⛧ Aʟʟᴇɴ "ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴘʀɪᴇsᴛ" Wᴀʟᴋᴇʀ ★ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
likethelight) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2022-04-08 08:41 pm
likethelight) wrote in deercountry2022-04-08 08:41 pm
[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.
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.
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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It's slowed but not forgotten. He's focused on that blood. He's been a Hunter long enough to know what kind of corruption open wounds can cause. It would've been the first thing he addressed if he were in a normal state. He overreacted when Allen coughed up blood in the catacombs, creating a platform of ice to catch it before crystallizing it to keep it from corrupting him. He's too numb for that kind of reaction now, but he still cares. A fundamental part of him that neither side of him could ever smother. It's why even in this state, he's not cruel. ]
...
[ His expression remains the same but there's a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Puzzlement. ]
... I don't know what you mean.
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He breathes, having made up his mind even before there was finally a flicker of something in Todoroki's eyes again. And, gently, he brings up a hand to rest quite lightly over that one on his shoulder. Very lightly, with only the press of his fingertips. ]
...I mean like someone who's locked my friend who's precious to me away somewhere deep because he's stopped being honest enough with himself to face his own feelings. [ The words might seem harsh, but he says it softly. With clear, unwaveringly steady eyes like someone used to trying to stare straight into one's soul, but much more softly. ]
I miss him.
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I don't understand what you mean. [ Nor is their time to contemplate it. Not with his open wounds. ] We need to clean up the blood and dress your wounds.
[ It's a statement delivered in his neutral tone, not cold or warm, but practical. Unclipping several of his metal canisters from his belt, Todoroki starts to set them out on the nightstand. ]
You'll open your wounds if you keep moving.
[ His words carry the same consenses as before, delivered in the same practical manner but with none of the coldness just simple neutrality. ]
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If he had more energy he'd be a brat and go get Viktor's kit to do it himself anyway, but it isn't like Shouto is actually arguing with him. It just... missed. And somehow that's just more tiring than anything. A little depressing, and tiring. ]
Alright. [ It is an unfortunately valid point the other boy has, too. He'll sit back down, next to Timcanpy who's been watching the both of them with in almost oddly silent, reticent way from sitting on the cot's pillow. But somehow, though...
...he does sound a little more like himself. Maybe that's something. ]
Viktor has a first aid kit too, though. Over by the sink.
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Take off your shirt.
[ Setting it on the nightstand he starts to unpack it, setting out what he'll need to clean and dress the injuries. ]
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The outfit he has underneath is sleeveless and he kind of wishes that was enough, but only one bullet struck outside of his vest. Off comes the tie; waistcoat, then shirt. Reluctantly. They're set with far less meticulousness with his coat.
While the bleeding had stopped and everything clotted while he was asleep, they're oozing again like Shouto had predicted. Red blood as opposed to the pale white still lingering from earlier, as they're inside now and away from the moon, so it's blatantly easy to spot.
He's wiry but with very bony shoulders -- willowy, for his height -- and there are myriads of other small scars that would be easy enough to guess are the result of similar bullet hits. At least a dozen or more that are visible, in addition to other miscellaneous cuts and gouges. They seem to have healed relatively well, aged from what must be well over five years old all the way up to fresher ones less than a year. Nothing else of note though. Just a lot of small old wounds that stack up.
He watches as Todoroki unpacks the kit methodically, a little detached. ]
Have you had to do this a lot? [ He told him about basic first aid in emergency situations, but -- ]
Patching someone up after a fight.
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[ And he's no medic. Just a provisional hero with basic medical training. ]
I've patched people up on the front lines.
[ Mid-battle with fighting still taking place all around him. With his strong offensive and defensive quirk, he's suited for a variety of roles whether that's fighting the enemy head-on, keeping an escape route protected, natural disaster relief, or providing emergency first aid to the fallen while keeping them safe.
He starts with the blood oozing out of the wounds. Any trails of it get frozen and turned into tiny rubies through delicate manipulation that takes up all his focus. These he drops into a glass beaker for collection. The blood left behind clots easier due to the targeted drop in temperature which he administers to every open wound as he takes in the state of his form.
Old scars catch his eye, as he works. Growing up in a world of heroes, Todoroki knows the collection of wounds a Pro collects over time. Still... these scars speak of a multitude of encounters with the virus. Probably why he felt so confident he could deal with the after-effects. It lends him a glimpse into his world and its grim reality. Empathy stirs, melting the permafrost enough to have Kizu resurface. A quiet affair that comes in a gentle touch of his mind, offering warmth amid the cold. ]
You've been shot a lot.
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His eyes flick from watching Shouto's work back up to his face when he asks that, studying his expression for a moment. ]
Mm.. [ It's an absent-minded sound, considering that for a moment. It isn't something he really dwells on a lot. ] I guess so.
