don’t make me go wumbo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
grice) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2022-03-02 12:48 am
grice) wrote in deercountry2022-03-02 12:48 am
like, zoinks
who: falco grice and you!
what: a march catchall! a couple general open prompts are available along with some closed, perhaps open event prompts will be added in later! please refer to falco’s corruption page for a rundown; he’ll be experiencing low to mid levels of corruption throughout the month! if you choose to have your character injured in the trenchwood prompt, falco will be healing them with his blood!
when: throughout march!
where: throughout trench!
content warnings: child soldiers, possible gun violence, self harm (for healing purposes), possession, parasitism, slime, corruption, will add more as they come!
ʜᴀᴜɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴇɴᴄʜᴡᴏᴏᴅ
[ helping with general beach cleaning once he’d retrieved the injured, dead, or pieces of them after the leviathan’s passing was what falco had busied himself with for most of the first few days after the surfacing. he’d managed to get enough rest to function, though just as any his spirits weren’t quite high. plans to shadow more blood ministers were put on hold when falco began to exhibit a mild flu— just the spring season rolling its way in, perhaps, even though the boy had never had allergies in his short life. one can find him trekking through trenchwood for new herbs, roots and leaves that could be used for oils, mixes and healing agents.
any approach made toward falco will be heard eventually, whether by his own ears or the alarming shriek of his pygmy falcon omen from farther off. he’s usually quite the tame boy to approach, but on this day— the words that press into his thoughts and influence his actions are a slithery: yoͦuͧ can’t ǝʌᴉʌɹns if you don’t вⷡiͥᴛⷮeͤ.
he doesn’t hesitate to lift and aim his rifle at the direction of his approacher, and in worst-case scenarios— he fires and reloads with alarming precision, not counting the shot, which either hits or misses by the push of the breeze. he hasn’t learned that overnight— he’s always known during his stays across the universe, now in trench, learned since he was eight, when the weapon barely fit in his arms and he’d still be forced to carry it across bumpy terrain, mud and rainfall with a backpack and helmet in tow. his place as a warrior candidate was not earned without merit. despite not using most of his capabilities, he was a trained child. training is all it takes to make a dent.
the startling contrast, of course, was that falco would never shoot first, if one knew him well. with the way his heart bleeds for other’s, it’s easy enough to assume he would never shoot at all. he’d never want to enough to take initiative, at the very least. here, for a split second and then more, the look in his eyes is sharp and as at the ready as a dog baring its teeth. it doesn't last; what comes over him after realization snaps his attention in two is utter terror. ]
Oh . . . Oh, no.
ʜᴀᴜɴᴛᴇᴅ ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴇᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ
[ alternatively, one may find him at the bare coast of a beach that was once a battlefield, now a graveyard for beastblood remains. it's hard not to step onto the black sand and realize the floor is not naturally smoothed from the ocean's winds. there're man-made lines there, and there, and everywhere for a wide stretch of distance, circumference. look closely, and there are words— words upon words upon words, upside down, right sided, sideways, sometimes even overlapping:
the young teen with sandy blond hair and his black hood blown back has a stick in hand, focused on this activity and he’s writing it all with an unfit, too casual swing to his aura. those with a certain predisposition to recognize the energy of an entity would feel it like a flash: fear. it makes your gut drop the more you read and repeat the words. it gains strength the more you give it attention. falco himself seems to be oddly himself, at least, sniffy through his stuffy red nose and lifting his head to greet those who approach him. he’s a little . . . twitchy, pale and flaking, perhaps even slightly thinner, but he does seem happy for the visit. his purple tinted eyes (that’s wrong) say so— ]
Ah— Hello, [ sir or ma’am (or nothing, if you’re around his age). ].
