[005] You're gone, gone, gone away

[themuseabandonsyou]

Who: Orpheus (themuseabandonsyou) and others
What: Grief-induced beasthood, per the Siren Mini-Plot
When: Starts in early March and continues throughout the month
Where: The Rocks, south of the Farther Shores

Warnings: Potential drowning, violence, and character death. Body horror (beast transformation). Grief (loss of a loved one). Suicidal themes.

There's no reason for Orpheus to suspect that today is going to be like any other, when he wakes. It's a little unusual from the start in that he wakes alone - he's an earlier riser than Eurydice usually, but not always. It's easy for him to assume that today is one of those odd exceptions, that she simply got up before him and has started her day, and he gets out of bed and starts his morning routine unbothered. Only when he notices just how quiet the house is does he actually stop and consider that something might be wrong. With all the cautious optimism he can manage, he checks the rooms of the house one by one, only to find almost all of Eurydice's things - her bag, her jewelry, her omni - and no sign of her.

His heart leaps into his throat. He runs outside and accosts the first person he sees, grabbing them by the arm and pulling them aside. "Have you seen my wife?" he asks, and describes her, a head shorter than him with dark hair and eyes. The citizen does, thankfully, recognize the description, and points him towards the edge of town. He repeats this process multiple times, stopping every few blocks to ask after her, and every time having just fortune enough to find someone who knows something. Eventually the trail leads him to the Farther Shore, and he sprints along the sand towards a short figure in the distance, approaching the waves.

"Eurydice!" But she's already ribs deep in the water by the time he reaches her, skin shimmering unnaturally, or maybe in a way that's all too natural, for Sleepers. She turns to look at him, and smiles at him through a deep and terrible sadness that shocks him to his core, and all at once he realizes just what's happening.

"I love you," she says, barely audible over the crashing of the waves.

"I love you, too," he says.

A wave comes crashing down over her head, and she disappears.

I. All that's left is a ghost of you
( closed to Vyng )( cw: body horror (beasthood transformation), grief (loss of a loved one) )
For the second time, Orpheus collapses to his knees, watching the space where Eurydice had been just moments before. There's a numbness to it, a disbelief. She was just there. She was just there. The shock of it paralyzes him, slows everything to a stop, and all he can do for a long, long moment is just sit there, water seeping into the knees of his pants from the wet sand. Tears roll down his face, but he doesn't notice.

And then he stands, and all but runs into the water himself. She's still out there, just - in another form. If he can find her, maybe he can bring her back. If he can find her, maybe he can go with her. Anything but this. Anything but being left alone again. He crashes through the water, up to his waist and already being buffeted around by the breakers. One knocks him clean over, and he struggles to get his feet under him well enough to stand again, though this entirely fails to discourage him.

"Eurydice!" he shouts, cursing himself for spending so long in that stupor, for sleeping in, for not noticing something the night before. If he'd been faster, if he'd been more present, if he'd been better-


II. Now we're torn, torn, torn apart
( OTA, will not receive responses from Orpheus - feel free to thread with each other under this heading! )( cw: Potential near-drowning )
A haunting melody drifts over the sand dunes and rocky shoreline that curves away from the city of Trench. It's high and mournful, wordless and pure and soft, and with it comes a powerful sense of heartbreak. Just hearing it briefly sends daggers through the chest as one truly gets the sense of how alone the singer is, all alone, abandoned and bereft. Those with sensitivity to such things may notice the not-so-gentle push of something like a Paleblood's abilities, lacing into the music and enhancing the sense of empathy it brings to a supernatural degree, but is that really so important? When someone's suffering like that, it's only right to go to their side, isn't it? To try to offer what comfort you can?

The song seems to be coming from a small rock out at sea, some distance away from the shore. It looks possible to swim it, doesn't it? Maybe a bit of a challenge, but the song is growing in intensity now. Alone, alone, alone. Does it matter how far it is? The water is so cold, and so rough, but don't you have to try?

Those that do try may find that the strangest thing happens - or rather, doesn't happen. No matter how far one goes, the song never seems to grow any louder, remaining a whisper on the wind. How could that be, though? How could something sung so quietly carry so far? The deceptive nature of it makes it easy to lose track of just how far out to sea one is, rising in anguish again and again just as one's arms start to falter, just as one thinks about turning back, and by the time it becomes clear even through the haze that the song settles over one's mind that this was a bad idea, it may already be too late.


III. There's nothing we can do
( OTA )( cw: Potential near-drowning, violence )
But say one manages to make it to the tiny rocky outcropping out in the sea, maybe by resisting long enough to think about options other than simply wading into the water and trying to swim - there are boats nearby, after all, to be borrowed or rented or commandeered, or the fact that many people in Trench can turn into squids, which are famously resistant to drowning - or maybe some people are just really strong swimmers, or fliers, or capable of travel by other means. No matter which way one comes, they'll find a towering figure crouched on top of the rock, some ten feet tall not counting the antlers sprouting from his bird skull-like head. Glowing golden eyes flash and narrow as he cranes his long, heron-like neck down to look at the intruder, his song drawing to a close. A sickly, emaciated humanoid torso sits atop a large, raptor-like body, his feathers standing on end as the beast clicks his beak and shakes his head in apparent fury.

