deercountry | like, zoinks

Entry tags:

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:

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. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ falco wasn’t one to swear, but luz had all the liberty (and, hell, reason!!) to. it was better that than moving too much. perle can keep an eye on his vicinity and let him know of any immediate danger. for now, it was just . . . him.

there may by an exit as much as an entry, but falco wouldn’t find much of a bullet left. it was from a rifle— the calibers more often disintegrate than get lodged in a place or perforate like handguns. the bleeding had to stop, though. falco pressed into milky paleblood and soaks the outside, the other side, keeps the site pressed with one hand.

his eyes are grim and apologetic. ]

I . . . Always carry a gun.

[ it’s dangerous out here, the beasts are ravenous. mando taught him to, as reluctant as he was of the idea. the connors taught him, after the last time he’d come under an attack he couldn’t bring himself to fight against. he doesn’t know if he could still bring himself to carry it. his gut felt heavy and nauseous of the idea of shooting someone, shooting someone he knew and cared about.

it wasn’t the smell of paleblood that made him feel ill. it was his actions.

she’s still conscious. he has to work quickly and repair his error, even though he’ll never feel like that debt could be paid. ]

—I’m going to put a mix of my blood around the wound, okay? That should lessen the pain.

[ then he’ll think about taking her to a healer. ]

[Luz certainly didn't want to remember that she'd cursed that badly, but at the moment this was the last thing she was thinking about. The pain was still searing, and she felt like her whole body was still in shock, because at least when she was being tortured, she could connect the dots on how she got there. A gun on the other hand? It took seconds and suddenly your whole body was in pain, blown apart in the time it took for you to take a breath.

She knew there was a reason she didn't like guns.

Oh. That's...understandable, given your histo-nope, sorry, can't make casual conversation. OW SO MUCH OW.

[She was sucking her breath in and uttering more unfavorable words in Spanish, which was at least starting to lessen the shock].

W-what? Oh, right. Please.

[Her stomach was feeling queasy. There was SO much blood and it was hers, and it was starting to make her feel nauseous. It was so hard to think right now].

[ falco’s brows go stern and his frown grim— he had responsibility to see this through, now. he couldn’t just be falco, luz’s friend. he had to be the too young trainee put through his first test. he had no full vials of vileblood mix, only about three bottled base liquids to help with other things— like vasoconstriction, and scarring.

falco pulls fern’s gifted blade from his belt in a gradual, slow moving motion. once luz’s hand is pressed on her own shoulder for him, his hand hugs the blades body, squeezes and swiftly tugs down with less than a wince. vilebloods feel little pain to begin with— with falco so ready to harm himself as if it were routine made it all the more easier.

squeezing his palm as the stream of green and red slide down the bottom of his palm, he readies an opened vial and squeezes for the blood to bead into it. ]

Stay with me. You’ll be okay. [ luz isn’t the only one he’s saying that to— his ears need to hear it for themselves, too. breathe. stay here. stay in the present, stay in reality. he’ll be okay. luz will be. with a steadying, sharper inhale, falco puts his diligence and true virtue to work. mixing the vial with a shaking, circular motion, he begins dripping the contents over the edges of the wound, firstly. luz should feel a prickling numbness beginning to spread through what was once pain. it also smells like flowers and camomile. ] . . . What’s a carajo?

[If Luz hadn't known about how well Falco reacted to intense situations, she was certainly getting a crash course right now. She saw he was cutting himself and was about to protest when she realized someone else she knew who could do this.

Luca. Which meant that Falco was a vileblood. She was just starting to remember what that meant when he pushed some of his blood into the vial, much as she had when she was Bonding with Varian, Luca and Ahiru. Once he started dripping the blood over her shoulder, she knew exactly what he was doing and, better still, he was helping to take her mind off of what had just happened].

I'm ok. I think.

[She took a deep breath, trying to control her impulse to freak out].

That means 'damn,' but the degree of how much of a curse it is depends. That was...some shooting.

[ falco hums to show he’s listening, but most of his attention is on his work. the effect his blood had this month was different, though— if luz wasn’t feeling pain, it was because the wounds were mending, not simply numbing with toxicity.

it’s closing up; just like it did with michael. ]

How is it feeling?

Edited 2022-03-12 08:55 (UTC)

[When it came to this situation (where she wasn't being slowly tortured) Luz tended to talk through her nervousness as a distraction, and for right now it looked like this wasn't necessary. The wound seemed to be closing up pretty quickly].

Better. I think the pain and my freaking out was probably what made it all worse. How come you were walking around with a gun looking all freaked out anyway?

[ he has answers that pop into his head as they work— but he didn’t like them. it felt true and at the same time it . . . didn’t. there was a certain dissonance in his thinking— and that was freaky on its own. ]

It’s . . . Dangerous, out here, so— I always carry a rifle for that, [ but to just. shoot? it’s strange. it feels like he’s saying something completely valid, but simultaneously— his features clamp and his eyes begin to shine. ] I’m so sorry . . .

[Luz groaned, still not moving or rotating her shoulder too much, because her whole body felt kind of heavy right now. She could understand what he was saying, but it still felt like she was missing something, and she was still halfway between pain and recovery].

I know you didn't mean to do it. But did something happen recently, that you had to actually carry it around?

I don’t, [ he shakes his head, his brows crease further, and once doused fully with his own blood, falco removes his hold on luz, bringing the vial and his working hand back to his lap. ] no . . .

