deercountry | [semi-open] If you're trying hard to breathe in the dark

Entry tags:

[semi-open] If you're trying hard to breathe in the dark

Who: Allen & others, possibly Argonaut appearances
What: Event-log and other April-related prompts. Plotting prompt stuff!
When: Throughout April
Where: Various

Content Warnings: SAD THINGS, harm and death to NPC children, mutilation, nightmare fuel mindfuckery, high corruption and beasthood.

⛧ 1. if your screams don't make a sound (wonderkind/AKUMA) ★

[ You were probably just minded your own business doing something totally normal — and then you got caught in up in Allen Walker's vortex of bad luck. Sorry. It's just a thing that happens. He doesn't even have his unlucky rabbit's foot on him! He learned better really quickly...!!

Regardless of whether you might have been haggling with a bakery over the price of day-olds, sipping tea in some little shop, or maybe this is your house that he's... about to put a hole through. So sorry — but all of a sudden part of the nearby brickwork explodes as a slender figure is bodily slammed entirely through it.

Yeah. It's that kind of day.

It does not look comfortable. And it does not look like something anyone could have gotten away with without some broken ribs, but as the dust settles the boy that was indeed used as a wrecking ball of sorts starts coughing and trying to sit up. This is just -- ugghhh...

Coming to his senses quickly though, dressed in a black and red jacket underneath what seems to be a impossibly volumous feathered white cloak that seems to be made of moonlight itself he -- blinks. And then whirls around, realizing you're there.

His left eye has bled black throughout the sclera, and the iris has shifted to glowing red rings that shift in and out like a camera lens focusing. There's a dark, corrupted sort of smoke that seems to be pooling around it as well. His expression is wide with alarm, actual fear for a moment at seeing you there, before he stumbles back up to his feet. To square his shoulders, face the hole he just was thrown through—

And rip back, shouting at you over his shoulder as he spreads a single arm out in warning. ]

RUN!

[ Because, over the edge of the rubble... there's a faint sort of here-but-not dark glow. And the world seems to desaturate, fading from color into the black and white. It doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like you're even looking through your own eyes.

And then you hear a faint sobbing. Distant, but far too close as well. Like it's there in your own skull. Faintly.

And a figure floats into view, cresting the stone. At first, it looks like... an extremely mummified corpse. Bone dry, curled up in a fetal position. It isn't even the thing crawling up and through the hole, but that seems deem and distant right now. It's attached to it.

Because the sobbing stops as soon as you look at it, and the specter stiffens suddenly. Socketless pits for eyes turning right towards you as it realizes you see it —

—and its jaw falls open as it screams. ]

⛧ 2. if your heart just cries too loud all the time (butterflies/beasthood) ★

[ He knew this worked like a game of Russian roulette, he really did. And he doesn't even want to have to destroy any of the butterflies that have flocked to the Trench. It's fine when they stay up and away from people, but when they choose to land near populated areas...

It's not even for misjudging his own ability to purge corruption from his own body! It has limits, he knows that... too much can still be too much if it's all at once. But he has to keep trying. Better him than someone else. Or at least, thinking about that...

...it's easy to forget the actual consequences.

Maybe you were there when he destroyed the butterfly, a boy who suddenly transformed into into a white harbinger wreathed in what looks like condensed moonlight taking the shape of a huge feathered cloak and wielding a great broadsword as long and broad as he is. Maybe you just see the consequences of that — or hear the sudden howling gale.

A whirling gale of feathers, light, and tattered wings made from moonlight themselves that rips upwards from a doubled over figure. A white and gold gigantic masquerade mask floats above as well, twisting to and fro from the feathered cloak like it's unsure how to hold its shape, like it's too angry to remember its shape and cares not for what it was, but is trying to contort itself into something new. But the winged sort of cloak looks almost angelic, glowing white-gold and ethereal. It's beautiful, and somewhat terrible as well. Especially as the figure, with his hands clutching his head like it wants to split in two, would not seem to have a normal left hand but a great white and gold monstrous sort of claw instead. But it too can't seem to hold its form, splitting into glowing feathers along his arm that twist in the air.