I've been an exorcist for about seven years now.
[ So, since he was 10. If he knew exactly how old he was. ]
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His mouth pulls down, trying to make sense of that statement through his limited lens. ]
They let you get shot with those bullets at that age?
[ Was it to build immunity slowly? His brows crease at the image. ]
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It isn't so much "let"... [ His own mouth pulls a little thin, trying to think of how to explain that. ]
I was apprenticed to my master, but we traveled all the time and you never knew when fighting would happen. When something would track us down. You can't predict what'll happen on the battlefield, and that was what out purpose was for.
To fight akuma. Like the one you saw. [ Even him, at that age. Albeit against much, much weaker ones. ]
Sometimes he'd train me to avoid getting shot, but that usually involved him shooting at me with his own gun... [ The last part is said a bit dryly, his gaze sliding aside somewhat woodenly. But beyond that, he talks like it's an entirely normal thing. With a neutral, even tone himself that's hard to get a read on.
Because while once wholly accepted as Life, he doesn't know anymore, about a lot of that, how he feels. Because he just doesn't know what he thought he once did. His memories creeping back in are actually making it worse. ]
But we start fighting from the first time our ability chooses us and wakes up. One of my friends -- I think she was six.
1/2
Your master sounds like the equivalent of a Pro-Hero from where I'm from.
[ Which makes him an intern. The bullet wounds make sense once he's got the terminology right in his head. Internships were dangerous. There was always the possibility of getting injured or, rarer, killed. ]
Except, [ and here is where their worlds differ ] Heroes exist to protect the public from people who decide to use their quirks to break the law. A villain is just a moniker for someone who willingly endangers people. There's no 'Akuma' equivalent. [ Aside from One-For-All, but that's an entirely different matter. ]
People dying en-masse...
[ He starts laying down the gauze, methodical in his movements, while he tries to convey this last thought into words. ]
... that doesn't happen where I come from.
[ Which only confirms what Allen probably suspected from his reaction to seeing all those dead bodies piled high. Death isn't common where he's from. He's not used to it, probably never will be. ]
2/2
He... shot you...
[ It his too close to him. Endeavor knocking him down with enough force to make him vomit, then telling him to get up. This somehow manages to be the minor blow compared to what comes next. ]
--Six?!
[ Stop it, please! He's only five years old!
Yes, he's already five! So get out of my way!!
Private training, behind closed doors where there was no one around to condemn it was one thing, but as a policy?! ]
... They forced children to fight those things?!
[ On their own?! He looks utterly appalled at the news and has stopped treating him entirely. ]
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It means this is also such a terrible world for him to be in now.
But he set off an unintentional cascade effect, and he startles lightly at Todoroki's reaction.
Honestly, it was a sore point for him even before realizing certain other things. When Timothy was identified as being an Accomodator... he screamed and thrashed and resisted, wanting nothing to do with them. He'd called them out point blank on them not seeming like any kind of "good guys". And the Order didn't listen to him. Didn't care it was ripping him from the only home he'd ever known just to fight in a war he'd never heard of. He was an exorcist. He was going to fight for them.
He had been 9. And Allen had had doubts about there being anything "right" about the whole thing even then.
Holding Shouto's appalled stare for a moment, that spark and suddenly a lot more feeling obvious there again, the outrage, he swallows a bit uneasily for a moment, hesitating, before his gaze slips aside. ]
...It wasn't the worst thing done in the name of trying to win a war.
[ He says it more uneasily still and in a manner where he isn't making light of that sort of thing at all. Which means yes, they did. And it was honestly just the tip of the iceberg. ]
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His eyes shift to him, and for the first, he wonders how old he is. He looks around his age which means... He was still a kid when he fought one...
His eyes shift to some of his older wounds, ignores the urge to touch them, and starts taping the gauze. His movements are slow at first while he tries to digest all he's learned. ]
... Was it worth it?
[ Did something good come out of it, something to justify it? ]
1/2
He tenses up, before he twists back around to face the other boy. A hand comes up, grabbing the wrist that's closest to him. Not harshly, but to face him more directly as he leans in, nose almost to nose and he really doesn't care. Eyes sharp, fierce and the kind that could hold captive and bore straight through you -- but not angry.
Just no, and this is important. Flashing with a deeper emotional fire than even Allen usually shows, one hardened into diamond certainty. ]
Nothing can justify all the things they did. [ It's a strong tone, not even a shred of doubt, and yet still not unlike his normally soft-spoken self. Not unkind. ] Trying to win a war by sacrificing all of that --
2/2
Ah, he overstepped... Crap. ]
... I don't know what ultimately happened anyway. [ It's a bit quieter. ] It backfired, some of their attempted experiments. A lot more people died. A lot of people suffered... but it didn't change anything. Nothing ended. Everyone was still fighting. It just felt like...