[ a bow of his head, a soft, shying smile— he thinks you’re regarding his drawing, what he knows is a rendition of perle, but something isn’t right. starting with the fact that he didn’t draw perle at all. ]
what: a march catchall! a couple general open prompts are available along with some closed, perhaps open event prompts will be added in later! please refer to falco’s corruption page for a rundown; he’ll be experiencing low to mid levels of corruption throughout the month! if you choose to have your character injured in the trenchwood prompt, falco will be healing them with his blood!
when: throughout march!
where: throughout trench!
content warnings: child soldiers, possible gun violence, self harm (for healing purposes), possession, parasitism, slime, corruption, will add more as they come!
ʜᴀᴜɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴇɴᴄʜᴡᴏᴏᴅ
[ helping with general beach cleaning once he’d retrieved the injured, dead, or pieces of them after the leviathan’s passing was what falco had busied himself with for most of the first few days after the surfacing. he’d managed to get enough rest to function, though just as any his spirits weren’t quite high. plans to shadow more blood ministers were put on hold when falco began to exhibit a mild flu— just the spring season rolling its way in, perhaps, even though the boy had never had allergies in his short life. one can find him trekking through trenchwood for new herbs, roots and leaves that could be used for oils, mixes and healing agents.
any approach made toward falco will be heard eventually, whether by his own ears or the alarming shriek of his pygmy falcon omen from farther off. he’s usually quite the tame boy to approach, but on this day— the words that press into his thoughts and influence his actions are a slithery: yoͦuͧ can’t ǝʌᴉʌɹns if you don’t вⷡiͥᴛⷮeͤ.
he doesn’t hesitate to lift and aim his rifle at the direction of his approacher, and in worst-case scenarios— he fires and reloads with alarming precision, not counting the shot, which either hits or misses by the push of the breeze. he hasn’t learned that overnight— he’s always known during his stays across the universe, now in trench, learned since he was eight, when the weapon barely fit in his arms and he’d still be forced to carry it across bumpy terrain, mud and rainfall with a backpack and helmet in tow. his place as a warrior candidate was not earned without merit. despite not using most of his capabilities, he was a trained child. training is all it takes to make a dent.
the startling contrast, of course, was that falco would never shoot first, if one knew him well. with the way his heart bleeds for other’s, it’s easy enough to assume he would never shoot at all. he’d never want to enough to take initiative, at the very least. here, for a split second and then more, the look in his eyes is sharp and as at the ready as a dog baring its teeth. it doesn't last; what comes over him after realization snaps his attention in two is utter terror. ]
Oh . . . Oh, no.
ʜᴀᴜɴᴛᴇᴅ ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴇᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ
[ alternatively, one may find him at the bare coast of a beach that was once a battlefield, now a graveyard for beastblood remains. it's hard not to step onto the black sand and realize the floor is not naturally smoothed from the ocean's winds. there're man-made lines there, and there, and everywhere for a wide stretch of distance, circumference. look closely, and there are words— words upon words upon words, upside down, right sided, sideways, sometimes even overlapping:
ᴛʜᴇ sɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛⷮhͪeͤ s͛iͥleͤncͨeͤ ᴛʜᴇ
ǝɔuǝʅᴉs ǝɥʇ ǝɔuǝʅᴉs ǝɥʇ ǝɔuǝʅᴉs ǝɥʇ s̶i̶l̶e̶n̶c̶e̶ ᴛʜᴇ sɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ǝɔuǝʅᴉs ǝɥʇ ǝɔuǝʅᴉs ǝɥʇ ǝɔuǝʅᴉs ǝɥʇ
ᴛʜᴇ sɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛⷮhͪeͤ s͛iͥleͤncͨeͤ ᴛʜᴇ sɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ
the young teen with sandy blond hair and his black hood blown back has a stick in hand, focused on this activity and he’s writing it all with an unfit, too casual swing to his aura. those with a certain predisposition to recognize the energy of an entity would feel it like a flash: fear. it makes your gut drop the more you read and repeat the words. it gains strength the more you give it attention. falco himself seems to be oddly himself, at least, sniffy through his stuffy red nose and lifting his head to greet those who approach him. he’s a little . . . twitchy, pale and flaking, perhaps even slightly thinner, but he does seem happy for the visit. his purple tinted eyes (that’s wrong) say so— ]
Ah— Hello, [ sir or ma’am (or nothing, if you’re around his age). ].