It's like a howling monster clinging to the figure even as it also tries to rip away.

And if you're caught staring, an edge of that tattered, feathery wing-cloak rips out towards you and slashes into—and through the brickwork by your head. And that's when you might realize that even though it looks like a cloak and feathers, it cuts as sharply as any sword. ]

Stay— [ It's a boy beneath all that. A teenager, pale and ethereal himself as the feathers around him, with a dark red scar cutting through the left side of his face. And he pants and rasps it out, gritting his teeth audibly and fixing a surprisingly sharp and hard dark eye on you. A window of raw clarity in a maelstrom.

Anguished clarity, his face twisted in tragedy.

But that eye is blood red and black, and the scar surrounding it twists itself restlessly across his face like an angry, living thing. Black smoke bleeds from that left side of his face, mixing in with the white. ]

—back...

More closed prompts below! I'm trying to do more closed/planned things since I have a lot going on this month and a bunch that are sequential, but please feel free to hit me up on my plotting prompt and I'm happy to plan something and do a private prompt for us! He will be generally collecting the hope orbs, mostly for Viktor, getting fucked up with his restored memories/tether and hiding from people later in the month, and trying to purify and reverse the corruption/beasthood of any turned, especially as a result of the butterflies. So, especially if you want to get your character in on realizing even full beasthood can be reversed by exorcists and other sorts of purification abilities and you want them to be able to see the human souls still in them... 👉👈 hit me up.

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[ ?

Why's she smiling like that? And telling him that? ]

Eh?

[ Putting the two together? No. No, he is not. ]

[...is she going to have explain the dance of the dragons....she does not want to do that. she's tired.]

By rights, you've earned yourself a knighthood. He also promised lands, but I'm afraid you'll have to find them for yourself, here.

[however!! she grins.]

Prince Jacerys Velaryon made a famous pact with my great ancestor Lord Cregan Stark. After he died, Lord Cregan marched his army south in his name. That's how we won the Dance of the Dragons.

[this is perhaps a gross oversimplification]

As the current head of House Stark, it is my duty to carry out any other final wishes Prince Jacerys might have had.

[it........probably isn't. but she affects a deadpan face.]

Give me your sword.

[ ...what!

whatwhatwhatwhatWHAT! ]

A knight... hood?! [ His voice might have cracked a bit. Just a little. With a slightly panicked expression. ]

I-- [ ...can he refuse a lady???? No! That definitely seems more impolite! She's the head of a noble house! Maybe not his if he even had, cared for, or paid attention to such things, but the point still stands!!

But he hasn't -- he didn't deserve anything to, so... ]

... [ With a rather red face and look of utter helplessness, he wordlessly reaches again for the golden crown that circles his left wrist, drawing his sword once again from his arm in a transformative burst of light that leaves his cloak draped protectively over his shoulder where once there was a sleeve.

He holds it out to her hilt first, but with a somewhat worried expression. ]

It's very heavy for anyone else to hold. [ Very. He wields it like a feather, but this is an almost six foot long, two foot wide gleaming white and gold spiritual blade we're talking about here. ]

But you don't-- _{I really don't feel like I've done anything that...} [ He trails off with an expression that's mildly dismayed, if also just... awestruck. So very, very awestruck and torn about it. ]

...something like that just seems like... such an honor.

[she laughs and grips it with two hands, stepping back so she won't hit him as she awkwardly but determinedly draws it up. like a baseball bat. she rests it carefully against her shoulder.]

You've done something no one in the Seven Kingdoms could do. The Grey Ghost was never ridden. The only other dragon like that was the Cannibal, and he was horrible. So long as you don't betray the rightful queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, who has been dead for a hundred and seventy years, to her treacherous younger brother Aegon, who died shortly afterward, you are more than worthy of this honor. So kneel.

[ It's okay. Even if she did hit him with it, it would just pass through him harmlessly... ..... maybe..... ]

...! [ He can't... even find words for that. And for a moment it may as well have been that she struck him, so startled is he -- and moved. Expression twisting in a sudden surge of emotion that leaves his throat feeling tight, he can't even respond to her. He just blinks rapidly for a moment, a flutter of stark white eyelashes trying to chase back a sting.