...we kept losing. [ He blinks, although his expression doesn't change. Aa, that's the first time he's ever actually said that aloud. Even if he had thought it sometimes.
He clasps his own hands, pressing one thumb tight against the other. ]
I left, anyway.
no subject
Captured, his wrist goes slack in his hold and he stays in place even as those sharp eyes fill his vision. The last time someone looked at him like that they left bruises on his throat. But this is Allen, he's not afraid of him.
Meeting that intensity with a solemn look, he lets him speak without interruption. Watches him as his train of thought falters. Realization dawns behind grey eyes and Allen lets go of his wrist, turning in on himself. ]
...I'm sorry. It was an unfair question to ask.
[ Impossible to answer. Having glimpsed into his world, he can't even begin to imagine the cruel reality that could leave him in this state. ]
no subject
No, it isn't you... [ Really. His expression is clear; sober still, but clear and gentler again. Actually, he looks a touch guilty. ]
I don't mind. You didn't do anything wrong. [ The people who chose to torture and twist the lives of others like they meant nothing -- they're the ones who did something wrong. Whatever side of a battle they might be on, whether their reason to fight is right or not -- it's just as wrong.
He looks away again, fidgeting with his hands lightly. ]
It's a good question. One I think people should consider more.
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You're nervous.
[ He sets a hand over his, a light point of connection. ]
You don't need to talk about this.
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You're... baffling, you know. Sometimes. Hot one minute and cold the next. And he tries to stack that against how he was before, how all of those add up. Utterly buried and cold in what almost seemed like projecting something into what Allen had been trying to say. Practically ripping away from the simple gesture of holding another's hand one moment and reaching out the next.
It's baffling, but... he also think he might understand it a little. And hesitantly, he shifts one hand a little to lightly hook his fingertips around the other's. Pressing gently, gratefully, in a very small sort of gesture as he just gives a quiet, uncertain nod to that. Still meeting his eyes steadily. ]
...thank you for helping me save its soul earlier. [ Not helping him fight, not helping to protect the city; those were givens. That, specifically. ] The akuma.
[ Because most people would have only see a murderous monster that should be destroyed. ]
no subject
Are you okay?
The answer comes in the light press of fingers as they hook around his offered hand.
... Right now? Yes.
They seem to convey, even if he doesn't fully understand the full reality of his words. ]
We're friends.
Friends help each other.
I'm dead, the first version of that had him saying something Lenalee once said word for word LOL
Yeah. He's okay now. More for being glad to see the Todoroki he recognizes again. ]
Aah. [ It's affirming, and much more relaxed as he smiles faintly at that. That's almost exactly what Lenalee once said.
Hesitantly, more hesitantly than in the past, he shifts his fingers against Shouto's. Moving to raise and brush fingertips together, like leading some delicate sort of dance, before lacing gently together. Very light, very hesitant at first before he makes his mind up and it's steady, and easy to break away from. ]
That goes both ways.
Really?! It was already a lot calling him a friend for the first time, so had to pull it back!
He nods. A quiet simple gesture, never taking his eyes off the point of contact. ]
Can I finish dressing your wounds?
I figured haha, it still made me crack up
Yeah. [ A little sheepish, he lets go and sits more upright as he rubs for a moment at the back of his neck. His wounds; right, he kind of forgot. Sure, the aches never left, but... he's also just used to being wounded a lot, okay. It becomes a state of being, that's how you cope.
Timcanpy snuck to the nightstand sometime during this time, watching, but now starts to lean in and peer at the supplies Todoroki had laid out. He bumps a roll of gauze lightly with what would probably be his nose... if he had one. Is he being helpful yet? ]
no subject
Mainly, dressing his wounds.
He nods at the omen in silent acknowledgment of his efforts, understanding his sentiment. Bullet wounds are not something he's ever treated, never even heard a gun go off live until today. It's a sound he never wants to hear again.
Picking up the gauze pushed in his direction, Shouto continues with his work until every injury is treated and dressed. Once he tapes down the last of the gauze to keep it in place, he moves on to the pile of bloody cotton he used to disinfect the wound. The pile is in a glass jar that he empties into his left hand, crumpling the lot. Skin stained with blood, he immediately activates his left side and incinerates the cotton, blood, and germs in a concentrated burst of power that leaves nothing but carbon behind.
When he's done he walks over to the trash and empties the black soot into a trashcan before returning to the glass container. Letting it rest in his hand, he gradually warms it up until the blood staining its walls turns to ash before stepping back the heat, slow and steady so as not to cause an explosion. When he's down, he sets the glass back down and starts repacking Viktor's first aid kit; cleaning up after himself. ]
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