[ a bow of his head, a soft, shying smile— he thinks you’re regarding his drawing, what he knows is a rendition of perle, but something isn’t right. starting with the fact that he didn’t draw perle at all. ]
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[ She knows this isn't Falco speaking. She's not saying his name because of that. Something that speaks like this, almost oddly garbled around the edges, like the boy in front of her is speaking in tongues - it's something that's way beyond Falco. It's something hiding behind the boy's eyes.
But she knows that the boy himself has to be in there somewhere too. Unless that was whatever is speaking now masquerading as him for a moment.. but Ange doubts that. Why would it mask itself, only to reveal itself a few moments later like this? It wouldn't make sense.
So she calls out instead to whatever is left of him in there, even if it might be pushed back by something else. ]
I don't know what sneaked into your body, but you have to force it back.
[ Ange stares at the boy, at the thing in front of her - her facial expression a perfect pokerface, despite everything she's seeing and hearing here. ]
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Stop ignoring ʇmeᴉ. [ the incoherent edge of alien words loses its prominent sharpness, but it’s still not quite . . . there. with a little hand splayed across his chest, it seems like— it might be trying it’s best to imitate her language. pronouns. that might make it more easily heard: ] This is mine— I found it.
[ no. it’s just a baby. ]
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For a moment it seems like she's still ignoring the entity. That she's opting for the strategy of just staring at Falco's body, like just the silence might will a response out of it that is the boy's own, rather than whatever exactly it is that she is speaking to right now.
But then she lets out a sigh, like it's the most bothersome thing in the world to have to talk to something this odd, rather than something actively frightening. If there's anything Ange has practiced over the years, it's seeming totally unaffected in the face of almost anything. ]
No. That body already belongs to someone.
[ Maybe if it was someone Ange actively disliked, she might have let it keep the body.
But even if Ange might not be super close to Falco, she thought he seemed endearing. Not the type of person who deserves to have something like this in their body. ]
Are you telling me that's the best thing you could find in a gloomy place like this? No monster crab to haunt? No corpse to reanimate?
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and the silence does not have the same professionalism of a poker face. that’s mockery— ]
—Giant is better!!
[ falco just turned thirteen. his voice is naturally cracking all over the place, without the freaky eldritch touch. not only does the demon care bear look cute? it squeaks like a chew toy when you squeeze it. ]
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[ Oh gosh. Yeah, Ange feels like this is exactly cementing her point over here. Why would some sort of entity stick to a body like Falco's? He's still so young, and it's not like there aren't plenty of other people in this place.
It's got to mean that it's too weak to take over anything else, at least in its current state. ]
What do you even mean by that?
[ Sorry, Falco. You're adorable and all, and seem like a good kid, but Ange would hesitate to call him 'giant' in any way.
Especially while he's sounding like a squeaky toy. ]
cw for attempted self harm and eventual emeto
[ it might seem more like empty threats or even a joke at this point, but one certain thing was how the silence isn’t actually lying. with movements erratic, falco’s arm flings sideways and then awkwardly to his hip, pulls out a knife and— tries to position his other hand beneath it. he stops, stares, swallows too much, dribbles something oozing and thick at the corners of his lips. one more inhale in and seems like he’s about to drill the blade right through his palm—
but that’s not what happens. what happens! both his hands, with the blade discarded in the sand, fling downwards to grip at his knees and throw his head down.
and just make the grossest sound that could come out of a boy, that could come out of anything alive, spilling a putrid sulfur smelling goo with a deep purple sheen. no food, no bile, just slime that splatters into the sand and dribbles from the boy’s mouth. ]
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And not because of the knife, considering it's discarded in the sand now. No, it's entirely because she's trying to keep her arm from getting soaked by...