He kneels without another word, on one knee with his cloak out around him. Behind, the dragon rumbles and watches impassively, as does his golem. Shifting its weight for a moment between its great hind legs and the knuckles of its wings, like it's lowering itself a little or getting more comfortable.

He bows his head as well, and thinks it's a good thing she can't see his face. ]

[well, sansa sets it on his shoulder more forcefully than she meant to, really. hopefully it didn't hurt.]

By declaration of Prince Jacerys Velaryon of Dragonstone and the Pact of Ice and Fire, I name you Ser Allen of house Walker, knight of the Seven Kingdoms.

[for what little that's worth. but now is not the time to think of the mountain or ser boros blount and ser meryn trant or even jaime lannister. she thinks of loras and garlan and aemon the dragonknight. allen belongs with the best of them. she taps his other shoulder, for good measure. she's never actually seen someone knighted before, and is only guessing. she clumsily draws the sword away and holds it unsteadily in front of her.]

Now rise, Ser Allen, and take this greatsword from me before I drop it.

[her arms are getting tired.]

[ The flat of it bops him a little, but to his credit it only staggers him a little. _{She's doing good.}

Although she might have destroyed him slightly when she says that, "of house Walker,", as his head jerks up at it. He won't cry, but for a moment he looks like he might. Just because... she really has no idea just how much that means, hearing it like that. Like an echo from the past. Especially now with his memories returned in full. And to be seen with honor in something that he's always just felt so much incredible guilt and sadness over...

He rises, throat still a bit too tight to manage a proper response as he reaches out to take the sword back. It's featherlight and easy, the second he actually grips it, and he returns it back to his left side

And he bends in such a deep, deep bow to Sansa then. ]

Would it be alright... [ His voice is a bit thick, before he swallows and peeks back up to her through the hair that's fallen over his face. ]

...if you still just call me 'Allen'?

[sword relinquished, she gives him a brief curtsy, and smiles.]

Of course. But you must call me Sansa, when we're alone.

[she grins.]

You'll have to choose a sigil for your house. I don't know that the Targaryens would like it very much if you took a dragon, but they're all dead now, anyway.

[NO, SANSA]

[ That is the best possible answer she could have given, and he visibly relaxes. Straightening again with a smile. ]

Mm. [ He smiles finally, softly and so very relieved. Grateful. ] Sansa, then.

Although I, ah... [ is he squirming? it kind of looks like he is ] A sigil? Like... a coat of arms? [ Ah, his fluster is visibly rising again. ]

Is that... really appropriate? I wouldn't even know where to start...

[a coat? she laughs.]

For your banner. You would paint it on your shield, so that everyone would know to cheer for you in tourneys. And I could sew it on your shirts.

[she's not sure how to tell him that he has founded his own knightly house without causing him to actually swoon.]

Many noble houses in the Seven Kingdoms began with one brave knight.

[ Very astute of her, because he absolutely would have swooned. There's a definite redness that's crept down to even his neck regardless. Tourneys? He might squeak. ]

I... I'll have to give it some thought. [ While continuing to fluster if that's even appropriate or anything he even deserves, let alone what kind of design would be his!! Also this is the Trench, things are different! But he can't be contrary when she's being so... so... this!! Why does she see him in such a light!! Yes he wrestled a dragon and cleansed it, but!!

B-but... being considered a knight, that's... aaaa why does he feel fuzzy. ]

Edited 2022-04-17 02:13 (UTC)

[someday she'll tell him about ser meryn and ser boros and gregor clegane, and how he's better than any of them, and better than ser harry and ser shadrech the mad mouse, too. if he ever questions his worth, she'll tell him. and she'll tell him, too, that she assumed he must have been a hedge knight from his manner, when they first met. she grins.]

That's good. It's an important decision. You wouldn't want to choose something boring, like triangles.

[or poor jeyne poole, with her blue plates. she glances back at the dragon.]

You should probably see to his wounds.

[ Triangles. She actually gets a laugh from him at that, if a sheepish one, but it does the job well and breaks him out of his own head.

