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 wanted to be sure about this so she could try and figure out what was going on].
What exactly DID happen?
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I am possessed. [ he just. allows that to make sense. ] That’s the “infection” I got in South Sister. Dipper tried to exorcise it months ago and— [ he pauses sharply, and sucks a breath in. ] It didn’t work.
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[She had definitely heard about that and the disastrous results than ensued. This poor kid! Didn't he have enough to deal with]?
And you're just...living with it?
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I don’t know if I have another choice.
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I wish I had a head for that kind of stuff. There are people so much better suited for this.
Have you asked any of the witches about an exorcism?
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[That had ended in disaster, and she hadn't needed to be told that. Dipper had been brave enough to try and tackle this himself, and he was something of an expert].
I know it's not good to bring up, but- what exactly happened the last time, with Dipper getting involved?
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[ he and dipper had set things straight already, even if it was a bad memory. it wasn’t as if he’d die remembering it— if it were that way, he wouldn’t be able to talk about any of his memories.
the hardest part was probably talking about it. ]
I had, um . . . “An episode”, and I panicked to get him to do something. He did, but it was rushed. The Thing got out and hurt a bunch of people in Gaze.
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What is "the thing?"
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[ said slowly and cautiously. not because there wasn't any information, falco knew very well what it was. his thumbs fidget and then so do his fingers, and apologetically, he bows his head. ]
It gets stronger the more people talk about it, or know its name— [ should he really leave her in the dark, though? falco finishes the thought with with: ] But it's a spirit . .. Thing, that feeds off of anything negative. The more there is, the more it causes. The more, [ his shoulders rise, ] I'll act strange.
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That sounds vague enough to give me an idea. Fine, we won't name it. I was just curious in case it happened again, that I'd know what to look for.
[Sometimes guesswork was about all you could afford].
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Purple, slime and violence. I don't like fighting— and I'd never want to hurt anyone, not on purpose.
[ there were . . . possibilities, where he had to act, but falco tended to avoid all of those. ]
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[If Dipper tried to exorcise his thing and it killed him, it had to be pretty strong].
So if exorcising didn't work, maybe there's some kind of Trench magic that will help. That might need more than one person though. Heck. it might even need more than one researching the information.
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Are you . . . Thinking about doing something?
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I consider Dipper to be super smart about this kind of stuff, so if he couldn't do it, that means I have to step up everything to figure out how what I'll do will be different.
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. . . Would you really want to do that?
[ he couldn't exactly stop her if she did, but he did have to make sure. ]
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Actually, she told Dipper this very thing].
To stop you from hurting people out of your control? The answer's pretty obvious, right?
[In other words, there was no way Luz was going to let a friend who already had gone through so much have to go through MORE].
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the boy’s eyes sting, and his brows curve to express gratitude as he puts a hand on luz’s arm. ]
—Thank you. [ it’s almost a whisper to keep the strain at bay. ] If you can find more help, to make it safer— I’ll do the same. And I’ll write you what I know.
[ they’d work around that; burn the information after using it, put up wards while reading— they could figure something out. ]
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Her mind was jolted back by Falco's words, and she gave him a reassuring smile].
Of course. We should take all the precautions we can. Every time we don't, well, it doesn't end well. I can't guarantee anything, but I will do the best I can!
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I will, too.
[ he begins to stand, and offers a hand to help lift her up. she probably had her things to do. ]
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[Luz paused, shrugging her shoulders].
Hey, have you been to the arcade at all, Falco?
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What's that—?
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You've...never been to an arcade? You know, games, video games, cheap toys you have to earn with a ridiculous amount of tickets?!
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[ it’s a toy. from the 1960s. he needs to see what’s up. get with the times! absorb the wonders of video games and over the counter prizes! ]
I am NOT one and I still have no idea what that is.
....
What is that now?
[Look, Luz is a 2000's baby. She can only go back so far].
the wonders we research for rp
Re: the wonders we research for rp
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