God, by whatever the heck that even is. ]
Falco..! [ She isn't sure if this is the boy trying to fight the entity, or a side effect of the thing occupying a young human body, or.. well, there's so many possibilities.
But while Ange is keeping her distance from this goo that's being thrown up, her face is clearly twisted with concern as she looks at the other. ]
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I don't . . . Feel so good, Miss Ange. [ his voice is no longer strange, or off, or cracking with screams; he is feeling nauseous and coming back together from— well. a lapse in memory. ] S-sorry, um . . .
[ he was building up the voice to ask her what it was they were talking about, but for the time being, he closes his eyes and breathes out, trying to spit the muck sticking to his tongue. ]
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Ange knows she can't figure that out on the spot, so instead she frowns, approaching him, putting a hand on his back and lightly patting him, like she's encouraging him through this - doubtlessly awful - experience. ]
It's alright. [ She says, before pausing again. Just giving him some time. ] It's okay. You should sit down and catch your breath.
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his hand lands on words in the sand before he can stop his center of gravity from being pulled. he can still read in between the spaces that his palms cover up, and turning his head this way, then that . . . his stomach goes ice cold, his lips lacking in color and his breathing— it doesn’t ease. especially not when he had to run his hands quickly through the writing. the writing that was everywhere, all over the place just surrounding their feet.
he coughs when what he accidentally swallows in his hurry is too thick down his throat. but, no, now he can’t catch his breath. ]
N-no, no, this shouldn’t be here—
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Ange admits that telling him to sit down wasn't exactly the best plan - but she didn't think about the writing in that moment, too concerned with the boy's state. It's only when she sees his rapidly escalating panic that she realises what this must seem like to him now he's snapped out of it. Especially since Falco actually seems to realise what's going on with the writing to some extent.
If she was any stronger, she would have attempted to just pick the boy up and carry him off.. but alas, Ange's noodle arms would never be able to manage to do that.
So instead she lands her hands on his shoulders, trying to grab his attention that way. ]
Falco, look at me.
[ Regardless of whether he does or doesn't, she continues with-- ]
There's something inside of you that made you do all that, right? [ If he recognizes the writing, or realises that it's bad in some way - then he's got to know that too, Ange thinks. ]
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the boy nods, slowly and with thin, pale lips losing their greenish tint from the running vileblood in him, too busy pumping everything to his heart. ]
Please, don't . . . Don't look at it. The writing.
[ he's terribly aware, as much as he was terribly frightened. ]
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[ Trying being the main word here, but it's been mostly successful, aside from early on there. But the weird feeling that crept up on her the moment she spotted the words was enough to try and not make her look back at them again - even if it meant that she totally forgot about them for a moment and accidentally let Falco get freaked out by them all over again.
But she can at least say this much to try and reassure him. As much as he can be reassured, considering what just came out of his mouth. ]
What is-- was that thing inside you? Do you know?
[ Usually she'd be a little more gentle about it. And it's not like Ange is being rough exactly in this moment, but the worry inside of her is definitely giving a bit more of a frantic edge to her words than there usually would have been. It's just a sprinkle of it, but it's in there.
Because surely she can't let whatever it is continue to exist inside of Falco, right? ]
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Y—yes. I know. [ he doesn't know a library about the thing, but he knows enough. ] It's from somewhere else.
[ would it help if—? ]
Someone here said that . . . It's like Corruption, if Corruption were an entity.
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She's not sure yet whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. Whether it makes things easier or harder. Probably the latter, since it'd be easier to find a cure for something that originates from this place in this place. ]
Is it a demon?
[ Now she looks back at Falco, rather than down at her shoes. ]
.. I'm mostly asking because I have experience with those. [ So maybe she might be able to help in that case.