He smiles more warmly then, giving her a nod. Grateful. ]

Mn. I'll let you know how it goes? [ Since it... probably will definitely only let him on it. And she should stay and tend to the people and corruption with her bloodhound. ]

Will you help take care of everyone here?

[she returns his nod, grinning.]

Yes, of course. Let me know if you need me to call him a healer.

[she's...pretty sure she remembers which streets winter flew her over...]

[ He casts a look at her over his shoulder as he turns and and contemplates how to best get up; thankfully, the dragon understands his intent and lowers itself. Watching him very closely as he does so; this baffling sort of boy that had pet and practically hugged its sharply hooked and tooth-filled snout. ]

I will. [ Between his one non-dangerous hand and pulling himself up with one of his ribbon tethers it's not that hard to manage getting back up between its shoulders. He is an acrobat after all, and deceivingly strong. But he peers down at Sansa after he's done so for a moment, as the dragon raises itself back up to its standing height. ]

I don't suppose there's... any sort of advice you can offer on how people normally did this, is there...?

[ Gets on a dragon before he really understands what he's doing: yup, that's Allen Walker. ]

Edited 2022-04-21 19:03 (UTC)

[sansa watches with delight as he climbs atop the dragon, then laughs and shakes her head.]

Nobody remembers. None of the Targaryens ever wrote it down. And nobody without Valyrian blood could get near enough to a dragon to work it out.

[she will find some dragonlore from her homeworld soon!! it will not help much in that regard.]

[ Despite things, he actually looks fairly natural up there. If a little excited and nervous both. Especially the latter a bit perhaps at realizing apparently he's the only one who's going to have to figure it out now. But Timcanpy has settled himself into the folds of his cowl, burrowing in and securing himself somewhere that'll be less windy.]

O-oh. [ Well. He probably won't end up barbeque or a pancake. ] That's fine.

[ He pats the dragon beneath him reassuringly. For him or the dragon? Hard to say. _{It's fine! Be confident! Let's go!} ]

After before figuring it out shouldn't be too hard to -- [ The dragon is moving.

The dragon is taking off.]

— do? [ Slightly panicked? Slightly panicked. Or really excited. It's hard to tell.

It twists away from Sansa and the rest of Trench, beginning to lumber at a rapidly increasing pace as it gains momentum and begins to beat its wings. Ground shaking under the heavy footfalls and Allen clinging on with his cloak already whipping out straight from the increasing wind. With labored, heavy wingbeats as it pulls itself upward despite its fatigue and wounds.

Flying. As it wheels back around towards the Tower and quickly starts to gain altitude. ]

Edited 2022-04-22 02:06 (UTC)

[sansa has a feeling she can't be a dragon that already belongs to someone else, in the same way she suspects she wouldn't be able to be the direwolf ghost, either. but the little raven is still nestled in the crook of her arm. she shouts upwards.]

Do you need me to guide you?

[winter is probably handling the blood hound situation...]

[ Does she know he has a history of always getting lost? Ouch, it seems everyone either knows or presumes that. Either way, he leans over and shouts down over the distance and rush of heavy wingbeats. ]

It's okay! I have Tim, he's always good at this sort of thing! [ The only reason he doesn't get lost all the time, both because of Tim being the shape his omen took here, and everything Timcanpy was before.

But even from such a distance, perhaps because he's no longer quite so hung up on the immediate concern for the dragon or being flusteredly breathtaken about dragonknighting... his eyes finally snag on the little raven in her arms. And he recalls her omen, the white raven.

Oh my god he's stupid. ]

Wait! That bird -- ! [ Ah! Before! No, it was definitely the same one!

He is actually good at putting two and two together, even after he's been really distracted from noticing what was right under his nose the whole time. ]

That was you?! [ He's almost comically startled by that realization.

Unfortunately for the both of them, dragons and the speed of dragonflight do not particularly care or are meant for sustaining human conversations. So it ends up shouted behind him as the grey ghost gets the height it needs and wheels then, in a strong and swift line deeper inland.

But Sansa!!! You better believe he's going to be asking about that later!!! ]

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[semi-open] If you're trying hard to breathe in the dark

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sorry for delay! my portfolio deadlines left me very little brainpower for many tags