[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

[laminae]

Today is turning out to be a super great day, just amazing. Fern's desire to not immediately hurt or kill Orpheus outweighs his desire to fight back, so he gets slammed squarely down onto the rocks. It's okay, it's fine, as long as fire isn't involved he's tough and can handle getting knocked around. The song and Orpheus' voice threatening to unbalance his emotions (and therefore his mind) make this a lot harder, but he tries to focus on his friend. On helping his friend.

"I'm - I'm not gonna hurt you!" He snaps back, his vines continuing to snake up Orpheus' limbs, regrowing whenever he shreds them into bits. "Look - I'm sorry about Eurydice! I know she's gone, I - I heard! You've gotta be in a lot of pain right now!"

[themuseabandonsyou]

It's an understatement if there ever was one. Orpheus didn't think anything could feel worse than losing Eurydice the first time, but here and now? Knowing he had a second chance, an opportunity to say everything that they'd left unsaid the first time? Knowing (or at least feeling) that if he'd been awake a little earlier, or faster to recover from the shock, or even just a more attentive husband, that he could've made her stay? It feels like he's being torn apart from within, and nothing he does makes it ease up in the least.

Again, he screams, and the sound has an ethereal, echoing quality to it despite the lack of thing for it to bounce off of around them. The wave of heartbreak and anger crashes over Fern again as he lifts him off the rock and tries to shake him off and disentangle himself from the vines while still sinking his talons into Fern's shoulders, shaking him to and fro in an attempt to dislodge him.

[laminae]

The feelings that hit Fern are like a freight train, and the absolute sheer awfulness of them makes all his grass tremble and threaten to lose its shape. He's felt heartbreak before, way back when he was Finn with Flame Princess, and later on when he first told Varian his feelings and he didn't reciprocate, but this is on a whole other level. It makes thorns sprout up along the vines, an instinctive reflex to protect himself, even though he follows that up with a frantically worried no no no. He doesn't want to hurt Orpheus - he mostly doesn't want to hurt Orpheus, but that desire is gradually getting drowned out by a second desire for violence.

"Orpheus - " He isn't sure what else to do but keep on talking. It had worked for Varian. "Orpheus - I'm really, really sorry you're hurt this much - but - but you're not alone this time! You got everyone here who loves you! Even though she's got, you're not alone!"

[themuseabandonsyou]

The thorns are not helping the situation - Orpheus's forearms are covered in a tough, scaly hide like a bird's legs, but the suddenness of being jabbed from all angles startles him into letting go with an agitated squawk. He tries to pull back, shaking his head and keening, high and mournful.

He knows people are worried about him. He knows people are waiting for him. But the awful thing is - he doesn't care. They'll get over it. Everyone realizes he's not worth their time eventually, and anyway, he's already tried to leave them all once for the slimmest chance of seeing Eurydice again, at the end of the Dream. Fern knows that, and is probably smart enough to figure out that he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

The tight, choking knot of guilt he feels over that comes across too, underneath the loneliness and fury. He knows he should care, knows it should matter. But it just doesn't. Not as much as her.

[laminae]

More of the vines tear, but as they do even more grow out of Fern's limbs. He tries to pull them back, he really does, but the best he can manage is to make the thorns settle back down into his grass.

And really, it's amazing he can even do that with all the pain radiating off of Orpheus. It doesn't feel like his words are doing anything, and he's faltering. How in the heck did all those people manage to talk Varian down?? He's never been any good at this to begin with, he's like the least qualified person here! This was dumb and a mistake and he should've just stuck to making sure Orpheus doesn't murder anyone.

"I - " He's floundering here, he can't think of anything else to say. Telling him it's going to be okay would be a lie. Telling him he'll figure things out is a lie, too.

So... he doesn't. This isn't his forte, but he doesn't want to give up on Orpheus, either, so he does the first thing he can think of. He has to concentrate a bit but he does, his vines loosening but not letting go as he hugs Orpheus instead, carnations sprouting up all along his grass.

[themuseabandonsyou]

The vines around him loosen, and Orpheus reels back, drawing back a taloned hand to swipe at Fern in earnest. But then - Fern is hugging him, arms around the odd half-feathered joining of his bird and human torsos, and he doesn't know what to do about it.

It's a vulnerability. He's open. Orpheus could, at the very least, pick him up and fly him out to sea and drop him, if not worse. And a part of him still wants to, still furious at him for the grievous crime of not being Eurydice. But something holds him back.

He lowers his arm, slowly, and starts to sing again, quietly. Genuinely quietly, not in that tricky way like before, where it sounded so close it was almost in your ear even at the beach. He's not trying to lure people out here this time. This is just for Fern.

Again, the song has no words, but the abstract concepts, the feelings of them come across as clean as anything. Bright flashes of love, familial, platonic, romantic, and the heartbreak of losing them all, over and over and over again. It's not just about Eurydice, see - her return to the sea ripped open wounds he thought he'd patched over. Hermes, Persephone, the Argonauts, even his long lost mother - he's here, and they're somewhere far, far away.

[laminae]

Fern is completely expecting this move to go south on him. It isn't an attack, he's leaving himself very open to getting clawed to shreds, and everything in his body is screaming at him that this is a bad idea, that he needs to get a sword out and fight back. But he doesn't. He tries to push those feelings down, tries to focus on his friends and family instead, and all the (non-violent) support they've given him.

The song is the first indication that he didn't totally screw this up. It isn't like the songs Orpheus was singing before, but this... this is almost worse. Fern has never been good at dealing with loss. He's been abandoned over and over in his life and it's affected him deeply, so for those feelings to be invading his mind it's all he can do is not break down. Tears start filling his eyes and he has to squeeze them shut down several moments, but he refuses to let go of Orpheus.

"I'm sorry," he says in between sniffles. It's taking everything in him to not start crying. "I'm really, really sorry."

[themuseabandonsyou]

Orpheus keeps singing. Homesick. Heartbreak. He'd tried so hard to think of Trench as his new home, to leave the past behind him and look forward to the future. He'd succeeded too, missed things as it was natural for anyone to but settled in and put down roots and started to think of the town he came from and the whole world around it as simply "where I came from".

But now? He wants to go home. Wants the comfort of familiarity, wants Hermes to tell him it's alright, wants to play sad songs with the house band from the bar where he worked until he feels better, wants one of the rare letters from Calaïs or Jason or Caeneus that he'd receive once in a blue moon. Wants his mom, however unlikely it may have been for her to ever come home. Wants, wants, wants, and none of that is anything he can have again.

He sinks down, bird-body assuming a sort of loaf shape as he lowers himself to hug Fern back, long neck arching so that he can rest his chin on his shoulder. He draws his song to a close and warbles softly. He can't cry in this form, but he pretty clearly wants to.