Maybe. ]
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With— With exorcisms? [ but it wasn't so much a demon. maybe it was. falco continues with a certain avidity that wasn't there before. ] It's— I know it's an entity, but they never said demon, outright— holy water burns it, does that help?
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[ It's a small noise of consideration. It's Ange thinking. After all, the more she talks about demons in this place, the more she feels like her own experience with them is fairly different from most people's experiences with them - or the way people think of them, anyway.
After all, Ange has never met a single demon who possessed someone back in her own world. She isn't used to it. And yet, between Peter and Falco here.. it seems so much more common. ]
I'm more used to dealing with them while they're outside people. [ Sorry, Falco. But Ange isn't about to let that stop her. ] But I still believe that there's got to be a way to get it to leave you. It seems.. interested in you, for some reason.
[ A reason that had been too incoherent in the moment for Ange to fully grasp, even now she's thinking back on it. ]
We just have to find a way to stop its interest in you in particular.
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but falco has a worry beyond "getting it out", now. ]
That'd mean . . . It'd have nowhere else to go, except— someone else.
[ and that terrifies him, all the more. ]
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Are you sure that it can't exist by itself? Without a human body to inhabit?
[ It seems like Falco does know more about the entity that she does. Unless it lied to him by saying that.
.. on the other hand, Ange isn't sure if she could get honest answers out of it either, judging by how erratic its behaviour was a moment ago. ]
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[ he seems to have wilted, regardless. if only the silence could just walk off, become independent. a scary thought, but one hosts wouldn't have to internally deal with. it was like telling tapeworms to just leave thy intestine and go find their own food. ]
—I let it in and I brought it here. If there's no other way to kill it . . . I can't just let someone else have it.
cw: reference to self harm
Which means she doesn't protest what he's saying, instead just taking it as fact for now. Falco would know this better than her, considering he's the one living with that being inside of him. ]
But.. we can't just leave things like this either, right? It doesn't exactly seem like you guys get along.
[ To.. put it mildly...
Or at least, she's pretty sure he would rather not have the other entity inside of him randomly attempt to stab himself mid-conversation. ]
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[ it might just be him wondering, and wondering for the best. things would be devastatingly different if their relationship was symbiotic and not completely parasitic.
but how to change the nature of na eldritch parasite? show it friendship? ]
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[ On a lot of things, in fact. It doesn't help that Ange thinks she doesn't have a very good idea about the entity within Falco yet, just from that short exchange. It seemed very volatile, and not too friendly, but then again.. that's also what Paimon seems like at his worst, and Ange has found that that demon is actually pretty pleasant at his best.
Does whatever is inside of Falco have the same potential? Who knows. ]
I actually was friends with a bunch of demons back home. But it might have been different since they lived off my magical energy, rather than actually sharing a body with me. [ Which makes things a lot less invasive.. but it's also exactly what has Ange convinced that demons can be befriended in the first place, rather than always being something bad. ]
Do you guys.. ever talk? Can you talk with each other?
[ Who knows how this stuff works when it comes to possession. Ange sure has no real hands on experience. She's just been trying to learn more about this stuff ever since coming into contact with people who are dealing with it in this place, just like she's trying to learn about Falco's situation here so she can help the poor boy. ]
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I've— I've never tried to. [ any kind of communication was one-sided, bearing in mind that the only kind of "communication" has been it tormenting falco or falco screaming at it. ] Do you think . . . Can I? Have people done that before?
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But on the other hand, she's never really heard anyone else in this place talk about demons with any more knowledge or experience than her, so she figures that Falco might not be able to get better help in the first place. And to Ange's credit, she seems to be putting some serious thought into this, frowning as she considers it. ]
It doesn't seem impossible.
[ To her, anyway. ]
Have you never heard it speak to you inside of your head, or anything like that? Do you just know it's there because of the times it takes you over?
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think we can wrap up here! (and thank you so much for a great thread)