it, nearer spring.

Besides, [and smoke wisps up around him, resolving into Iskierka--back to her moth-bird form, and small enough to perch on his shoulder,] I do not know she would have wanted to keep it anyway, now that I am dead again.

[Less interested her now.

She cocks her head at Nehan, studying him through faceted red eyes.]

Well, unfortunately for both of you, come spring, I'm going to dump my shed undercoat on you

I have nothing to do with it otherwise, and I don't want animals sniffing at my lawn. [either here, or whichever house he decides to move into, if he does choose to move out of this place.]

[That gets another little laugh out of him.] Then we will find something to do with it. Perhaps after five years of spring we will have enough to felt.

[Iskierka, however, seems more enthusiastic about the offer. She tips her head the other way, bobs it, then carols cheerfully at Nehan in encouragement.

Illarion tips his head like he could look sidelong at her, one eyebrow raised in what might be surprise.]

Or perhaps she will make a nest again.

[He wasn't expecting that.]

Edited 2022-02-03 02:21 (UTC)

Whatever she does with it is not my concern, as long as she takes it off my hands.

[and from those warbling sounds, she does sound like she'll do so happily.]

And make no nests in my own house, as well.

I would not ever presume to dictate where a lady builds her nest, [Illarion replies to that, mock-serious.] But I do not think you will need to worry about this, unless you wish us both to spend much more time in your house.

[Which would make it much easier to keep Nehan on a regular diet...]

[the erune has to shake his head.]

I'm adverse to the idea of sharing a house with someone else. [that's not entirely true, he's fine with sharing with his child, with the eternals, the other children if need be... but people other than them? no, he is not comfortable with that. he would prefer being alone in a large empty house rather than bump into someone else every day and have to adjust his work and habits around them.]

[...but would also be intruding. Illarion expected as much.]

This does not surprise me. It is better to have one's space at times, not so?

[Then, because it's been tickling at him,] How were you coming by the bruises?

It's... an unfortunate side-effect of my shedding. [he doesn't even bother picking up the ice pack again, even if the ice has slowly begun to melt.]

I shed into a time of my life where I had an unfortunate drug in my veins, but I managed to sweat it out of my system in battle against another Sleeper.

Ahhh. [Combat drugs had a long and storied tradition among Nephele's militaries at they had anywhere else; Illarion understands this instantly. Although it is, as Nehan says, unfortunate.] That is a very hard way to be given back a piece of yourself. Is it one you had used before? Will you suffer more in withdrawal from it?

[He holds out his hand for the ice pack, suddenly curious about something.] Might I? Your ice.

[without missing a beat, nehan leans over and places the ice pack on his guest's knee.]

It's a special concoction made by my clan for very specific occasions-- and I took it for that occasion, at the time. No lingering effects save for exhaustion, unless you consider a sense of guilt over what you'd done under the influence as part of the side-effects.

[but nehan wont say that he's created worse things than trancensia.]

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[open] bad doggie!

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cw: drug use

cw: even more fantasy drug use