Wings flaring outward, the beast leaps from his perch with an inhuman, echoing wail. Taloned, scaly hands reach out to grab at arms, shoulders, clothes - anything he can hold onto. His beak and claws are razor-sharp, and he's very clearly not happy to have guests, despite what his song does to people.


IV. Just let me go, we'll meet again soon
( OTA )( cw: Potential near-drowning, violence )
Some people who make it to the island are met with much less hostility, though. Maybe some deep part of this beast's mind recognizes them as friends, or maybe he's just worn himself out. Either way, he's huddled in a small, half-protected cove, singing his mournful song. His arms and upper pair of wings wrap around his humanoid torso for warmth and protection from the spray of the sea, and his eyes are closed as he rocks back and forth subtly, apparently in a self-soothing gesture.

Here, this close, the song still isn't that much louder, but it is easier to hear without the sounds of the city echoing in the distance, and that clarity lends strength to the forceful empathetic projection of it all. It becomes obvious what this song is about, even without words. It's not just about being alone. It's about being left behind, about not being worth staying for, again and again and again. The beast looks wretched, hunkered down against the rocks and wet with sea mist, scraggly and too-thin and sickly, and he opens one golden eye to peer at his visitor after a long moment, letting his song draw to a close and breathing a heavy sigh.


V. Now wait, wait, wait for me, please hang around
( Closed to Maul )( cw: Grief, discussion of loss of a loved one )
There's a body on the beach.

This isn't all that unusual, given Trench is what it is, but it's a little late in the month for all that, isn't it? Certainly there are no Wakers gathered at the shore this time, and even if there were, this particular body is a little far south to be part of the tide of new Sleepers that wash up on the regular.

No, this is no new arrival. It's Orpheus - which one might be able to put together if they saw the great bird-beast he'd turned into earlier in the month fly up from his rock with an anguished cry and plunge beak-first into the sea like some gigantic, monstrous tern, some minutes before. He's human-shaped now, mostly, save for some lingering vestiges of beasthood. Short, bony antlers growing from just above his hairline, scales along his forearms, feathers on his face and shoulders. He's lying on his back, eyes open but apparently unresponsive to the fact that the tide is rising and threatens to wash him away if he doesn't move sooner rather than later.


VI. I'll see you when I fall asleep
( OTA )( cw: Grief (loss of a loved one), mild disordered eating, depression )
Orpheus spends a great deal of time, in the wake of everything that happened, lying in bed with the curtains drawn as he stares at nothing in particular. Occasionally he takes out his Omni and stares at that instead, the light illuminating his face in the dimness of his room, but mostly he just leaves it on the table next to him and tries to... what is he trying to do? He doesn't know really. Wait for the urge to wade into the sea, to follow Eurydice properly this time, maybe? Or simply passing time in between the occasional demands of his body, the dreary tasks of keeping it fed and watered and alive.

Fortunately he and Eurydice had spent the fall and winter stockpiling food, so he has enough to last him some time without having to go out and resume working. He doesn't think he could stand to do that, at the moment. He doesn't think he could stand much of anything. There's an emptiness in him, deep and howling, and he only barely manages to force himself to eat out of a vague sense of not wanting to disappoint everyone else even further.

Speaking of everyone else - there's a knock at his door. He barely registers it at first, and thinks very hard about not answering, but eventually the guilt of making someone worry over him when he's already done so much outweighs the desire to isolate himself. He takes a deep breath - if he closes his eyes, he can imagine, however briefly, that the room still smells faintly of Eurydice - and gets up, heading downstairs to answer the door, however reluctantly. He only opens it a sliver, peering out hesitantly, but even that's enough to make it clear that he's in rough shape. His eyes are still an odd gold color, surrounded by little brown feathers dusted across his cheekbones and browline like freckles, and a pair of nubby little antlers sprout from just above his temples. His hand, resting on the edge of the door, is still ashen and scaled like a bird's feet, and he looks like he hasn't slept restfully in days.

"Um, hi," he says, quietly. "Do you, um. Do you need something?"


VII. Wildcard
[ Need something else? Want a different prompt from Orpheus, or a space for other characters to interact that isn't covered above? Let me know either in the plotting post if you want me to set something up, or just hop in here! I can be reached for questions at questionableveracity on plurk or quodVide#2951 on Discord ]

Comments

[spiritwalks]

"...Okay," Vyng concedes after an awkward pause and a few scattered seagull cries. "Fffffair."