[ no, or know? his pale little fingers were beginning to fidget with the cork of the vial. the more he tunneled for an answer that she was seeking, the more things were getting hazy, the more— he saw purple. ]

I just shot you. That doesn’t make you angry?

Oh. Really?

[She was about to ask him what the first thing was that he remembered when he gave her a question of his own].

If you'd done it on purpose, probably. But you were scared, so you were trying to protect yourself. I can't blame you for that. I just wish I knew what spooked you so bad that you shot like that.

[ this flipping, like a switch— when would things feel natural and when would they not? why was there a blurring line between the obvious? something in him entices him to say what would bring anger, surely: maybe it was on purpose. but how could he want to hurt anyone on purpose—?

falco keeps his hands on his lap, and overlooks her wound closing up. at most, he has fabric to soak and dry the blood that had been spilled to the best of his ability. ]

It was a feeling. [ that danger was near, that he should act, that he should attack before being attacked— but luz's demeanor is what keeps the conflict more at bay than upfront. ] I'm not . . . Alright.

[That was pretty troubling. Luz may have been shot at, but she was being attended to, and she understood, even if it did hurt a lot, that Falco hadn't meant it. That begged the question: if he was spooked and on edge like this, what happened recently that made him so jumpy]?

Say. You weren't one of those people involved in that Leviathan thing, were you?

[ falco allows only a small stretch of silence to fill between them, his brows worrying and his expression becoming worn. ]

I was . . . Helping the Medical Tents. [ he could guess where she's going with this. even he knew, now that she mentioned it. ] I've been having episodes, ever since.

[ he doesn't want to say possession, outright. it's too close to corruption for him to really distinguish the two. as dipper once said: that thing is corruption in physical form. ]

[Luz listened quietly, and her body tensed. She still didn't know a lot about the Leviathan, but she had heard snatches of what it had done, how there had been deaths and in that case...Falco must have been in the thick of trying to help.

Episodes? EPISODES. She could guess what that might mean].

And they're nothing you can help, are they?

Sometimes . . .

[ he can distract himself, bring himself to better moods if he has the strength and mental fortitude for it at the time. weakened as it was right now, it all drops down to one looping thought. friends died even if they were to return, if they were. he misses paul. ]

But when it gets bad, ever since South Sister, [ he shakes his head. ] it’s harder. I’ve been trying for days.

Sometimes?

[That was something, but also alarming that he could only seem to do it at certain times. She hoped she could find out why it had happened at all, and what these episodes were about.

If the Leviathan monster was that serious a threat, Luz regretted not aiding in the fray].

South Sister? Is that a place, or a person?

It's one of the places I've been to, [ he confirms that, reminded of the time he only mentioned it— but it was more santa rosita that had been the topic of that conversation, so he comments, to jog the memory: ] other than California.

[ luz seems to be healed by now; falco checks her, both at the front and back of her shoulder, before he brings himself to a sit over his knees and holds his cut hand over his thigh, palm up. in a matter of seconds, the cut begins to sizzle and sets off a ribbon of steam. he's healing too, but not because of his blood.

(although it's very easy to confuse for that) ]

I got sick, there.

Edited 2022-03-25 17:41 (UTC)

[Luz WAS thinking of Santa Rosita, so the mention of this other place made her wonder if there were other dimensions that were as bad as these, just different in how they dueled out their punishment.

Scary thought.]

How come you can do that? Healing with your blood?

[Luz would get to him being "sick" in just a moment. She was curious, even as she winced from the soreness in her shoulder].

[ falco raises his shoulders with uncertainty— he understands the question in two ways. ]

My blood’s been healing wounds instead of working as poison. I know someone mentioned noticing some changes every month. [ but as for the actual steam that’s closing his own cut shut, he flexed his fingers in gesture. ] Healing myself is just— part of how my body works, though.

[ it felt a little too off topic to just slip out “I’m a giant bird” tidbit. just a bit. ]

It’s alright.

Oh. That's nifty. Seems like I chose a pretty good time to get shot.

[It was a joke, though Luz knew that she was admitting she'd gotten very, VERY lucky. She's not even sure what would have happened if she'd had to stay like that longer. Her shoulder was achy now, but it was nowhere near the intense pain she'd been in minutes ago].

You're able to heal your OWN body? You've been able to do that since before coming here too? That's pretty astonishing.

But moving from that...what's think about being sick?

[ falco nods, or rather, ducks his head sheepishly. he couldn't say it was nothing, because it was something, but— well, he's easily flustered. especially when he doesn't feel like he deserves to hear it. ]

Not really sick, [ they'd use similar terms, though. ] but, um— Infected?

[Luz is leaning in, because, yes, she wants to know more].

Infected? Is that something that can happen? I mean, is that a power the Leviathan has?

[Luz still knows little to nothing about the fight and is desperately trying to find out].

I don’t . . . Think so. [ he was under the smallest impression that this was no longer about the leviathan. or, well, maybe it was.] This is something that happened before all this. The Leviathan— what happened just made it worse.

You getting possessed? So it just...happens? And you have no idea why?

[She wanted to be sure about this so she could try and figure out what was going on].

What exactly DID happen?

[ that was off handed but actually accurate, so— there’s no other way to keep waiting. ]

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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cw: self harm

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