They don't die, true. Not in the physical sense. But the Pthumerian Ocean isn't a normal ocean. Even for Vyng, these waters can get disorienting. Orpehus is barely holding onto himself as it is. He could lose himself in these waves.

"Look, I know how to sail," he tells him. "If you just sit down for a few minutes — drink some water, cry if you need to, it's okay, buddy — I'll get a boat for us. We can search for her together."

[themuseabandonsyou]

That awkward pause is punctuated by Orpheus starting to make those horrible, shuddering hiccuping noises that precede a really severe crying jag. He fights it back as best he can, knowing that if he gets started he won't be able to stop, and that it's even more impossible to swim while sobbing violently, but there's not much he can do about it, ultimately.

"She'll be gone by then," he whispers, voice thick and hoarse from the tears. "She'll be gone. She's already gone."

He sinks against Vyng, too stunned and crushed by letting himself admit that to be polite about not dropping his full weight against the other man without warning. Thankfully he doesn't weigh much for a man of his height, but even so.

"It's m-my fault. I should've - I should've noticed she was gone sooner, I -"

Little brown and white feathers start to sprout from the goosebumps along his cheekbones and upper arms, the barest hint of a pair of what look like tiny horns starting to just barely poke through his hair. He doesn't seem to notice, too caught up in his own world to have any awareness of his surroundings or even his own body.

[spiritwalks]

Thankfully, Vyng is much sturdier than he looks. They make quite the sight — like two drenched, skinny cats stuck in the world's biggest bathtub, unsure of what to do with themselves. But he still catches Orpheus, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other wrapped around the man's middle.

"You did everything you could for her," he quietly assures him. "None of this is your fault. I know it might feel like it is. And what you're feeling is...it's normal, it's totally normal, but—"

The feathers aren't lost on him. Vyng grimaces, but presses onward anyway.

"We're here for you. Anything you need right now? You've got it: A boat to go searching. Plates of warm food. A shoulder to cry on. You don't have to go through this alone, Orpheus."

cw: body horror

[themuseabandonsyou]

"No, I didn't," he manages to gasp out between increasingly uneven breaths. He shakes his head, the weight of it awkward and unwieldy as the little nubby horns he's sprouted grow, branching out into three distinct points - antlers. "I didn't, I didn't, she's gone, she left, again."

Again. Something sickening rises up in him, a despairing kind of anger that he's been trying to tamp down for almost two years now. She left, she left, she said she'd stay and now she's gone again. Consciously, he knows it's not her fault. He's read enough about how returning to the sea works by now, that the pull is impossible to subvert, but that doesn't stop it. Not any more than knowing her leaving him the first time was a question of inevitability too.

It feels awful. He doesn't want to be angry at her - shouldn't be, doesn't deserve to be - but he is and the guilt over it wraps around into a crushing sense of self-loathing. How dare he? How dare he feel like this, about someone he loves so much? He barely hears Vyng's offer over the howling of it.

"You can't bring her back," he says. "No one can. No one can do anything."

There's an unsettling, wet grinding noise of bone against bone beneath layers of skin and muscle. Two hard, bony lumps press against Vyng's chest through the back of Orpheus's shirt, projecting from just below his shoulderblades. His fingernails start to harden, thickening and darkening and lengthening into hooked talons. He grits his teeth against the sensations, too distracted to pick up on what they mean.

[spiritwalks]

Vyng isn't squeamish. But the gruesome crunch of his friend's body rearranging itself makes his stomach turn.

This isn't about Eurydice. Not really. What's choking the humanity out of Orpheus is the gutting reality of being left behind. Struggling to imagine the future, while a terrible weight crushes the lungs instead. Picking up shards of broken glass with bare hands, and having nowhere to put them.

He should turn back. And yet Vyng's arms tighten around his friend. His feet remain firmly planted in the still waters around them.

"Orpheus. Calm down, buddy—" Which has never worked in the history of ever, and Vyng hastily follows with: "Breathe. You need to breathe."

[themuseabandonsyou]

Orpheus tries. He really does. Whatever's going on with him, the pain and prickling sensation across his skin is finally starting to break through the hysterical despair enough that he's taking notice. But breathing - calming down - isn't nearly so easily done as said, and he buries his face in his hands, teeth gritted.

"I can't," he whispers, barely loud enough to be heard over the waves. "I can't, it's too much, I -"

And then he cuts himself off with a piercing wail, inhuman and strange. It echoes oddly, despite there being nothing around for it to echo off of, sounding almost like whalesong heard from underwater, but not quite. The pair of bumps on his back erupt into full-fledged limbs, long and pale and ungainly, tearing through his shirt with their sudden emergence and very narrowly avoiding hitting Vyng in the process. They flail around, pinfeathers starting to sprout from them as if in timelapse. At the same time, another set of bumps begin to form, low on his back as his spine begins to lengthen as well.